Imperial Crown.

Chapter 138: Withering Mist
To him, the life or death of the coalition forces was not important. He had only one goal from the beginning to the end - to lead the Iron Legion into the City of Mon'en.

As long as this group of fresh forces joins, the City of Mon'en will be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

At the same time, the chief necromancer, Sachni, also realized Minsk's intention. He would never allow such a thing to happen before the city was captured!
The reason why human generals and nobles dress conspicuously and put up flags behind them is to draw the attention of the entire army. Only in this way can military orders be passed smoothly and the soldiers know who they are fighting for and whose orders they are obeying.

But the undead don’t need that, and commands don’t need to be conveyed through words, so the necromancer naturally doesn’t need to highlight his presence.

So Sachni led six necromancers and marched quietly among the undead army without causing any waves, and naturally no one would notice him.

Except Raven.

In the field of vision of the Eye of Truth, there was originally a grayish-white deathly aura everywhere, but suddenly a deep color rushed in, and the energy contained in it was much stronger than that of Viscount John and Minsk combined!
Almost without hesitation, Raven immediately led the team to retreat.

Sachseni did not notice this detail, and would not have cared even if he had.

He walked to a distance of about 300 meters from the front line, then stopped and led the six necromancers behind him to start chanting together.

As the chanting grew stronger, the breath of death began to spread from the earth. The surrounding undead creatures were scattered like bones on the ground, and under the guidance of an invisible force, a magic circle was formed.

The power of the undead gathered into the magic circle, and a bit of blurry mist was born in the center.

The fog accumulated and grew little by little. When it expanded to the size of a fist, it suddenly began to grow exponentially, spreading quietly, and instantly enveloped most of the battlefield!
Fifth-level magic, Mist of Withering.

The gray fog did not do much to obscure vision, but when the coalition soldiers breathed in the fog, they immediately began to feel something was wrong.

The fog was cold and chilly, with an indescribable smell of corruption, just like pork that had been soaked in a basin of water under the sun for three days in summer.

The coldness penetrated into their bodies along with the fog, causing their hands and feet to become stiff.

In contrast, the undead creatures in the mist suddenly became full of vitality. The soul fire in their eyes was more lively than ever before. The skeleton that could be shattered with one hammer now took two or three more times to break.

This is just the beginning.

As the battle line was advancing, it was inevitable that there would be dead or seriously wounded soldiers left behind the formation. But now, as the fog rose, these soldiers actually stood up from the ground, waving their weapons and looking at their previous comrades!
For a while, screams came one after another.

At the forefront of the battle line, Minsk was also shrouded in fog. As a fourth-level warrior, he only felt a little uncomfortable, but the ordinary soldiers of the Iron Legion behind him also began to be affected by the fog, and people were being transformed into undead every moment!
The warriors of the Iron Brigade who served as the vanguard were all protected by their fighting spirit, so they were not severely affected, but their advancement speed was obviously slowed down.

A messenger came through the crowd to Minsk: "General Minsk, Viscount Laluen, the commander of the Second Army, is here to send a message."

Without even listening to the messenger's words, Minsk knew what he was going to say: "La Lune wants to retreat?"

"Yes, General!" the messenger said, "Viscount La Luen said that magic of this range cannot be maintained for too long. We'd better retreat immediately and attack again after the magic effect ends!"

"Then go back and tell him not to retreat!" Minsk ordered with a cold face: "Also tell all the legion commanders that retreating can get out of the range of this damn magic, and rushing forward can also do the same!"

The messenger was stunned for a moment, then nodded and retreated.

Minsk is not unaware that retreating is a wiser option, but sometimes wise does not mean right.

The reason why the opponent used this large-scale magic covering the battlefield now was because his own tactical intentions had posed a threat to the Hand of Death.

In this case, we must move forward and never act according to the enemy's ideas!
However, subjective decisions cannot change objective facts. Under the cover of fog, casualties are rapidly increasing.

Sometimes death is not that scary, and many soldiers are prepared to face it.

However, when they saw their comrades, who had just fought side by side with them, wielding their knives against them, fear inevitably began to spread.

Dying at the hands of his companions and becoming like this after death is simply an unacceptable and horrific ending!

Especially when the bone dragon in the sky swooped down, spewing out dragon breath to reap lives, hearing the screams of those who were eroded by the dragon's breath, watching the comrades who had just been talking to him become charred and their flesh fell off, and then staggered towards him, the collapse came without surprise.

The entire battle line began to retreat and collapse, and it was beyond human control to stop it.

Raven stood behind the battlefield, listening to the screams and watching the tragic scenes. He felt fear and relief, but also his scalp tingled.

Too tragic!

