Chương 14: The Army Beneath the Moon

Ch 14 - The Army Beneath the Moon Zeph was thrown. His body slammed hard against something uneven, sharp objects scraping across his skin as he rolled across rough ground. The first thing he noticed when he crashed into the inside of the rift was how much darker it was than he expected. And then the smell hit him. He groaned as a wave of rotten stench forced its way into his nose. It was thick, suffocating. The surface beneath him felt damp, yet hard, and disgustingly foul.

He forced himself upright, trying to figure out where he was.

The moment he pushed himself up, he froze and instinctively stumbled backward. There was a corpse. His right hand had been gripping something. He turned to look and recoiled again. Another corpse. Zeph scrambled to his feet and jumped back, his eyes darting in every direction. His body trembled, shock creeping into his limbs. No way. No way. What the hell is this? He was standing on what looked like an open field, but it resembled the aftermath of a battlefield. Bodies in long, torn armor were scattered everywhere.

Swords were still embedded in some of them. Broken arrows stuck out from ribs and shoulders. Armor plates lay cracked beside lifeless forms. And they were not fresh. The bodies had rotted. Skin had turned dark and shriveled. Some had collapsed inward, half eaten by time. Zeph looked down at his hand. It was damp. He grimaced and wiped it harshly against his pants. It looked like midnight. A pale moon hung overhead, making every corpse painfully visible.

On one side of the field stood a large mound, like something piled deliberately. On the other side stretched a forest and beyond that, low hills under the night sky. But something was wrong. Zeph slowly turned in a full circle. There was no movement. No voices. No sign of anyone else.

"Where are the others?" Nine more people had entered the rift with him. They should have landed together, or at least near each other.

"If a group enters a rift at the same time, they're supposed to arrive at the same point. Or at least close to it," he muttered. But right now, he was alone. Zeph forced himself to breathe steadily and began scanning the area more carefully. He moved forward, stepping lightly, then jumping to avoid landing directly on the bodies. He searched for a clearer patch of ground where fewer corpses lay scattered.

On one side, he saw a pile of bodies stacked on top of each other as if they had been gathered and thrown together. Just looking at it made his stomach twist. Zeph had to get out of this place. Away from this field of rot and death. He needed to find the others, and more than that, he could barely endure the stench that filled the air and clung to his lungs. But where was he supposed to go? Damn it. This was a mess. He needed to find the rest of the team, yet there was no simple way to do that.

Communication devices did not work inside a rift. In an expedition team of ten people, there was usually at least one scout. Someone responsible for navigation, tracking, and mapping the terrain. Their job was to move ahead quietly, read the land, and secure safe routes. But Zeph had been thrown here alone. Suddenly, his body stiffened. He remembered something. This was inside a rift. Which meant it was dangerous by default. Monsters were a natural part of any rift.

Even if this was classified as Tier One, meaning the creatures inside should be within the range that a Rank One Apprentice could handle, that did not mean it was safe. If the monsters here moved in groups, things could turn bad very quickly. For now, the smartest thing to do was not to wander blindly. He needed a hiding place. A temporary retreat. Somewhere defensible where he could rest, observe, and think clearly. After that, he could figure out how to locate the others. Zeph scanned the surroundings again.

The open field was too exposed. The piled corpses were worse. The forest might hide predators. The hills in the distance offered elevation, but reaching them meant crossing open ground. Then his gaze settled on something else. Near the edge of the battlefield, partially obscured by shadow, stood the crumbling remains of what looked like a stone watchtower. Half of it had collapsed, but part of the structure was still standing. Its upper level was broken, yet the base looked intact enough to provide cover.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. High ground. Solid walls. A single narrow entrance. Zeph made up his mind. He would head for the ruined watchtower. He moved immediately. Zeph ran, occasionally leaping to avoid stepping directly on the corpses. Even if they were already dead, the thought of crushing decayed flesh under his boots made his stomach twist. The stench was so overwhelming that his nose had almost gone numb. Then suddenly, he tripped.

His body pitched forward, and he slammed into the ground, barely managing to catch himself with both hands. Damn it. His foot had been caught on something. He twisted around to look, and his breath stopped. A hand was gripping his left ankle. For a split second, his mind refused to process it. He kicked instinctively with his right leg, trying to shake it off, but the grip did not loosen. Zeph looked around desperately for anything he could use. A sword lay nearby, half buried beneath a corpse.

He grabbed it and raised it, ready to slash at the hand clutching him. But before he could strike, his body was yanked sideways. He crashed hard onto the ground again as something else seized his left arm. His heart skipped. He turned his head. The corpse was moving! No. No. No. Movement rippled across the battlefield. Not just one. Several. Then dozens. Zeph gritted his teeth and brought the sword down hard on the hand gripping his ankle. The blade bit through decayed flesh.

He tore his leg free and kicked violently at the arm clutching his wrist until it released him. He scrambled back to his feet. All around him, the armored corpses were rising. Some were halfway upright, others already standing, their movements stiff and broken but undeniably alive. Zeph's muscles tightened. He had to run. He gripped the sword firmly and bolted toward one side, weaving between the staggering figures. As he passed one, he considered taking its head off, but that would waste time.

