Borderlands.
A gray and desolate region, considered a forbidden zone of life by the races of the continent.
Sunlight here is feeble, unable to dispel the gloom shrouding the land, leaving it in perpetual darkness.
The air is thick with the scent of death and decay, as if time itself has ceased to flow.
It is an utterly barren wasteland, with no resources to sustain life, and the ever-present pollution erodes everything like a slow-acting poison.
Even the most tenacious forms of life struggle to survive on this land.
A vast army, hundreds of thousands strong, marched silently across this bleak expanse, the stench of rot in the air causing their Commander to frown.
“Accelerate! Leave the Borderlands as quickly as possible!”
He ordered the soldiers behind him.
To them, the enemy this time was nothing more than a trivial foe, easily crushed.
Therefore, the Commander had no intention of lingering in the Borderlands, to avoid exhausting the soldiers’ strength.
After all, compared to fatigue, he was more concerned about the polluted air corroding his own lungs and heart.
It was now the third day since the army had entered the Borderlands, and even though the Commander had not set foot here for many years, the familiar surroundings stirred memories in his mind.
He couldn’t help recalling the past.
For some reason, an ominous premonition weighed in his heart—a second reason he wished to leave this place quickly.
Suddenly, a fierce wind swept through, raising clouds of dust.
The army was forced to halt, and soldiers covered their mouths and noses.
The already gloomy surroundings grew even darker as the haze reduced visibility to nearly nothing.
The Commander furrowed his brow and immediately gave the order.
“All troops, on alert!”
There shouldn’t be any wind within the Borderlands!
The next second, arrows tore through the dust from all directions.
In mere moments, several soldiers had fallen, pierced by the deadly shafts.
The Commander’s eyes grew cold.
He reached out and caught a Bone Arrow aimed at him.
The arrow’s material made him pause—a shaft made from bone, still tainted with traces of dark energy.
At once, he understood, anger flashing across his face.
“Form ranks! Mage Corps, to your positions!”
With the Commander’s command, the army sprang into action.
Soldiers brandished Tower Shields, quickly forming an unbreakable wall of steel that blocked every incoming arrow.
At the same time, the Mage Corps dispersed throughout the ranks.
Clad in robes and wielding staffs, they began to chant spells, their voices weaving through the air.
As the chanting intensified, magical waves surged around them, as if a mysterious power was gathering.
The next moment, blinding white light erupted from all sides of the army, filling the battlefield with intense magical energy.
Where the light met the swirling dust, it scattered it instantly—like boiling water poured onto snow.
In an instant, the haze vanished from around the army, and the Commander saw clearly once more.
The surroundings were now swarming with skeletons, bows in hand, blue flames burning in their hollow eye sockets.
The undead did not falter at being discovered by the human forces.
Like emotionless machines, they continued their slaughter, arrows raining down in a deadly barrage.
“You rat of the dark, are you seeking death?!”
The Commander stepped forward, shouting at the undead around him.
He knew the enemy leader was nearby—otherwise, no one could command so many undead.
Yet, his roar met only silence.
Within the skeletal horde, a cold, hoarse voice rang out.
“Kill!”
It was like a summons from hell, igniting the undead into a fresh wave of assault.
At that moment, the undead army surged forward in a reckless charge against the surrounded human forces.
Skeletons were dead things.
In this gray, ruined world, it was their home ground.
Their silent advance was broken only by the grating clatter of bones.
The Commander looked at the advancing undead army without fear.
Since they dared to attack the subordinate continent, they had long been prepared for assaults from Borderlands forces.
“Clown.”
He sneered, raising his weapon high, commanding the army to face the enemy.
“All troops, take Holy Light Powder! Activate Resonance!”
At the order, every soldier pulled a packet of golden powder from their uniforms and swallowed it.
As one of the three ruling races of the mortal continent, the humans had long since developed ways to combat the Dark Race.
Holy Light Powder was one such creation.
Ingesting it purified the soul.
Its effects: the dead could not be turned into new undead, nor could demons seduce them, nor could demonic energy corrupt them.
Of course, there were side effects—its duration was short, and it consumed the user’s lifespan.
This was a potion granted to human soldiers only in times of war.
With the Holy Light Powder taken, a golden light flashed in every soldier’s eyes.
Their senses sharpened, their minds cleared of emotion.
Some soldiers immediately knelt, retrieving the potion from fallen comrades and sprinkling it over the bodies.
Tower Shields stood tall as walls, holding back the undead charge.
Within the ranks, others struck back.
Weapons gleamed with golden radiance, stabbing outward, as arrows and spells rained in response.
In mere breaths, the undead suffered heavy casualties.
They were only low-ranked undead, while the humans fielded elite troops—all soldiers of level three or higher.
It was no contest.
The war, devoid of suspense, ended swiftly.
Aside from the initial loss of several dozen soldiers in the surprise attack, human casualties were almost zero.
The undead, in contrast, were reduced to piles of shattered bone, and silence returned to the wasteland.
Though there were tens of thousands of skeletons, before the hundreds of thousands of human troops, they were but a drop in the ocean.
“Move forward!”
The Commander ordered.
He knew the enemy’s assault was merely a feint, aimed at depleting their supply of Holy Light Powder.
There might be more armies ahead, waiting in ambush, but he cared little.
Their objective was the subordinate continent.
How could a Borderlands skirmish sway them from their goal?
Indeed, in his eyes, this was not war at all—just harassment.
The Borderlands contained only two cities.
Even combined, they couldn’t rival a single army, let alone the Alliance Army of three races.
His show of force was to intimidate the vermin lurking in the Borderlands.
Whatever they planned, it was no concern of humanity—as long as they didn’t bring trouble to his own people.