“Continental Shatter”!!

As the words fell, the fist dropped like a meteor, aimed at the earth beneath dozens of Skeletons.

Boom—!!

No delay—the strike hit, the ground heaved like a wave, and sand whipped up, blasting those Skeletons skyward.

The skill’s name boasts of continents, yet it’s no world-breaker; still, it’s a hammer you don’t shrug off.

With one hand buried in the torn earth, Ling grabbed the Scythe with the other, drawing that dangerous crescent like a sliver of moon.

The Scythe came out oddly obedient; gears clicked twice, the blade sprang, barbed hooks like thorn-teeth bristling along its edge.

Ora—!

She set the haft at her hip like a sledge, then swept left to right, a broad, brutal arc through the suspended bones.

No finesse, just force; her power surged, the blade keen as frost, and one airy slash cut the Skeletons clean in half.

“Ling! You okay?” Alicia’s voice sliced the dusty air like a bright ribbon as she turned, her side already cleared.

Warmth flickered in Ling’s chest at her needless worry; being cared for didn’t feel bad, even with battle’s grit still on her skin.

“By the way, sis, don’t the Undead here feel… off?”

They’re unlike the Skeleton the Ninety Nine Maiden drew outside; no ring of black smoke coiling like a charcoal wreath around the rack.

You only see a few with wisps, and that smoke won’t corrode; it’s a quirk we can’t just wave away.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Alicia said, brows gathered like a stormbank. “It doesn’t match what Jiu Jiu told us at all…”

I prepped several light spells and told you to sheath yourself in mana, but the results aren’t what we expected.

Ling didn’t expect an answer; Alicia isn’t omniscient. Disappointment settled like ash as she scanned the field.

Bones lay scattered, Skeletons silent, no spark of revival; is the vaunted “Undead” attribute just a puff of smoke?

Look close—it tracks: game-standard Skeletons, armor ragged like wind-torn leaves; finding one eighty percent intact is a miracle.

Their weapons fare no better—each hand grips a rusted greatsword, time’s stains mottling the blade like dried lichen.

Even so, every edge stays disturbingly sharp, splitting skin like paper and carrying tetanus like a lurking snakebite.

But that sheen can’t hide their weakness; they’re brittle as driftwood under tide.

Just take apart the frame—spell or slash—once bones separate, the Undead crumple into a quiet heap of waste.

If they had “fast regeneration” or “bone stitch” tricks, they could flood us with a human-wave and claw back a win.

Reality says otherwise.

From first clash to the last clatter, half an hour slid by like sand; the earliest shattered Skeleton has only rejoined one leg.

Two thirds of its body still lies undone; a full recovery would need at least two more hours.

“So… what now?” Ling breathed out disappointment like a cooling ember; with nothing left to break, her drive snagged.

“Uh…” Alicia didn’t answer, her gaze sweeping the dust like a hawk. “Where’s Edmund?”

“Huh? Right—where’d that guy go?”

Meanwhile—

Roar—!!

A thunderous bellow burst from his jaws, a shockwave that blasted the closing Skeletons like leaves before a gale.

It only knocked them back. They crossed arms over chests like raised shields, slid a few meters, then planted hard.

Black smoke coiled under their feet and around them like storm fog; it blunted the sonic blow with a stubborn shroud.

Edmund—the beast behind the roar—stared at the Skeleton floating on smoke, cold sweat beading like dew along his brow.

Fear pricked him, but pain ruled; wounds chewed open by the smoke’s corrosion burned like acid, forcing sweat from his skin.

Why would a beast like Edmund fear a single Skeleton? One isn’t worth a heartbeat; he could rip it apart.

But hundreds?

Clear as a black tide, hundreds of such Skeletons now drift before Edmund.