Then he stopped abruptly. Several corpses in front of him were already fully standing, facing him directly. Zeph spun around, searching for another escape route. Too late. The battlefield was no longer a field of the dead. It was a tightening circle. The armored corpses had risen, surrounding him from all sides. There was no clear path out anymore. He tightened his grip on the sword, teeth grinding. If he could not run, then he would carve his way through. [Epic Grade Transformation Sigil: Night Cavalry Activated!] His heart pounded violently in his chest. Dark energy began to coil around his body, spreading like smoke from within. In an instant, the familiar mask formed over his face. His breathing slowed. He raised his sword, ready to strike, ready to break through at the first opening.

"Let's do it," he muttered. If this was the kind of enemy waiting inside this rift, then this was a death worth fighting for. The armored corpses were holding swords. Their bodies leaned at unnatural angles, joints stiff and crooked. Their eyes burned with a dim red glow, yet there was something strange about them. They did not immediately attack. Instead, their heads turned in different directions, as if confused. As if searching for something. At least that was what Zeph thought.

Then, almost at the same time, they began to move. They walked. Zeph remained frozen in place as the undead soldiers started marching in one direction. Some limped badly, dragging one leg behind them. Others moved with uneven steps. Yet every footstep struck the ground with surprising force. Their bodies were decayed, but they did not feel fragile. There was weight in their movement. Two of them passed right by Zeph. They did not even glance at him.

"Are these corpses seriously ignoring me?" he muttered, still gripping his sword tightly, ready to react to the slightest shift. One by one, the undead soldiers shuffled past him. Not all of the bodies had risen, but there were still many. Enough to form a small army. As Zeph observed more carefully, he noticed something else. The corpses wore different armor styles. There were clear differences in design and color.

Even the torn cloth attached to their armor, likely remnants of banners or insignia, showed variation. It looked like two opposing factions. For simplicity, Zeph labeled them in his mind as the Red side and the Green side, based on the faded cloth and detailing still visible on their armor. The ones currently rising and marching were wearing green insignia.

"Where are they going?" he whispered. They continued forward, completely disregarding him. Could he assume that these undead soldiers would not attack the living? No. That would be reckless. Whatever was happening here, he had to remain alert. He decided to wait until the marching group had moved far enough away. Once they cleared the area, he would run in the opposite direction. Still, something felt deeply wrong. This was supposed to be a Tier One rift. Was that not too much for a Tier One?

An entire battlefield of undead soldiers? This did not feel like the kind of threat meant for ordinary Rank 1 Apprentices. This felt far worse. Zeph stayed where he was. Completely still. Even his breathing slowed until it felt like he was barely inhaling at all. Every now and then, he swallowed, painfully aware of how tight his throat had become. He knew he could revive if he was killed. But… if he had to die by being eaten by these undead soldiers? Yeah. The thought alone made his stomach churn.

There were too many of them. Far too many. He kept his sword raised, gripping it tightly, never lowering it for even a second. Yet it was obvious now that the undead were simply passing him. Some even adjusted their path slightly, turning just enough to avoid brushing against him. They were aware of his presence, that much was clear. But they did not attack.

"Maybe they're actually friendly?" he thought, trying to calm himself. But, this was taking forever. They moved painfully slowly. Realistically, he could probably run and outrun them without much trouble. But he crushed that instinct immediately and forced himself to stay still. Until this ends. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the undead passed him. Zeph remained frozen, cold sweat soaking his back. For a ridiculous second, he wondered if he had wet himself. Or maybe it was just sweat.

No way. That would be stupid. He turned slowly, watching the mass of undead figures continue their march across the battlefield.

"Where are they going?" he wondered. And why did they rise the exact moment he arrived? Or… was it not a coincidence? Could it be that they had awakened in response to intruders entering the rift? That was a possibility. Maybe this was their role. To rise when outsiders arrived. To carry out whatever function this rift demanded. To become the trial for those who stepped inside. If that was true, then… Should he follow them? If they were moving with purpose, they might lead him somewhere important.

Maybe even toward the rest of the expedition team. However, for some reason, Zeph chose to stay. After making absolutely sure that the undead soldiers had moved farther away, he dared to take a single step. He glanced back, and the undead showed no reaction at all. He took another step, then quickly broke into a run. This time he was far more careful, measuring every movement with caution. Until at last, he stood right in front of the very structure he had chosen to approach. His breath came out in heavy gasps.

His chest rose and fell sharply. But before he could move again, he suddenly stopped. His instincts forced him to freeze in silence, because he saw something ahead. Moments later, a loud rumbling sound erupted from deep within that place. Then the roar grew even louder, like an angry shout bursting into the air. Zeph knew this was not a good sign. He spun around quickly and tried to run. But everything happened too fast.

Something shot past above his body, moving at incredible speed, before crashing violently into the ground not far in front of him. And for the first time, Zeph truly raised his head and saw clearly what had appeared before him. Was this what people called a calamity?