Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 767: You Look Like A Fraud [2] (Refresh to clear errors!!!!)

"Do you know where we are?" Michael asked.

Fade answered without hesitation.

"We are in the elven realm," he said.

Michael froze.

"The elven realm?" he repeated, as if the words refused to settle in his mind.

His eyes swept across the forest again. The towering trees. The clean air. The mana so dense it clung to his skin like mist. He had assumed this was some strange pocket on a lower floor of Hell. But a realm?

A full realm?

How?

His chest tightened, and unease rose before he could suppress it.

"How did I get here?" Michael asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Fade remained calm.

"You fell unconscious," he said. "The damage to your soul was severe. Your state was unstable."

Fade continued without pause.

"After you lost consciousness, Spartan approached the other race leaders. He asked if there was a way to stabilize your condition."

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"And?"

"The elven leader present at the time said yes," Fade replied. "But you would need to be brought to their realm for proper treatment."

So that was it.

Michael had already suspected as much. Still, hearing it stated plainly made the shock settle deeper.

This was not travel between continents.

Not even between planets.

This was universal travel.

Leaving one realm entirely and entering another.

Michael looked at the forest again, and for a moment it did not feel real.

It was as if the world had changed while he was asleep, and he had woken up in a place he was never meant to reach. One moment he had been fighting for his life, bound to his own realm. Now he was standing in another realm entirely, surrounded by towering trees and mana so dense it filled every breath.

The distance between here and where he came from was not something he could walk or fly across. It was the distance between worlds.

That thought settled heavily in his chest.

Even the thick mana in the air felt less important than that truth.

He was somewhere else entirely.

He swallowed.

"So Spartan agreed," Michael said quietly.

Fade nodded.

"He did," he said. "He judged that remaining where you were would lead to further collapse. He chose the option that gave you the highest chance of survival."

Michael closed his eyes for a second.

He could not fault Spartan for that. Not when his soul had been on the verge of breaking.

Still, the weight remained.

The strange awareness that he was standing in another realm entirely.

Michael opened his eyes and looked at Fade.

"Where is Spartan?" he asked.

Fade lifted one arm and pointed into the distance.

Far beyond the forest canopy, the sky was no longer a calm blend of green and blue. Bands of color twisted and overlapped high above the treetops.

Even from here, the air in that direction felt heavier. Sharper.

Michael had noticed it the moment he stepped outside.

To be honest, he had expected this.

"Over there?" Michael asked quietly.

"Yes," Fade replied. "That is where Spartan is."

Michael’s gaze hardened.

"Doing what?"

Fade did not hesitate.

"He is fighting."

The word landed heavily.

A knot formed in Michael’s chest.

Fighting.

In the elven realm.

That did not sound good. Not in the slightest.

He had barely woken up, barely grasped where he was, and already one of his strongest undead was clashing with something. This was not a lawless battlefield or a hostile domain where conflict was expected.

This was elven territory.

Michael exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts to stay steady.

"Who?" he asked. "And why?"

Fade’s gaze shifted slightly before returning to him.

"It is because of you," he said.

Michael blinked.

"Me?"

The word escaped before he could stop it. Confusion crept into his expression.

"I was unconscious," he said. "What could I possibly have done?"

Fade did not answer immediately. He looked toward the forest first, then back at Michael, as if weighing how much to say.

"While you were unconscious," Fade began, "many elves attempted to approach you."

Michael’s brow furrowed.

"Approach me how?"

"They attempted to sneak closer to observe you," Fade replied calmly. "Some wished only to look. Others attempted to probe. A few attempted to touch."

Michael’s eyes narrowed.

"And you stopped them."

"Yes," Fade said. "Every time."

A flicker of cold irritation rose in Michael’s chest.

"How many times?" he asked.

Fade paused.

"Enough."

Michael let out a slow breath through his nose.

"Then how did it turn into this?" he asked. "Into fighting?"

Fade’s eyes darkened slightly.

"At first, the encounters were brief," he said.

"But?" Michael pressed.

"But the situation changed," Fade continued.

"How?"

"I do not know, Master," Fade said. "Only that the elves became increasingly focused on defeating us. The healer who treated you said that if we prevailed, your treatment cost would be reduced. So we complied."

He added calmly,

"The elves are no trouble anyway."

Just as Fade finished speaking, the air beside them tore open.

Two thin rips appeared in empty space, silent and clean, as if the world itself had been sliced apart.

One tear widened first.

A familiar figure stepped out.

Caelum Ardent.

The old man’s coat was clean now, his posture relaxed, and there was a lightness in his eyes that had not been there earlier. It was subtle, but unmistakable to anyone paying attention.

Then the second tear expanded.

An old woman emerged.

Her hair was silver and long, flowing down her back like a veil. Her ears were long and sharp, and the lines on her face were fine rather than harsh, as though time had treated her gently. She wore layered elven cultural robes, simple yet dignified, and her gaze carried authority without effort.

An elf.

The moment her feet touched the ground, she looked at Michael, then at Fade, then back at Michael.

Her voice was steady.

"The elves are no trouble, you say," she repeated.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Caelum turned his head toward her.

"You should not mind what the dead says," he replied.

The words sounded dismissive, but the curve at the edge of his mouth betrayed him.

He was happy.