On the street before the relay inn, the dead crashed against the living line.

Yet the Imperial Army held a flawless shield wall. Soldiers with tower shields stared ahead, faces cold, red light flickering in their eyes. Moura, on horseback, commanded from the rear. He kept invoking the authority he received from War God Balder—“Puppet War King.” That power overrode soldiers’ wills, stripped fear away, and focused them on the commander’s intent. Under his control, soldiers became fearless war machines, grinding every enemy to dust.

At the very front, about twenty armored Imperial soldiers fought the Undead. Shields and short swords flashed as they cut down the dead. The Undead didn’t die, but ruined bodies collapsed into black powder. However brave they were, human stamina had limits.

“Rotation,” Moura ordered softly.

The centurion at his side blew a sharp whistle. Decurions and the second squad on standby dropped visors and drew steel. Shields up, they burst through a parted shield wall and relieved their tiring comrades. The soldiers who had just been fighting fell back into the wall, reached the well in the inn’s courtyard, and rinsed blood off with clean water.

Moura cast his gaze farther down the street. The dead clawed up from fissures underground, howling in pain. They weren’t ordinary Undead, but the deceased who crossed back when the Gate to the Underworld opened. Their reincarnation was cut short. They became wraiths attacking the living. Unlike the orderly ranks before the inn, the street fighting was chaos. Patrol teams were surrounded. Leaderless soldiers scattered. Residents hid inside, doors barred, praying to the gods.

At this rate, the Imperial Capital would completely fall.

He realized it and frowned slightly. The purple beam rose right from the Electors’ Palace. The Senate, the administrative core, was likely wiped out already. The capital was leaderless, and he had too few troops. Stragglers who escaped near the relay inn were folded under Puppet War King and became new fighting strength, but it still wasn’t enough. That authority had a key condition: he had to be the unit’s commander. Without that prerequisite, he couldn’t affect the soldiers. Conversely, with enough soldiers, he would never lose. With this power, Moura crushed the eastern tribes and carried off masses of slaves, earning blazing merit.

Destroyed dead faded into black smoke. Soldiers fought on, panting hard. A human can only go all-out for twenty minutes. So every ten, they had to rotate. The inn’s defense was near its limit. Thanks to stout walls, the battle zone was confined to the main gate. What worried Moura more were Mio and Aimee out there. Those Beastkin girls were under his protection, but they hadn’t returned.

Gunshots cracked across the street. Wandering Undead crumbled into black ash at a speed visible to the naked eye. A flash of swordlight—an entire line of dead lost their heads. Aimee, longsword in hand, flicked blood off the blade and showed a fearless grin. Mio snapped a reload into the Punisher and shot cleanly at Undead closing from both flanks. Their teamwork was seamless. They sped through streets crowded with the dead.

Behind them, a beautiful great sage sat, legs crossed, on a luxurious chair floating in the air. Her long golden hair covered the key spots, but that couldn’t change the fact she was utterly nude.

“Powerful children only grow more lovable,” she said with a lewd grin. “Let me put in a little effort too!” She gathered mana. Countless runes formed in the sky, weaving a vast and complex spell array. The next second, dense lightning fell from above and erased every Undead nearby in an instant.

Mio stared in astonishment at the great sage Fanna Van Helsing. This genius mage’s overwhelming spell felt impossible. In the world where Mio had been born, such magic didn’t exist. Humanity, fighting gods, relied on technology to develop weapons. There was no systematic magic theory. In Mio’s world, magic—called “sorcery”—was pure fantasy.

“Forward, girls,” Fanna announced with a smile. “I’ll protect you.”

“Thank you—so much!” Mio said frankly. If only the sage would put on clothes. Sure, the crucial bits were covered, but being completely naked… was that really okay?

The relay inn appeared at the end of the street. Drone feed showed masses of Undead packed at the gate. A unit of the Imperial Army held tight ranks, fighting the dead. Their commander was Moura. The Imperial Marshal rode a white stallion at the rear. A centurion beside him raised a gold-red battle flag, all pomp and steel.

The trio punched through the street’s dead and rushed into the inn.

Aimee calmly slid her sword back into the scabbard. Mio, however, was panting hard. She might not die, but Teresa’s body simply lacked stamina. She holstered the Punisher and straightened her slightly messy cloak. It was splattered with blood and looked a bit dirty.

