Ding! Level Up! 5 Stat Points Remaining!

His level rose, and at the same moment, Yoahim slew yet another undead. He rampaged across the battlefield on his ghost horse, determined to rack up as many levels as possible here today.

The area around him was swarming with undead pouring out in waves, putting his allied forces in grave danger. Yoahim prioritized the undead attacking his allies over the others.

It was partly to save them, but the biggest reason was to snag easy experience from finishing blows. Of course, experience gained was proportional to overall combat contribution, so stealing kills did reduce the share. Still, with enemies everywhere, even a mere tap yielded an amount too substantial to ignore.

'The Apostle saved me...'

'So strong... As expected of the Apostle!'

'He values the soldiers' lives this much!'

Yoahim had indeed rescued the endangered soldiers, but that wasn't his main goal. He'd just laid his spoon on a fully set table, yet the troops were getting the wrong idea on their own.

"Help ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Apostle!"

"The Apostle fights with us!"

"For Kakali!"

Yoahim's "good deed" that wasn't really one boosted the soldiers' morale significantly. Those he'd saved followed in his wake, cutting down the charging enemies.

As he wildly steered the ghost horse and felled foes nonstop, Yoahim suddenly noticed far fewer enemies lunging at him. He panicked.

"What the hell are these guys doing?!"

Glancing back, he saw hundreds of soldiers trailing him. And on closer look, they weren't just from his vanguard unit—soldiers from other detachments were mixed in too.

What about your own units? Why are you following me?

It was utterly ridiculous, but even more absurd was that the soldiers were killing the enemies he should have taken out himself.

What is this? Hunting ground control?

Yoahim blanked out, recalling times in games when others had messed with his farming spots.

No, what the fuck are you doing? You're taking all my kills!

Gritting his teeth, he spurred the ghost horse even faster to shake them off. But the soldiers bared their own teeth and chased after him relentlessly.

Realizing he'd lose all his prey at this rate, Yoahim quickly pulled the oak staff from his inventory.

He could cast spells barehanded now, but the staff boosted his intellect stat, maximizing damage when equipped.

Yoahim swung the staff toward a clustered mass of enemies.

"Fireball!"

The blazing orb hurtled forth, detonating with a massive roar. Not quite on Haellagos's level, but a powerfully devastating strike nonetheless.

Killing so many at once bumped his level up by one. Yoahim cheered inwardly—but overlooked one key fact.

Where there were many enemies, there were many allies. And killing many enemies meant...

Saving many allies, naturally.

The soldiers, struggling against the ever-growing undead hordes, were awestruck by Yoahim's display of wiping them out in one go.

And the result?

"Yoahim! Yoahim! Yoahim!"

"Follow the Apostle! Kakali's incarnation fights with us!"

"For Kakali! For Kakali!"

Why is this happening again?

Yoahim panicked at the soldiers now following him with even greater fanaticism.

He'd handed vanguard command to Leon and Sasha precisely so he could farm solo. Yet somehow, troops kept tailing him, their numbers swelling with every fight and their zeal burning hotter.

Fuck it, whatever!

He had no clue why they followed or how to ditch them. So Yoahim decided to just charge ahead with them in tow.

"Charge the inner castle!"

Biljera Castle had two walls: outer and inner. Haellagos had blasted the outer gate with magic earlier, and now Billad's shock troops hammered the inner gate.

Thanks to their relentless battering ram assaults, the ironclad gate was reduced to ragged scraps. One more push, and it'd shatter, letting soldiers flood in.

Yoahim led his trailing mob toward the gate, timing it to breach the moment it fell.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Even amid the battlefield din, the clear impacts signaled the gate's end was near.

As Billad roared and swung the ram once more—

BOOM!

Splinters flew everywhere, hurling back the soldiers at the gate. Billad himself staggered, shards embedded in his body.

"What the...?"

Yoahim clearly saw the gate explode before the ram even struck. Amid the rising pale smoke near it, shadowy silhouettes flickered.

"Kill Haellagos's dogs!"

Bursting forth with deafening roars were heavily armored knights of massive build. One sword swing felled two or three soldiers; one mace blow toppled four or five like marionettes with cut strings.

No way... Death Knights?

That level of power could only be explained by Death Knights. Yoahim swallowed hard at the sight of over ten emerging.

They're weaker than Aljes, though.