But facing this situation, there was nothing they could do with just over 30 people. Although the wind wall technique might be able to blow away the fog, the scale was too large! He alone couldn't disperse it even if he died of exhaustion.

In the thick fog, the undead creatures became more active than before, their steps were lighter, and the casualties they caused when chasing the retreating soldiers were even more terrifying. Viscount John, who was in the thick fog, felt this more clearly. He received Minsk's message and understood why Minsk did that.

But when he saw the Third Army that had begun to collapse nearby, he had to make a decision: "—Retreat!"

The Fourth Legion, which had only been initially integrated and had not received any coordinated training, was waiting for this sentence. When the order spread, the nobles began to flee with their personal soldiers.

Judea is one of them.

When he heard the order to retreat, his face was full of reluctance, but he had no choice but to go with the flow.

Those who go upstream are either heroes or idiots. The common point is that they all have a high probability of becoming dead.

Judra didn't want to die.

But many things would not happen even if he didn't want them to, just like now, he had just decided to retreat, and a group of skeleton cavalry rushed up behind him. There were not many of them, only six or seven, but with the help of thick fog, the strength and speed of these skeleton cavalry were at least 30% higher than usual!
"defense!"

Judra shouted the order.

Most of his men were serfs brought by himself. After several battles, they were basically able to follow orders and immediately organized into formations.

However, this was of no use. The bone cavalry rushed in, and the weapons wrapped in the undead fighting spirit penetrated the leather armor of the serfs almost unhindered. In an instant, more than a dozen serfs fell to the ground.

However, the spears that were held upright mostly passed through the gaps between their bones, and even an occasional hit could not cause any effective damage.

Seeing this, Judra weighed the weight of honor and life in her heart, and quickly abandoned her honor, spurring her horse to gallop wildly backwards.

However, under the erosion of fog, the warhorse under his crotch could not run fast at all. Although there was no sound of horse hooves behind him, the screams of the serf soldiers were getting closer and closer.

There was a sound of wind behind him, and almost instinctively, Judra turned his head slightly and dodged a bone spear. Before he could make any further move, the warhorse under him suddenly let out a wail, stood up, and fell to the ground again.

Judra, who was prepared, rolled over and stood up. Looking back, he saw that all his serfs had been slaughtered, and the ground was covered with blood, broken limbs and blades. There were two skeleton knights beside him, and more were chasing him!
Wielding the flame-enchanted longsword to block the attack, Judra unleashed a fire blow without hesitation, instantly engulfing the two undead cavalrymen and knocking them off their horses.

However, now that he had lost his horse, there was no possibility for him to escape from the pursuit of the Undead Cavalry!
Undead cavalrymen pounced on him one after another. He dodged, blocked with his sword, counterattacked, and chopped off the horses' hooves. He killed three undead cavalrymen in succession, but the situation did not improve at all.

As his physical strength and fighting spirit were depleted, the erosion of the withering mist became more and more serious. Judra was panting and felt a chill emanating from his bones. His body was getting weaker and weaker.

The horses' hooves raised a faint cloud of dust, and six undead cavalrymen rushed forward again. Judra roared, and another fire-blowing blow engulfed the first one completely. Cold sweat streamed down her face. Even though the flames of fighting spirit were burning, her hands were slippery and she could hardly hold the sword steadily.

The second skeleton knight rushed over. Judra raised the long flaming sword high, pursed his lips, and swung it hard to meet the attack. The flaming sword collided with the skeleton scimitar, instantly cutting the scimitar in half, but the impact also made Judra's arms numb.

The third skeleton knight rushed over, and Judra's steps began to become unsteady. The moment the two weapons collided, his right wrist made a teeth-grinding sound and quickly swelled up. The severe pain made him grit his teeth and put the hilt of the sword in his right hand.

The fourth skeleton knight lifted his shoulder armor, and the fifth skeleton knight knocked off his helmet.

Judra breathed in the dirty withering mist, her heart filled with hatred!
He hated Minsk, who should have retreated from the beginning but dragged on; he hated Viscount John, who said he was upholding honor but didn't come to rescue him when he saw him in danger; he hated Raven, why did he have to fight bravely in the front while he could just watch the show leisurely in the back...

The person he hated the most was his father, Baron Angel. If he had not been given only two hundred serfs, how could Judela have ended up like this! ?

My dear father, why do you keep the Ironforge Legion at home? To give courage to your beloved second son?

There was the sound of horse hooves behind him. It should be the second round of charge by the Skeleton Knights, but Judra didn't care anymore. He stuck his sword into the ground, held the hilt with both hands and lowered his head.

He was unable to become a nobleman when he was alive, but at least he wanted to leave some dignity when he died.

The sound of horse hooves is getting closer...

Getting closer……

Judra took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, and prepared to face the last moments of her life.

click -

……

(End of this chapter)