“Lady Mio! Lady Aimee!”

Talasha ran over clutching Amber, looking like she’d burst into tears. Her eyes brimmed, so pitiful. Amber reached out with tiny hands, asking for a hug. Mio hurried to take her and held her close.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“That’s thanks to the Imperial Army over there,” Talasha sniffled. “Uu… I’m actually grateful to invaders—ah! Sorry!”

Mio turned to Moura. He sat in the saddle, eyes on the front, commanding almost coldly.

“Thank you, Marshal Murat,” Mio said plainly. “Thank you for protecting Talasha and Amber.”

“Just my duty.” Moura turned his golden eyes on Mio. “By the way, is that indecent woman floating there with you?”

“Indecent… pfft.” Mio barely suppressed a laugh.

Fanna arched a brow, a trace of killing intent leaking out.

“I am one of the three sages of the Mage Association,” she said. “Marshal Moura, you dare speak rudely to me. Do you mean to oppose the entire Association?”

“If you put on clothes, I wouldn’t be rude,” Moura said without budging. “But I’ve no time to teach you civilized manners. The pressing task is to contact General Fisher of the Imperial Capital Defense Headquarters. I have too few soldiers. If you’re willing to help, I’ll be grateful.”

“Marshal, is that how you ask for help?” Fanna sneered. “If not for those two adorable kids, I wouldn’t set foot in this mundane place. Still…” Her eyes slid to Amber and Talasha, her lewd gaze practically licking their fluffy little bodies. “Meeting two furry cuties makes it worth the trip.”

Under that stare, the fur on Talasha’s tail puffed out. She froze, cold sweat flowing.

“Lady Fanna,” Mio stepped forward. “Marshal Murat is an upright soldier. Forgive any offense. Our urgent need is a way to fight the endlessly emerging Undead effectively. Before the Association can muster enough power, Samilian will destroy the capital. No one wants that result. And after destroying it, Samilian will flee again. The Association will lose its chance to execute the traitor.”

“Mhm. That’s very reasonable,” Fanna nodded. “Unexpected, Mio. Beyond your natural beauty, you’ve got wisdom to match. Perfect. Would you join me as my disciple? Become my chief disciple. In time, you’ll be the finest mage.”

“I’ll reserve my answer,” Mio said. “Lady Fanna, please assist us, one way or another. If a price is required, I’ll find a way to pay it.”

“Then come to my boudoir tonight.”

“As you command,” Mio answered without hesitation.

“Oh?” Fanna blinked, raising a brow. “Such unwavering resolve. Mio, I like you more and more. You’re amazing.”

Mio accepted the praise with a wry smile. Moura’s brow, however, creased.

“Deal struck.” Fanna extended her slender right hand. Runes on her ring tore the air, and a golden wand materialized in her grip.

“O sky! O thunder!”

With that short trigger phrase, massive storm clouds massed above the inn. Runes swirling in the cloud-banks formed a vast spell system. Seconds later, countless lightning bolts crashed down, clearing the streets of the Undead in an instant.

“Wanderers of the underworld are no threat to me,” Fanna said, ending the cast. “And if this level of effort buys me a night with a beautiful girl, that’s a bargain.”

Too strong. Mio was completely shaken by the spell.

There were people this powerful in this world. Firepower comparable to a tactical nuke. Her eyes were opened. Yet even someone this strong couldn’t alone execute the apostle of the Fallen God. She felt how small she was.

But there was no time to marvel. Moura gave the order to advance. The Imperial Army moved in perfect lockstep. Shield-bearers formed a wall, guarding the commander at the center. They marched down the street toward the Imperial Capital Defense Headquarters. Their synchronized footfalls beat a heavy-march rhythm.

Near the Headquarters, a huge number of dead had gathered. After Fanna’s wide-area spell cleared the zone, only corpses of Imperial soldiers and living survivors remained. Lucius lifted his visor and watched the column advancing down the street. Marshal Murat’s battle flag snapped in the wind.

“It’s the War God!” He couldn’t help grinning. “We’re saved! Someone inform General Fisher—Marshal Murat’s undefeated iron army has reached the field!”

Amid cheers, a runner sprinted into the Headquarters to spread the good news.