Even among Death Knights, tiers varied. Haellagos's adjutant Aljes wouldn't lose to them, and fellow adjutant Billad could match them too.

These ones were probably ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mid-90s at best—something Yoahim could handle.

The problem isn't us. It's the soldiers.

Soldiers stood no chance against Death Knights. They died in droves per swing, unable to land a single proper attack.

And the more soldiers die, the more enemies we face.

Biljera was Alzahar's fortress. Here, his power was absolute—every corpse became the lich's puppet.

Mass soldier deaths against the Death Knights would just multiply their foes.

Guess I have no choice but to handle them.

He didn't plan to solo all ten-plus. His side had heavy hitters who could tangle with Death Knights too; they'd thin the herd together.

"Don't follow me! I'm going after the Death Knights!"

The soldiers nodded at his shout. They knew they were useless against them—dying would only hinder.

"Hyah!"

Yoahim spurred his ghost horse straight at a Death Knight massacring soldiers alone. He'd smash it with the horse's speed and mass.

But—

"You!"

The Death Knight didn't dodge the charging ghost horse. Instead, it lowered its shoulder and charged back, meeting force with force.

Yoahim was startled, but too late to turn. Horse and knight collided; neither yielded, both flying back.

"Fucking lunatic!"

Yoahim tumbled off, rolling several times before spitting out dirt and cursing. Is that thing insane? Taking a cavalry charge with its body?

Ignoring his throbbing body from the fall, he clenched his fists and rose. The ghost horse had been forcibly unsummoned by the impact. He could resummon it with mana, but he wanted to conserve even a drop for the fight.

"Come at me!"

The Death Knight that body-blocked the charge didn't look fine either. Its armor was dented, left shoulder dangling. Undead death energy patched it quickly, but the awkward movement lingered.

Yoahim had no intention of dragging this out. As the Death Knight lunged, he aimed his sword right back.

Despite its bulk, its movements were nimble. Swordsmanship befitting the name: fluid combos flowing like water, insidious traps ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exploiting gaps. Perfect.

Strong.

One clash told him everything. The Death Knight's blade wasn't just swift and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sharp—it packed destructive power matching its massive frame. Heavy blows shoved Yoahim's sword aside, aiming to crush flesh and steal life.

The Death Knight had honed its skills through countless swings, alive and undead. Its weight carried eons; it was no light matter.

But that didn't matter.

I can win.

No matter how agile its moves or devastating its swordplay—none of it mattered.

Yoahim was certain of victory here.

Because every move is visible.

I'm just stronger.

Winning fights didn't need fancy reasons. The weak lost; the strong won. Simple as that.

And Yoahim was stronger than this Death Knight. Far stronger.

I see every target, every follow-up, every feint from trap or true strike.

Being able to wield sword aura meant crossing a major threshold. Now, Yoahim truly grasped the worth of his sweat, the fruits of his training, his own strength.

The Death Knight's sword was fast yet slow, heavy yet light, sharp yet dull. Weak points glared; strikes to unbalance it were obvious.

From that first clash, Yoahim knew he couldn't lose. It was like navigating a pitch-black cave by feel while others held torches and maps—every intent predicted effortlessly.

A foregone victory from the start.

He could end it in seconds if he wanted. But he didn't—lured out usable bits of the Death Knight's swordsmanship to steal.

Even the weaker have lessons.

The world brimmed with swordsmen and styles. Even inferior ones offered takeaways.

As the ancients said: learn eagerly even from children.

Yoahim applied it his way—dragging it out, gently coaxing full displays, absorbing worthwhile moves and discarding the rest.

In this life-or-death clash, he grew stronger by the instant.

That's enough.

When its value waned—

Time to end it.

He feigned an opening: sloppy stance, chest wide, baiting the charge.

The Death Knight, oblivious to being toyed with, seized the "chance" without hesitation.

Shing!

The blade tip gleamed, thrusting for Yoahim's heart.

"...Huh?"

Slash!

In a blink, purple light flashed. It severed the Death Knight's waist clean.

Heavy armor clattered to the ground; the knight's soul returned whence it came.

Five identical alerts in a row. Having jumped five levels at once to 78, Yoahim picked up the fallen Death Knight's sword and quipped,

"Hey, this looks pretty good. Mind if I take it?"

Of course, there was no reply.