In the deep hush preceding dawn, while the land still lay cloaked in shadow and mist clung ghost-like to the silent groves, Captain Jacobs' newly constituted army assembled. Heavy Reconnaissance Unit 18, now twelve strong with its recent additions, formed the core, their seasoned veterans mingling with the quiet readiness of the newcomers. Alongside them stood the formidable augmentation force: one hundred and twenty regular soldiers drawn from the Danit regional garrisons, their ranks comprising grim-faced veterans and determined younger troops, their polished mail and sharpened steel gleaming dully in the pre-dawn gloom. A force exceeding one hundred and thirty souls, united by grim purpose.
At precisely four o'clock, under Jacobs' quiet command, the column moved out from their temporary encampment. They advanced not with the fanfare of a parade but with the stealthy tread of hunters, melting into the forested terrain bordering the desolate track leading towards the Bandit graveyard, still over one hundred and seventy kilometers distant. Their pace was measured, calculated to conserve stamina, traversing the rough terrain efficiently while minimizing noise. Jacobs intended to reach the designated rendezvous point near the graveyard before the harsh midday sun reached its zenith, allowing ample time for final tactical briefings, equipment checks, and crucial rest before the planned dawn assault the following day.
The march continued through the morning hours, the landscape gradually shifting from dense woods to more open, rolling hills marked by ancient, weathered stones and patches of barren, cursed earth - remnants of forgotten conflicts that had soaked this land in blood centuries ago. Nearing noon, as the sun climbed high, casting sharp shadows, they reached the rendezvous point - a sheltered depression screened by a stand of gnarled oaks.
Waiting for them, already deployed in disciplined ranks, were the liaisons from the local command: Captain Harold, a Paladin whose stern features seemed carved from granite, his plate armor gleaming with the soft luminescence of faith, his hand resting confidently on the pommel of his sheathed blade; and beside him, Captain Nathan, a Shield specialist whose massive, iron-bound tower shield looked capable of stopping a charging behemoth, his expression calm and resolute beneath his steel helm. Both were seasoned Rank 3 officers, commanders of the local garrisons providing the bulk of the augmentation force - twenty Rank 2 soldiers, forty Rank 1s, and sixty recruits yet to fully awaken their aether potential but trained rigorously in disciplined support roles.
Jacobs dismounted, Henry, Harold, and Nathan joining him for an immediate tactical conference beside a cluster of standing stones. Scouts arrived moments later, delivering the latest reconnaissance reports, confirming the grim intelligence. The Necromancer, ensconced deep within the desecrated graveyard, had indeed been active. Unable to raid nearby villages due to the swift evacuation, he had instead focused his dark energies on bolstering his existing forces. The estimated Undead numbers had swelled significantly overnight.
"Current assessment places the legion at approximately two hundred units now," the lead scout reported, his voice tight. "The core threat remains a single Rank 3 Bone Keeper - heavily armored, wielding a great-axe, commanding the skeletal contingent. Skeleton commanders lead lesser ranks. We've also confirmed the presence of multiple Disease Wraiths and Rocky Zombies among the Rank 2 threats. The remainder are standard low-level fodder, but their numbers have increased."
Two hundred undead. Against their force of just over one hundred thirty. Numerically disadvantageous, yet qualitatively, Zephyros held the edge. A well-trained, properly equipped soldier, especially under competent command, could typically dispatch multiple low-level skeletons or zombies. Wraiths and specialized undead like the Bone Keeper presented greater challenges, but were not insurmountable, especially given their preparations.
"With appropriate countermeasures," Henry assessed quietly, his mind already calculating force disposition and tactical vectors, his Mystic Sense subtly probing the ambient energy of the nearby graveyard, feeling the distant, cloying taint of necromancy, "sixty disciplined soldiers, properly supported, should theoretically suffice to neutralize the bulk of the legion, provided we can eliminate the command structure swiftly."
The primary objective remained unchanged: penetrate the undead screen and neutralize the Rank 4 Necromancer before he could summon further reinforcements, unleash more potent horrors, or complete whatever dark ritual necessitated his presence in this unhallowed ground. Given the augmented force and the presence of four capable field commanders - Jacobs - Rank 4, Harold - Rank 3 Paladin, Nathan - Rank 3 Shield Captain, and Henry himself - Rank 3 - a decisive strategy quickly took shape.
