Chapter 62: Shadow Commander
Edward’s focus shifted toward the fallen body of the Lord Commander. Blood still seeped between the cracks of his armour, but the light had already faded from his eyes. Nothing but a lifeless corpse remained.
Edward took a breath, steadying his heart and raised his hand.
"Extract," his voice came in a low whisper, but it was more than enough.
Shadows pooled around the corpse like liquid night. They crept along the armour, filling the cracks, sinking into flesh and metal alike until the entire body vanished beneath an ocean of complete black.
Then, the darkness took shape.
A figure rose—an exact copy of the Lord Commander, only wreathed in a mantle of living shadow. The outlines of his armour were there, but no colour, no light, nothing human remained beneath.
[Shadow Commander]
The air around Edward pulsed with mana as the summon straightened, its blade forming from the dark itself. It didn’t wait for commands. The Shadow Commander charged, a blur of motion as it met the Lord of Undead head-on, the clash of steel echoing through the shattered square.
Edward barely saw any of it. His vision was filled with notifications that flashed across his sight in a rapid sequence.
[Rank Up! C → B]
[Shadow Assassin has Evolved!]
[Shadow Assassin → Shadow Reaper]
[Shadow Warriors have Evolved!]
[Shadow Warriors x2 → Shadow Knights x2]
[Shadow Soldiers have Evolved!]
[Shadow Soldiers x7 → Shadow Warriors x7]
"B...?" he muttered the new rank under his breath.
He blinked, chest tightening. He hadn’t even heard the notification when he reached C. In the chaos, he hadn’t once checked his own growth—hadn’t cared to. But now, the truth hit him like a hammer.
He was stronger. Far stronger.
Edward turned toward the advancing horde just as a new wave of undead broke through the smoke. Dozens—no, hundreds—charged through the streets, clawing at the earth, their bodies stitched together by blood-red light.
He grabbed a random sword from the ground—its blade was chipped and burned, but still sharp enough.
The instant he moved, he felt it—mana rushing through his veins like wildfire. His muscles tensed, his steps lightened, the world slowing around him.
He could see everything.
Prince Arthur’s movements—once a blur of golden light—now seemed sluggish, almost predictable. The undead’s attacks, the swing of their claws, the stutter in their rhythm—he saw it all.
And for the first time since the chaos began, the unease he felt washed away.
He dashed forward, cutting through a cluster of undead with one sweep. His blade hummed, the strike leaving behind trails of dark mist as he carved a path toward the center. His shadows surged to match him, their coordination flawless.
The Shadow Reaper moved like a wraith—appearing and disappearing between the bursts of fire and smoke. One moment, it was cutting down an undead’s head and the next, it was gone, reappearing behind another enemy, its short blade flashing like the flicker of a dying flame.
"It seems to have unlocked a new ability," Edward muttered under his breath. The Shadow Reaper didn’t just move fast—it phased through reality, slipping between shadows as if distance meant nothing.
Beside it, two towering figures tore through the dead—the newly formed Shadow Knights. Their armour was dense and solid, their weapons heavy cleavers of pure black light. Each strike split the ground, and even the undead who rose again did so more slowly, as if their attacks could keep the dead at bay, even if just for a moment.
Seven more shadows joined them—his former soldiers, now warriors. Together, they carved through the undead ranks like a tide of darkness meeting rot.
And with every enemy that fell, another shadow rose.
Edward could feel it—the exchange of death for servitude, the growing weight of his control. It was intoxicating. Every fallen foe was fuel. Every kill was another addition to his army.
All around him, the battlefield churned. The royal soldiers regrouped, their lines reinforced by Edward’s summons. What once looked like a hopeless defence now turned into a bloody stalemate.
Yet amidst the chaos, something stirred.
The Lord of Undead stood unmoving at the far end of the square, his black armour glinting beneath the blood-red sky. Arthur and the Shadow Commander faced him, blades raised, tension rippling between them like an invisible current.
Then the Lord lifted his head, his visor gleaming faintly.
A low hum filled the air.
He raised one of his armoured arms, palm open, fingers curling slowly.
Nothing happened at first. The entire battlefield seemed to freeze. Even the fire’s crackle dulled, the screams went quiet.
Then came the sound.
A sharp, piercing chime rang in Edward’s head—like glass cracking underwater.
[System Warning: Shadow Reaper Host Authority Conflict Detected.]
Edward froze.
"...What?"
He scanned the notification again, disbelief twisting in his gut. His connection to the Shadow Reaper flickered for a moment, the link straining. He could feel something—someone—pulling at it.
Then, a cold voice echoed through the air, deep and resonant, as if it came from everywhere at once.
"You dare steal souls in my presence?"
The voice wasn’t just a sound. It pressed down like a physical weight, shaking the ground beneath him. Edward’s breath hitched, his sword trembling in his grasp.
The Lord of Undead turned its head toward him, visor locking directly on his position.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then, slowly, the Shadow Reaper turned too.
Its head tilted toward Edward, the short blade in its hand lowering slightly before rising again in a reversed grip.
The shadows that wrapped its body pulsed once—deep, red-tinged veins of mana rippling through its form.
"No..." Edward whispered. "It can’t—"
The Shadow Reaper’s visor flared crimson.
It raised its short sword—blade pointed directly at Edward.
All around, the undead began to move again.
The Lord’s voice came once more, calm, absolute.
"Your will ends here, necromancer."
The Shadow Reaper stepped forward, the shadow of its blade cutting through the light of the burning sky as it dashed toward Edward.