Chapter 700: Timely Support.

The pounding of heavy footsteps rolled across the plain.

It was faint at first, a dull thud that reached them between the cracks of the chains. Then it grew louder, and the ground began to tremble beneath their boots.

The Lancer’s eyes stayed locked on the darkness, her spear trembling in her hands. Something large was running toward them, and it was moving fast.

Likewise, the Hunter heard the incoming heavy footsteps.

He lowered his bow a fraction and squinted into the dark, his face drawn tight.

"That sound..." he muttered. "Is something else coming?"

The Berserker swung his axe to deflect a chain and cast a glance over his shoulder. His breath caught.

"Damn it, not another one..."

"..W-What is that..." the Wind Mage stuttered.

Her voice was thin and cracked, and her hand tightened around her staff until her knuckles went white.

No one answered her.

Their hearts pounded so hard against their chests that they could barely hear their own thoughts.

They were still fighting for their lives, defending with all their might against three Fallen that gave them no room to breathe, and now something else was racing toward them.

The undead Storm Tyrant burst forward from deep within the darkness.

Its heavy hammer rested on its shoulder, and every stride shook the stone.

It did not slow when it saw the fight.

It did not hesitate at the sight of the three Fallen.

It simply ran straight toward them.

At that very moment, the nearest Fallen swung its anchor high above the Lancer’s head.

"Look out!" the Hunter screamed.

The Lancer saw the shadow fall across her. She threw her spear up, but she knew it would not be enough. The iron came down with a whistle that made her stomach drop.

The undead Storm Tyrant leaped.

It cleared the last stretch of ground in a single bound, its massive frame blotting out the Lancer vision.

The undead Storm Tyrant swung its hammer around in a wide, brutal arc.

Whoosh!

The hammer met the anchor in midair.

Bang!

The impact exploded across the plain like thunder. A shockwave rolled outward, and dust and loose gravel sprayed in every direction.

The anchor was knocked off its path and slammed into the ground a few steps from the Lancer, cracking the rock open.

The Fallen reeled backward, its arm thrown wide.

The undead Storm Tyrant landed in front of the Lancer, its feet driving deep into the stone. It stood there between her and the Fallen, its hammer lowered, its soul fire steady.

Watching the undead Storm Tyrant back, the Lancer jaw dropped to the ground.

"..Un..Undead..." she stumbled, her face draining of color.

Not only her.

The Hunter’s bow slipped in his grip, and his eyes went wide with disbelief. The Berserker froze with his axe half raised, his jaw hanging open.

The Wind Mage’s lips trembled, and the Healer looked up and her whole body going rigid.

An undead!

Where did it come from?

More importantly, it just saved them.

Various questions flooded their mind like a broken dam. Each of them stood frozen, unable to speak.

"What are you doing?"

The voice rolled across the plain, calm and cold.

"Are you going to stay frozen and wait for the Fallen to kill you?"

The voice cut through the thick, suffocating silence like a blade.

The Lancer held her breath while the Hunter’s fingers twitched on his bowstring. For a moment, the clash of chains seemed to fade, and the only thing left was the echo of that voice.

"Hmm?"

’Who’s voice was that?!’ They thought, their mind racing with confusion.

It was not the voice of any member of their party.

The party turned hastily toward the sound. Their eyes widened, and their weapons shook in their hands.

None of them dared to lower their guard, and the Berserker still swung his axe to knock a chain aside while he looked.

They were being attacked from every direction, yet every one of them kept their eyes on the darkness.

A figure stepped out of it.

He walked slowly, unhurried, his boots crunching softly across the gravel.

He was a young man with silver hair and calm, steady deep blue eyes. He looked at the chaos around him as if it were nothing more than a street fight.

The darkness still clung to the edges of the plain, but it did not matter. Awakeners could see in the dark, even if not by much, and they saw him clearly enough.

They saw the lack of fear in his face.

They saw the way he glanced at the three Fallen and then looked away, as though they were not worth another look.

The Wind Mage’s lips parted.

The Healer stared at him with tear-streaked eyes, unsure whether to hope or to be afraid.

How could someone walk through this place so calmly?

Thoren stopped a few steps from the battle, and his gaze passed over the party. Then he spoke again, his tone casual, unbothered by the shock written across their faces.

"My undead will handle this. You three should fight the other two."

The undead Storm Tyrant did not wait for a second longer.

Its soul fire flared in the hollows of its eyes, and it lunged at the Fallen in front of it. It gripped its heavy hammer with both hands.

The Fallen that had just been thrown off balance was still pulling its anchor back, and it had barely lifted its head when the undead Storm Tyrant closed the distance.

It swung the hammer in a wide, deadly arc.

Whoosh!

Bang!

The first strike smashed into the Fallen’s chest. Rusted ribs split with a sharp crack, and flakes of metal and dried salt burst from its body.

The Fallen’s feet left the ground, and it was driven backward several meters before it dragged its heels through the gravel and caught itself.

Its green sockets flared.

It raised a chain and whipped it toward the undead Storm Tyrant’s head.