The pervert Psychic mage Elaith warned us of a Druid lurking in the woods to the north. Druids are somewhat rare, so to find one acting as a scout was rather weird. Nevertheless, I ordered everyone to stay alert, and we marched in a tight formation around Princess Emilia's car.

Sure enough, after only ten minutes, we entered a large clearing in the bare forest, and loads of black-cloaked figures emerged. The recruits seemed flustered at the thought of actual combat, so I started shouting out orders.

They fought surprisingly well, but I can't discern the strength of the opponents since they seem far below me, but so far, we have no casualties, just some minor injuries.

After the final figure falls, I approach the dead body to verify the identity. A lot can be assumed from the corpse.

I reveal its face, and rotting flesh and a foul smell of death greet me. I have never fought the undead as necromancy is rare, but it explains their peculiar fighting pattern and lack of skills.

Then, looking around, I realize all the recruits have abandoned the formation and are staring at the corpse. These fools! In combat, one must always maintain formation. What if we were surprised attacked by a third party?

"Ahhhhhhhughgh"

For fuck's sake! I spin around and see the fucking pervert on the ground screaming. I feel no remorse for him. He would use his Clairvoyance skill to watch the Princess and Queen change clothes all the time. Utterly disgusting.

But before I can reorganize the soldiers, one particularly hot-blooded one runs forward to avenge the mage. "Stop-" I try to shout, but he's busy screaming out runes to use a skill.

I don't think I have seen someone die so pitifully in all my years as a soldier. Dagger to the head while being held onto by a corpse. All to avenge a bastard pervert.

I quickly regain my focus and order everyone into formation. The bodies begin to rise once again. I think long and hard on my training, trying to remember how to defeat the undead. Fire and Light magic were noted to be effective, but I only have sword skills recruits. Sure, some of them could heat their swords with Weapon Arts, but that's not the same as a Fireball or Light Beam.

My Wind Magic was laughably useless in this situation. No matter how hard I flung them away or how many limbs I cut off with my sword, they stood back up.

For ten minutes, we fought, slowly the fatigue accumulated, and eventually, the recruits stopped activating skills. They were gasping for air as the mana depletion cramped up their body and minds.

Suddenly, a young elf to my left screamed as a zombie's claw had ripped out a chunk of his throat. He had been too slow to parry due to fatigue. The elf dropped to the floor and died within seconds.

Despite my years on the battlefield, an emotion that I had locked away through years of training had emerged.

Fear

For the first time in 20 years, I felt fear once more. Another scream sounded as two more elves fell. They were quickly mauled to death by the zombies.

Our formation started to fall apart. With only sixteen of us left, surrounding the car and protecting it from over a hundred zombies was near impossible.

I could run away at any moment, but I would be leaving too much behind. Emilia would never forgive me if I lost the Luna runes and her favourite spy.

A minute passed, and only the deep breaths and clang of swords could be heard. Everyone was focusing on survival. But slowly, everyone began to realize.

Is this the end? No help was coming. None of their attacks worked on the undead. They were outnumbered ten to one. The zombies did not tire, but they certainly did. With every sword swing, the recruit's muscles screamed in protest. They cried for their bodies to recover even a single drop of mana, but their bodies refused to do so. Everything hurt. Was this what actual combat was like?

A few minutes passed, and seven more elves fell in quick succession. Finally, the formation was abandoned, and the remaining nine soldiers tried to cover just a single side. The car rocked back and forth as the zombies tried to climb over from the other side to attack the soldiers from the rear.

"Captain, what can we do?" A young elf girl said through laboured breaths. Beldroth almost broke down into tears from the sight. Her silver hair was a mess, stuck together with dried blood, likely to be both her own blood and the blood of her friends. She had a deep wound across her shoulder and dried tears on her face, yet she still stood firm and fought off the zombies to fulfil her duty.

"There's nothing to be done," Beldroth said grimly. He planned to grab the Luna parchment from Imyrlls hands and run back to the Palace. Everything else would be left behind.

The young elf soldier just gave him a pained smile. "It's alright, Captain, you can leave me behind, it was an honour to fight-" she grunted while parrying a claw from a zombie, "-alongside you and the other elves, I always wondered what war was really like, my mother always told me stories."

Beldroth unleashed a mighty gale for the hundredth time, sending them all flying back, just for the zombies to stand back up moments later and resume the charge. "Persistent bastards." Beldroth cursed under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as a zombie's claw went for the young elf's head. He tried to react, but his body refused to respond. His mana was depleted and needed to recharge.

Just before the claw impacted the girl's head, the door to the car opened and pushed it away.

The giant of a man emerged with blood dripping from his mouth. Beldroth could see Imyrll and Fay passed out in the car's seats.

"This farce has gone on long enough, don't you think, Captain?" Damien gave Beldroth a wide and sinister grin.

Damien's eyes shone blood red as his nails elongated to the size of daggers. Then, his bloodlust burst forth, causing the usually mindless zombies to falter for a second.

"I think it's time for a slaughter," Damien muttered coldly.