Darion had anticipated something like this. That was why he had reassured himself in his mind that no matter how powerful what came at them, he should be coming out on top because he had a bunch of pretty strong undead animals and 150 undead knights in his inventory.

He had told himself that he was prepared for anything the forest could throw at him, that his army would be enough to handle whatever emerged from the shadows.

But seeing what he was facing seemed to strip every ounce of that reassurance from him. It made him look like a boy with his little sister, Seren, and some dogs, the undeads currently summoned. The Yuimons made it look like they had come out to play in the forest and had just been attacked by some danger, as if Darion and Seren were the intruders, not the other way around.

Darion knew that this world was filled with many dangerous creatures. It was stated that forests roam with supernatural beasts, creatures that are so weird and strong and deadly and seemingly ugly, because beauty is objective.

He had heard stories from the knights, from travelers, from Garren, about the things that lived in the deepest parts of the woods.

Being Baron of Percvale for quite some time now, he had been linking this world to his Earth, behaving all casual and all that stuff. He had started to think of this place as familiar, as something he could understand and control. He had forgotten that this world was not Earth, that it operated by different rules, that it held dangers he couldn’t even imagine.

Seeing these Yuimons made him realize just how many more monstrous creatures were out there in the forest. If four of these things could exist in one place, what else was lurking in the shadows? What else was waiting to be discovered? The forest was vast, and they had only scratched the surface. There could be anything out there. Anything.

The Yuimons howled collectively now, a sound that seemed to shake the very air around them. It was loud and deep and resonant, a sound that carried through the trees and echoed back from the hills. The undead animals just stared, unfazed, ready for a command by Darion to attack or something. They didn’t feel fear, didn’t understand the danger they were facing. They just waited.

Seren looked at Darion, expecting the same thing. Her bow was still raised, her arrow still nocked, but she was waiting for his signal. She wasn’t going to act until he did.

The creatures hit their chest loudly now, a rhythmic thumping that sounded like war drums. They were showing off, asserting their dominance, telling Darion and Seren that they were prey and that resistance was futile.

In just a split second, Darion calculated like a racing car, very fast. His mind raced through the possibilities, weighing the options, assessing the situation.

Run? Not possible. They were surrounded, and that was just pathetic. Running would only get them killed faster. It wasn’t even in the conversation as an option.

Fight? Now we’re talking. Hell yeah!

He made his decision. He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to negotiate. He was going to fight, and he was going to win.

Just with a thought, Darion immediately reached into his inventory and summoned all 150 of his knights. He wasn’t taking any chances. He was summoning everything.

The undeads materialized.

Boom.

They appeared in waves, green light flashing across the clearing as the first ranks formed. Then the second, the third, the fourth, until the entire space between the trees was filled with armored figures. Their green eyes glowed in the dim light, a sea of emerald that seemed to push back the shadows. Their armor was rusted but intact, their weapons still sharp, their bodies preserved by the magic that had brought them back to life.

They lined up in formation, each knight finding its place without needing to be told. It was instinct, the preserved memory of their former lives, the knowledge of how to stand, how to move, how to fight. They formed rows, then columns, creating a solid wall of undead soldiers that stretched from one side of the clearing to the other.

Darion saw his status screen now:

[Legion formation, initialized!]

The words glowed in front of him, a confirmation that his army was ready. He had never summoned all 150 knights at once before. He had never needed to. But now, facing four creatures that the system had rated as Very High threat, he needed every advantage he could get.

The Yuimons paused, their chest-thumping stopping abruptly. They seemed to sense that something had changed, that the balance of power had shifted. They looked at the ranks of undead knights, then back at each other, as if trying to decide what to do next.

Darion didn’t give them time to decide.

Almost all his undeads were holding swords by the way, though rusty, they would very much do the job. The blades were old, covered in patches of brown and orange corrosion, but they were still sharp enough to cut. The rust didn’t matter. A sword didn’t need to be shiny to kill. It just needed to be pointed at the right place at the right time.

Now why were they holding swords? Well, when Darion unearthed their graves, the swords had been buried with them. It was a sign of respect, the knights had been laid to rest with their weapons, as was tradition for warriors who had died in service to their Barony.

The sword was a symbol of their duty, their honor, their willingness to fight and die for Percvale. It had been buried with them so they would have it in the afterlife or wherever, so they would not be defenseless when they faced whatever came next.

And now they were all holding those weapons, raised high, ready to fight. Their eyes glowed green, cold and deadly, fixed on the Yuimons with an intensity that made even Darion feel a chill. They were not alive, but they were not mindless either. They knew what they were doing. They knew what they were facing. And they were ready.

"Attack," he said. The command was simple, direct, carrying all the weight of his authority.

The Undead knights surged forward.