Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 757: Return

Meanwhile, back on the Fifteenth Floor.

The ruined battlefield had not yet settled.

Ash still drifted through the air. The stench of blood, corrosion, and burnt authority lingered like a curse that refused to fade.

The other races remained where they were, their attention still fixed on the unconscious youth and the towering undead guarding him.

Then space trembled.

A thin tear split the air as an older man emerged from the rift.

The moment he did, a powerful aura rolled outward, heavy and commanding.

The reaction was immediate as several Rank Three elites stiffened.

Another Rank Four?

What was happening in Hell? A New Year celebration?

But that tension lasted only a heartbeat because the aura was familiar.

This was a Rank Four from Michael’s realm.

An old man many of them had seen before.

Now they remembered why he left.

He had gone to subjugate the Demon Lord. Seeing him looking all tattered here could only mean one thing.

Either he succeeded or he did not.

The old man stood still for a moment, brows furrowing as his gaze swept across the battlefield.

The devastation was far worse than when he had left.

Entire sections of terrain had been erased. Craters layered over craters. Residual authority hung in the air like the echo of thunder after a storm.

Dead bodies lay scattered across the field.

Rank Three corpses.

Fragments of Rank Four remains.

His eyes narrowed.

"...What happened here?"

Then his gaze shifted.

It locked onto Beginning.

The old man’s body stiffened instantly.

His aura surged, sharp and alert, snapping into a defensive posture without conscious thought. His hand moved halfway toward a technique before he stopped himself.

Sixty meters of undead titan stood in the distance, motionless but watchful. The pressure rolling off Beginning was like a mountain.

The old man’s pupils contracted.

"...When did such powerful undead appear?"

His gaze flicked downward.

Only then did he notice the youth lying unconscious at the titan’s feet.

Michael.

Surrounded by undead.

"...Impossible," he muttered in disbelief.

Though he did not think he had left for a short amount of time, just what in the heavens happened here while he was away?

Fortunately, the old man was not alone, as the leaders of the three races and a certain silver-glistened Amazari elder who was blinded in one eye floated toward him.

As for the two Stonekin elders, unfortunately, they had died in battle.

The old man immediately asked his questions as they all tried their best to answer in their own ways.

After some back and forth, the old man finally had an idea of what had happened.

Basically, after he left, two Rank Four criminals had come to hold them down, which eventually led to a fight, and what stood before the man’s eyes was the aftermath of that battle.

After understanding the situation a bit more, the old man calmed down.

Since they had briefed him on the situation here, the races also wanted to know how it went on his end.

It was exactly as they had expected.

After the old man left and arrived at his destination, the Rank Four superpower from the drakeblood realm was already fighting the Demon Lord, and though it looked like a pretty equal fight, it was not, as the Demon Lord was gradually gaining the advantage, making the conclusion of the fight uncertain at that time.

However, after the old man joined, the fight became more balanced, with his side gaining more advantage.

Though the old man spoke lightly of it, his current appearance told a harder tale.

In any case, after dealing with the Demon Lord and dividing its parts, details which the old man did not give specifics on regarding what he and the drakeblood took, he came back immediately.

After telling his own story, the leaders of the other races fell into their own thoughts as the old man’s attention returned to Michael, then to Beginning, before returning to Michael again.

The elf caught him looking at Michael and spoke.

"Your realm is fortunate," she said. "To have produced a youth like that."

The old man’s eyes remained on the unconscious figure, then moved to the ring of undead standing guard, then briefly to Beginning’s towering silhouette in the distance.

He nodded.

"Mm."

It should have been a simple, natural response. But it was not.

The nod came a fraction too late, and it carried an awkward stiffness that did not match the certainty in the elf’s statement.

The Khar’veth leader noticed it.

The Virellion noticed it too.

Even the Amazari elder, half-blinded and bloodied, tilted her head slightly.

They all sensed something off.

Yet none of them could put a finger on it.

Inside the old man’s mind, the truth was simple.

He did not know how to say it.

He had only met this youth today.

For the first time in his life.

Before today, he had not even known Michael existed.

Not his name.

Not his talent.

But how could he say that here?

In front of these races.

It would make no sense.

It would make his realm look blind.

It would make him look incompetent.

So he said nothing.

He simply nodded again, as if the elf’s words were expected.

"Yes," he replied, voice calm. "Fortunate."

The elf’s gaze lingered.

For the smallest moment, her eyes narrowed, but she did not pursue it.

She did not care enough.

The Khar’veth leader scratched his cheek with his remaining hand, staring at the old man for another breath, then looked away.

The Virellion’s expression remained neutral, but her attention sharpened.

Then the Amazari elder spoke, her voice hoarse.

"What now?"

The elf looked at the old man.

"Treatment," she said simply. "He needs it immediately."

The old man’s brows furrowed. He did not argue. He could see the state Michael was in even without touching him.

But there was just one tiny issue.

All the race leaders turned to look at a certain towering undead.

Well, it was quite a big issue.