"We divide into three functional groups," Jacobs declared, sketching lines on a rough field map laid across a flat stone. "Maximum combat effectiveness, minimal friendly casualties. Group One," he indicated the core, "will comprise four dedicated Strike Teams. Eight soldiers per team, including mixed Ranks for versatility. Each team led by one of us four." He looked at Harold, Nathan, and Henry, receiving curt nods of understanding. "We attack simultaneously from four cardinal directions upon my signal - North, South, East, West - forming a closing pincer movement. Objective: penetrate all defensive layers rapidly, converge on the Necromancer's suspected position at the graveyard's center," he tapped the map, "and eliminate him. Speed is paramount."
He drew concentric circles around the central point. "Group Two: Inner Cordon. Ten teams, five soldiers each. Their task is to engage the main body of the Undead legion after the Strike Teams breach the outer defenses. They will form a contracting inner circle, depleting the enemy's numbers, pinning them in place, preventing them from reinforcing the Necromancer or overwhelming the Strike Teams from the rear."
Finally, he traced the outermost perimeter. "Group Three: Outer Cordon. Twenty-five two-soldier teams. They hold the absolute perimeter. Their duty is to intercept and eliminate any Undead attempting to break through the Inner Cordon or flee the engagement zone. They are our final line, ensuring the Necromancer cannot escape and the battle does not spill outwards."
The plan was aggressive, relying heavily on the speed and success of the four Strike Teams. Spreading their forces across three distinct operational groups thinned their lines considerably. If Group One failed to neutralize the Necromancer quickly, if they became bogged down or suffered heavy casualties, the disciplined structure could collapse catastrophically. The pinned Undead, potentially re-energized or redirected by a desperate Necromancer, could easily overwhelm the depleted Inner and Outer Cordons. Failure for the Strike Teams meant likely annihilation for the entire force. The stakes were absolute.
"Standard countermeasures remain effective against this assessed threat level," Jacobs continued, transitioning to logistics. "Holy water, purification powders, light-infused weaponry - these are our primary advantages against the Undead." He gestured towards the supply wagons being unloaded nearby. "Ensure every soldier is equipped. Blades and arrowheads are to be consecrated with holy water immediately prior to engagement. Each soldier carries supplemental vials for ranged application and personal purification powder for area denial and weakening effects." He glanced towards Henry and Sophia, who had rejoined the main group. "Specialized artifacts, such as those provided by the Cathedral," acknowledging Sophia's successful requisition, "will be deployed strategically within the Strike Teams for maximum impact against higher-tier Undead like Wraiths or the Bone Keeper." Standard Rank 1 light rings, blessed monthly at local chapels, were distributed amongst the regular troops as a baseline defense.
With the strategy agreed upon and logistical preparations underway, only the timing remained. "The Undead draw power from darkness, and are weakest under the full light of day," Harold, the Paladin, stated, his voice resonating with conviction. "Dawn offers the optimal tactical advantage. We strike with the rising sun."
Nods of agreement around the circle. The assault would commence at first light tomorrow. The remainder of the day was dedicated to rest, meticulous equipment preparation, final briefings within individual teams, and quiet contemplation before the impending battle.
Deep within the desecrated earth of the Bandit graveyard, amidst the skeletal remains of ancient outlaws and the freshly animated corpses of the recently disturbed, a figure squatted upon the cold, barren ground. Cloaked in shadow, surrounded by the shuffling, grotesque forms of his newly summoned minions, the Necromancer chuckled, a dry, rasping sound like bones grinding together. His gaunt hands, stained with grave dirt and something darker, caressed the earth, feeling the deep, cold thrum of power gathering beneath. His bloodshot eyes, visible within the cowl's darkness, glinted with malevolent light, reflecting a mind consumed by cruelty and burgeoning madness.
