Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 430 Heavy Rain

"Their ring of blight has progressed a fair bit, huh?" spoke a man, voice muffled by thick iron.

"Indeed, I wonder... If it will climb up on the barrier, it is pretty high up near the shore..." similarly muffled, a woman responded, turning her gaze toward a third person sitting nearby, staring at the horizon.

"Much on your mind, Isilt?" Ilte poked the back of her trainee's helm.

The youth did not remove his eyes from the scenery, the job of those on the edge of the main camp was to look out for any approaching enemy, in the few days since the two gates had been breached and a gaping hole was left in the wall nearby, none even the slightest of shadows had appeared, all was calm, all was lull, all was heavy, all was dreadful.

"Yes... The undeads got past the wall after all, and not exactly with difficulty... I hear that our king has a plan in stock, but I wonder what can be done at this point, even if our full might was superior to that of the undead, they could still easily crush us with numbers-"

"Worried about your family?" Tarq spoke from the side.

"We all are" Ilte said, Isilt nodding his head, even if all had been told that the undead could not attack civilians, it was only natural that they felt fear at the thought of their defenceless loved ones having to exist side by side with the vile undeads.

"Do any of you know what this plan is, seniors?" the trainee asked, only met negative responses.

"We are not good enough to be privy to such details, we may have racked up some experience, but we are still just countryside patrollers, only Aramap and the king's guard could possibly know already" Ilte shrugged, even amongst the region's elite, there was disparity.

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"You are facing Frenand, Champion Frenand, Frenand of the vanguard!" only held back as the left hand grabbed the undead by his small cape.

"Hold on for a moment, wait for everyone to get in place" Frenand stopped as he was ordered, itching to lunge into the fray.

A few more seconds passed, Ourlst rose his blade up, covering half of his helm, his other hand held up as well, as long as it remained raised, no undeads would attack.

"Alisart Cleavster, it is time for you to make a choice, will you fight, or will you put down your weapon? If you surrender, I will agree to allow those present here to leave with their lives, to keep breathing for a little while longer" he announced, but even amongst the shivering soldiers, no one even seemed to consider his proposal.

Truly admirable, this sort of bravery from livings, all were adamantantly convinced that they were prepared to die, they would only realise that their conviction was unfounded when it pulled them into oblivion.

"Are you not worried about yourself, undead?" the warking questioned, his blade already out of its sheath, definitely not willing to agree to Ourlst's proposal.

"We know of death's tenderness, and if it is fear of loss that you speak of, there is no need to worry, we shall not be defeated, for we are eternal, an enemy that will always come back... Can not be considered vanquished, can they?"

He brought his hand down.