"A level-twenty elite undead?!"
Baxter's pupils contracted, his expression hardening.
He stepped forward, voice like steel.
"It's got seventy-four points in Strength. You'd better fall back to the second line.
Ingram—stand with me! We can't let this pile of rot break the formation!"
The heavy-armored knight, Ingram, lifted his massive shield and silently advanced. Side by side with Baxter, he charged into the surging tide of undead.
They became stone and steel—immovable and unyielding—meeting the onslaught head-on.
This wave was massive, at least eighty or ninety strong, with more than a dozen Blood Corpses among them.
Level-twenty elite undead were no longer the kind one could cut down without effort.
Baxter's greatsword tore through three ghouls in a single sweep, but then he met one of the Blood Corpses face-to-face.
Steel met rotting bone—clang!—the impact rang through the air.
The creature's chest was split open, a deep gash revealing blackened bone as foul ichor poured out… yet it didn't fall.
"ROAR—!"
The Blood Corpse let out a shrill, bone-rattling scream. Blood spurted wildly from its wound, spilling over its entire body.
A haze of crimson miasma coiled around its frame, making its movements faster, wilder, more savage—
Its innate skill—Blood Frenzy—had been triggered, boosting its Strength and Agility by forty percent in an instant.
It was already fast, but now it lunged at Baxter like a predator unleashed.
Baxter's reaction was lightning-quick. He swung his blade up to meet the charge—
CLANG! Another deafening clash, and this time both were knocked backward.
In its frenzied state, the Blood Corpse's strength now rivaled Baxter's own.
One such foe could be handled… but here, the undead were many. If they all rushed in at once, even Baxter might not be able to hold.
And then—
From above, sheets of white flame rained down, like a storm of holy light, engulfing Baxter and the undead around him.
Baxter felt the dull ache from the earlier clash vanish in an instant.
The Blood Corpse he had wounded twice screamed in agony as holy fire consumed it, leaving nothing but a charred skeleton that crumpled to the ground.
—Fiona's Holy Flame, delivered at the perfect moment.
But the danger was far from over.
In barely ten seconds, more undead were already closing in.
There was no time to hold back. Baxter stepped forward, both hands gripping his greatsword as the blade flared with a blinding white glow—full and round like a harvest moon.
"Full Moon Slash!"
The arc of light swept outward, shredding more than a dozen ghouls into mangled remains on the spot.
The price, however, was steep—his stamina was instantly drained by a large chunk.
From behind, Fiona, the archers, and the arcanists poured out their attacks in a relentless barrage, easing the crushing pressure on the front line.
They had the firepower.
The question was—could the vanguard hold?
Baxter intended to hold the line no matter what, not letting a single undead through.
But then—
"Ingram! I need help—now!"
The urgent cry came from his left. Baxter turned and saw Ingram pinned by a Blood Corpse in a Blood Frenzy.
The creature's boosted strength overwhelmed him, forcing his massive shield to tilt backward under the pressure.
Worse—two ghouls were lunging in from the flank, jaws wide, fangs bared—
It was the Maul and Rend technique. One bite, and corpse poison would flood the flesh. In their party, only a devout cleric's Purification could cleanse it. Fiona's holy enchantments had no such effect.
If those fangs sank in—Ingram was as good as dead.
Baxter didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat. He surged forward, greatsword roaring through the air in a brutal slash that forced the Blood Corpse back.
Ingram seized the chance, unleashing Knight's Trample, blasting the two ghouls on either side away.
But Baxter knew the cost of his move—by leaving his post, he had torn a hole in the original line of defense.
Which meant—
The rear—Fiona and the arcanists—were now exposed to the undead charge.
He spun around sharply, barking orders—
"Everyone, pull the line back! Zelda, take my position and seal that gap!"
But before Zelda could move, a calm, almost indifferent voice cut through the chaos.
"No need to send the assassin—
I'll hold the front line."
Baxter froze for a split second.
Jenson stepped forward, gripping the greatsword sheathed in black dragon scales, and moved into the breach—standing alone against the undead tide rushing toward them like a flood.