"Hmph," he hissed, the sound barely audible above the moans of his legion. "The wretched lambs of Zephyros finally gather for the slaughter, do they?" A twisted, chilling grin stretched his thin lips. "Excellent. Let them come. Let them bring their pathetic holy trinkets and misplaced faith. The more prepared they believe themselves to be, the sweeter their despair shall taste when they become fuel for the true ritual." He stroked the cold ground again, his skeletal fingers tracing unseen patterns. "Just one more day… yes… one day is all that remains to complete the Grand Summoning. They arrive only to serve as the final, freshest sacrifices…"
Hours later, under the cloak of the deepest night, the Zephyros force began its final, stealthy advance. Moving with practiced silence through the darkened woods and across the mist-shrouded hills surrounding the graveyard, they deployed into their designated positions, forming the three concentric rings of the planned assault. Jacobs, positioned with his Strike Team to the south, maintained intermittent contact with the forward scouts via coded light signals.
The reports remained consistent: the Necromancer was still present, seemingly focused on his ritual. The Undead legion had indeed grown, now estimated closer to three hundred, but the additions appeared to be primarily low-level fodder. No significant change in the disposition of higher-tier threats. Nothing overtly unusual…
Yet, a profound unease settled upon Jacobs. Why summon more weaklings now? It offered minimal tactical advantage against their prepared force, yet would undoubtedly consume significant reserves of the Necromancer's personal aether, leaving him more vulnerable to a direct assault. It seemed… careless. Amateurish, even, for a Rank 4 practitioner. Unless… unless the summoning itself wasn't the goal, but merely a component of something else? Something larger?
Lost in these troubling thoughts, Jacobs stiffened as a figure burst from the treeline ahead, galloping towards his position at a reckless speed that ignored standard stealth protocols. It was Henry, his expression stark with urgency, his horse lathered, clearly having ridden hard from his own Strike Team's position on the northern flank.
"Captain!" Henry reined in sharply beside Jacobs, leaping from the saddle before the horse had fully stopped, his voice tight, urgent. "Captain, we must attack! Now! Immediately!"
Jacobs' eyes narrowed, his unease solidifying into alarm at Henry's undisguised urgency. "Report, Henry! What have you discovered? What's changed?"
"My senses, Captain" Henry gestured frantically back towards the graveyard, hidden beyond the next rise. "I can perceive it clearly now - a massive accumulation of dark aether coalescing beneath the graveyard! It's immense, deep, suffused with… countless negative energies, raw and chaotic. I cannot discern its precise nature - pure energy, a buried artifact, perhaps even some dormant dark entity being awakened - but its power signature is… terrifying. And it's building rapidly!" He met Jacobs' gaze, his eyes wide with certainty. "The Necromancer isn't just summoning undead - he's conducting a far larger ritual! That's why he's holding his ground!"
"The summoning… a catalyst? Fuel?" Jacobs processed the horrifying implication instantly. "Can you estimate how long until this ritual… culminates?" His voice was sharp, urgent now.
Henry focused inward, extending his Sense, probing the burgeoning darkness. "Based on the escalating energy fluctuations… less than two hours, Captain. Possibly much less."
Jacobs cursed under his breath. Their dawn assault plan was useless. They had maybe ninety minutes. "Alright," he nodded decisively, all trace of doubt gone, replaced by steely resolve. "The timetable moves up. We attack immediately. No further delay, no more stealth." He turned, barking orders to his nearby officers. "Signal Harold and Nathan - immediate assault readiness! All units converge now!" He thrust a small, cylindrical object into Henry's hand - a signal flare, its casing a fiery red.
"You spotted it first, Henry, your flank is likely closest to being fully prepared. Ride hard. When you assess all four Strike Teams are in attack position, launch this flare. That is the signal. Commence the assault!"
Henry nodded grimly, vaulting back onto his exhausted horse without a word. He spurred the animal forward, back towards the northern flank, a silhouette swallowed by the pre-dawn mist, leaving behind a faint trail of disturbed earth. The urgent pounding of hooves echoed his own frantic heartbeat. He raced against time, carrying the signal that would unleash the unprepared fury of the Zephyros army against an unknown, potentially catastrophic, awakening horror. Charging ahead of the now rapidly advancing main formation, he felt the weight of the flare in his hand, scanned the darkness for the responding signals from the other flanks, and prepared to ignite the fire that would begin the battle for survival.