CHAPTER 62: THE FIRST TESTS

Chapter 61 – The First Tests

Ethan stood with his arms folded, studying the row of armored figures kneeling before him. Their hollow helms glinted faintly under the sunlight, silent and waiting.

"Let’s try out some tests..." he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Lirael tilted her head, brow furrowed. "Tests? What do you want to do with the undead?"

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... their fighting capabilities, for one. And some miscellaneous things—like what happens when they take damage. We’ll start small."

Lirael gave a faint sigh. "Well, this should be... interesting."

Ethan straightened. "Stand at attention."

The kneeling soldiers rose in perfect unison, their movements precise, disciplined, almost too disciplined for something that should have been mindless husks.

"Good." Ethan paced before them, then pointed at a fallen tree nearby. "Each of you—pick up a branch. Different shapes. Different weights."

The undead obeyed immediately, scattering and returning moments later with crooked branches in their gauntleted hands. Lirael crossed her arms, her expression growing ever more bewildered.

"What in the world are you trying to prove?" she asked.

"You’ll see." Ethan raised a hand, and golden shadow bloomed around him, swirling like smoke. It rushed forward and consumed the soldiers whole—armor, branches, and all. In an instant, the clearing stood empty.

Lirael blinked. "They... disappeared with the wood?"

"Exactly." Ethan’s lips curled upward, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He gestured again, and the golden haze spilled forth, unraveling into form. One by one, the undead soldiers stepped back into reality. The crooked branches were still in their hands.

"Yes!" Ethan’s voice carried a rare enthusiasm. "That means I can give them weapons—new weapons—and they’ll retain them when unsummoned." He rubbed his hands together. "But will they discard their old ones?"

He stepped toward one soldier, his gaze fixed on the blade hanging at its side. "You. If I give you another weapon, will you use it?"

For a long moment there was only silence. Then the helm dipped in a slow nod.

"Good. But what happens to your old sword?" Ethan muttered, half to himself.

The soldier suddenly stepped back, lifted his hand, and the steel blade hanging at his waist shimmered and simply vanished into thin air.

Ethan’s eyes widened. "Whoa... incredible. Can you do the same with the branch?"

The soldier glanced at the crude stick in his grip, then shook his head firmly.

"Hmm... so they can dismiss weapons tied to their summoning, but not objects picked up outside...then what if these get damaged?" Ethan mused.

Another thought pressed into his mind, unbidden. They are repaired with the Hier’s mana.

Ethan froze, looking sharply around. "Who said that?"

His gaze fell on the soldier before him. "Was that... you?"

The figure gave a single, heavy nod.

Lirael stiffened, her eyes darting between Ethan and the undead. "It... spoke to you? But its helm never moved."

"It wasn’t speech." Ethan tapped his temple. "I heard it directly in my head." He turned back. "Then tell me—where were you before this? What kingdom did you serve?"

The soldier’s helm tilted as if it were struggling to remember. Finally, a halting thought pushed into Ethan’s mind. I... don’t recall, my lord. Only that once, I battled you.

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait. A battle?" He stared, realization dawning. "Are you... the same soldier I fought before?"

The silence was answer enough. Ethan’s mind began to race. Does that mean... every foe I defeat can be added to my legion? Then if I had fought more that day, I’d have more soldiers now... His pulse quickened, excitement flaring in his chest.

"And that knight..." he whispered, eyes alight. "The one who came after me just before I lost consciousness. If I defeat him... will he also join me?"

Lirael watched him, uneasy, as a grin spread slowly across Ethan’s face. The air around him thrummed faintly with mana, stirred by his rising anticipation.

The army of the dead... it was only the beginning.

Ethan’s gaze lingered on the line of soldiers. The golden haze pulsed faintly around their armor, as though waiting for his command. He exhaled slowly and lifted a hand.

"Stand down. All but the first nine—dismiss."

At once, the nine in the back dissolved into streams of golden shadow, leaving only one soldier standing tall before him. Its helm tilted slightly, awaiting his next order.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "I’m going to harm you a little. Not much—just a scratch."

The soldier gave a silent nod.

With a flick of his wrist, Ethan drew his dark blade. Its edge gleamed unnaturally, humming faintly with restrained power. He stepped forward and, without hesitation, slashed lightly across the soldier’s wrist.

The sound was disturbingly ordinary—steel biting into flesh. Blood welled from the wound, rich and red, flowing as though from a living man.

Lirael’s breath caught. "W–what...? But... how can an undead bleed?"

Before she could make sense of it, the soldier’s wound glowed. A golden light shimmered at the torn flesh, threads of radiance weaving the skin back together before her eyes. Within seconds, the wrist was whole again—no scar, no trace of injury.

Ethan blinked, stunned. At the same moment, a tug ran through his core, like water siphoned from a hidden spring. His mana pool dipped.

"...It used my mana." His voice was hushed, almost reverent.

Testing further, Ethan angled his blade downward and scraped against the soldier’s chest plate. The metal dented, scored with a shallow cut. Again, golden light flared, and the damage folded in on itself until the armor shone flawless. The same siphon drained his core, steady but undeniable.

Ethan staggered back, clutching his blade. "This... this is overpowered. Doesn’t this mean... as long as I have mana, they can regenerate infinitely?" A grin tugged at his lips. "Damn."

Lirael, however, could only stare, horror and awe mingling in her wide eyes.

"I’ve seen necromancers before," she whispered. "Plenty. They stitch their dead together crudely, patching them like broken dolls. If one is too damaged, they discard it. Some... some have darker methods." Her face darkened, voice dropping to a tremor. "They use catalysts. Living beings. Helpless people, sacrificed to feed their armies. That is why necromancers are hated—because every battle leaves villages empty, families broken."

She turned to him, her voice faltering. "But you... you don’t need any of that. No sacrifices. No corpses. Just... your mana."

Ethan sheathed his sword slowly, his mind racing.

Lirael swallowed hard, her expression caught between dread and wonder. "Ethan... do you understand what this means? You could become powerful. No—" Her voice cracked. "Very powerful."

The forest clearing fell silent, save for the rustle of leaves overhead. The lone soldier stood immobile, its golden aura faintly pulsing, like a reminder of the promise it carried.

And Ethan, staring at it, felt the future shift in his hands..he plans to become powerful...they took a whole 180° turn.

Ethan wiped his blade clean, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He cast a glance at Lirael.

"Hehe... just watch. Your master will only become more powerful from here."

The teasing words slipped easily from his lips.

Lirael’s face flushed hot, her ears twitching as she bit her lip. "B–bastard..." she muttered, turning her head sharply away, though her heart thudded faster.

Ethan chuckled and raised his hand. Two more soldiers materialized beside the first, golden shadows shaping their forms until three stood ready in flawless alignment.

"This time," Ethan said, his eyes sharpening, "combat."

The soldiers responded instantly, drawing their swords with a metallic hiss. They fell into formation—triangular, disciplined, their movements crisp and refined.

Ethan steadied his stance, dark blade raised. "Come."

The clash erupted in a storm of steel. The first soldier lunged, blade arcing in a precise downward cut, while the second slid seamlessly to flank, thrusting with flawless timing. The third swept in behind them, completing the encirclement.

Ethan’s eyes gleamed. Their coordination... it’s immaculate.

He met the first strike head-on, sparks bursting as steel rang against steel. Twisting, he pivoted to deflect the thrust of the second, his dark blade flowing like water. The third came at his back, but Ethan dropped low, the blade’s edge grazing just past his shoulder.

His counters were sharp and elegant, each motion honed from countless battles. But the soldiers pressed on, unyielding, each movement blending into the next. Their footwork was precise, their angles merciless, their teamwork seamless—like dancers in armor.

Lirael gasped, her wide eyes drinking in every exchange. The hiss of steel. The blur of motion. Ethan moved like a master, his blade carrying weight and purpose, his body flowing with lethal grace. Yet even he could not escape unscathed. A shallow cut appeared along his arm, another nick at his thigh—small, but proof of the pressure he faced.

He noticed the golden aura surrounding them...it almost looked holy?...if she didnt knew thse soldiers were undead she roo have believed that these people were from church. Then she noticed the battle more carefully.

Her chest tightened. His bladework... it’s magnificent. I knew he was strong, but this...

Her gaze flicked to the soldiers. And them... their technique rivals knight-apprentices. No... even higher. If the kingdoms had soldiers of this caliber, wars would be decided in days.

She shivered, realizing. Ethan had ten of these. And unlike mortal knights, they could not die—not while his mana flowed.

"...Powerful," she whispered under her breath. "Too powerful. He himself is already overwhelming... but now this."

Her fists clenched. Her heart pounded with something other than fear. Then I too... I will also become powerful. I won’t stand behind him in his shadow—I’ll stand beside him.

Her lips curled into a smug huff, her pride flickering. From what I see, he has no archers. That’s where I come in. He needs me. Yes... very needed.

In the clearing, the battle finally slowed. Ethan knocked aside the last strike with a ringing clash and stepped back, chest rising and falling. Sweat glistened at his brow, but his smile was wide.

The three soldiers lowered their blades in perfect unison, returning to attention.

Ethan twirled his sword and slid it back into its sheath. "Perfect. They’re exactly the same as the ones I fought in my class trial... knights bound to my service." He exhaled deeply, satisfaction glowing in his eyes. "This is great."

Lirael stared at him, her throat dry, her heart conflicted between awe, determination, and something far more dangerous.

The air around them was charged—like a prelude to something greater.