Conquering OtherWorld Starts With a Game - Chapter 173: Undead Army Arrives

The vanguard that arrived first at the designated battlefield comprised 121 Sokri mercenaries, Captain Kenn, Inspector Lowell, Lieutenant Wagner Pitt, and a full contingent of 40 undead.

To the scouting party, these numbers seemed… insufficient. When this information was relayed back, Captain Roy, acting as the interim commander, greeted it with suspicion. “Could this be a ruse? Has Rex intentionally hidden his true forces?”

It wasn’t really surprising that this Radiant Sun Church officer harbored such doubts given the illustrious track record of Rex and Yang’s undead army—swiftly taking Weisshem in a single night, capturing a whole cavalry unit of Indahl’s city defense force, unraveling Commander Walton’s reconnaissance mission, and ensnaring the elite scouts along with the spies sent by the city defense force.

A mere handful of undead and a group of clearly foreign mercenaries couldn’t possibly achieve such feats.

Concurring with Captain Roy, the scout leader diligently led his men out once more, skirting the enemy encampment to stealthily search every conceivable hideout within a ten-mile radius that could shelter a “large army.”

By noon, as makeshift viewing stands erected by local nobility began to dot the hills surrounding the unnamed wasteland, the weary scout party had yet to uncover anything of note…

That Bartalis family was among the first to arrive at the outskirts of the wasteland for observation.

Their estate was in close proximity to the designated battlefield, and their cattle and horses would occasionally graze here, making them well-acquainted with the terrain. Early in the morning, a dozen robust servants had come by carriage, selecting and clearing a platform on an unnamed hill to erect a viewing pavilion.

Mr. Gould, the loyal steward, along with the cavalry squadron he led from the estate, didn’t set out until after lunch and arrived at the viewing platform just after midday.

After exchanging pleasantries with the steward of the Darcy Viscountcy, who had arrived a tad earlier and was overseeing the erection of their pavilion, Mr. Gould instructed his servants to unpack and set up a monocular spyglass. He then approached it himself to observe the forces arrayed upon the wasteland.

The knights of the Radiant Sun Church had already made their way from their encampment at the farm, establishing a camp on an open plain to the north of the wasteland. Knights in full armor could be seen taking their horses outside the camp to warm up, while squires tended to weapons and armor or made adjustments to the tacks on steeds.

Everything was orderly, the hallmark of a seasoned, formidable army.

Mr. Gould, who held little regard for foreigners, lumping the northern barbarians (Kenyan people) and the southern savages (Sokri people) together, sneered and shifted the spyglass away.

From his elevated vantage point, Mr. Gould soon located Weisshem’s camp as well.

With the Radiant Sun Church’s camp for comparison, Mr. Gould could not help but click his tongue in disdain at the Weisshem encampment.

A pitifully meager camp with just one tent, a ragtag assembly of dark-skinned barbarians, and a handful of disorderly skeletons… How could such a force dare to even make an appearance?

Mr. Gould felt that even he could lead the city defense force soldiers himself and obliterate this sorry camp.

Spotting Wagner Pitt through the telescope lens only incensed Steward Gould even further.

“No wonder all those fine young men were captured just like that. It was definitely this scoundrel’s doing!” Steward Gould cursed under his breath after staring intently for a long while and confirming Wagner Pitt, while still a captive, wasn’t just moving unrestricted within Weisshem’s ranks, but also in neat attire.

Were it not for the Viscount Darcy’s viewing pavilion nearby, Steward Gould would have surely cursed out loud. The emergence of a traitor within the city defense force, and that traitor being an officer no less, was a disgrace to the Bartalis family.

A livid Steward Gould immediately summoned a city defense force officer and instructed through gritted teeth, “Once the battle below concludes, bring some men and capture Wagner Pitt! And don’t let that detestable bastard Charlie Rex get away either!”

The officer didn’t hesitate and immediately acknowledged the command.

Still enraged, Steward Gould asked, “Where is Wagner Pitt’s family?”

The officer gulped before reluctantly saying, “I heard that… Pitt’s wife took their children back to their country home about two weeks ago.”

Considering that Pitt’s wife was a local, Steward Gould decided not to pursue the matter further.

After leaving the viewing pavilion, the officer discreetly wiped away the cold sweat on his forehead…

As time passed, the platform, ideally suited for viewing, gradually filled with more people.

Noble houses brought along scores of servants, claiming the best spots and setting up pavilions where they indulged in wine and refreshments, their luxurious carriages filling every possible space at the foot of the hill.

Middle-class families, on the other hand, had to park their carriages farther away and, after a respectful walk up the hill, found suitable spots on the outskirts of the platform to lay down waterproof cloths and sit down to await the commencement of the battle.

The scene became particularly lively when the personnel from the gambling houses came. Leveraging their connections with the upper class, these individuals squeezed into the platform and claimed a spot; when they set up tables to take bets on the spot, the gambling house proprietors, looking every bit the part, could even be seen engaging in jovial conversations with the nobility’s stewards.

Indahl Weekly correspondents arrived on the scene as well, equipped with cameras in hand, ready to cover the event. They began snapping a few photos and interviewing the attending stewards of nobles and middle-class spectators, eager to gauge their perspectives.

They even attempted to approach the individuals from the betting scene for an interview but were politely declined.

As the time for the battle drew nearer, spectators from all walks of life, regardless of their financial standing, extracted scopes of varying grades. Such instruments, akin to pocket watches, were deemed essential for middle-class families, symbolizing a staple of high society’s leisure pursuits like hunting, where observing prey through a scope enriched the aristocratic experience of the sport.

Unable to afford the luxury of fine hunting dogs, the acquisition of a handheld telescope, which otherwise served little purpose in daily life, was hardly an inconvenience.

Spanning the wilderness, two encampments stood apart by a distance of over two kilometers, their sizes alone telling tales of their might or lack thereof.

One was bustling with nearly a thousand strong men, presenting an imposing sight, while the other appeared meager with just over a hundred men complemented by a several dozen skeletal figures.

Had this been before Weisshem gained renown for its undead, the sight of such undead beings might have scared the onlookers. But now, with the people of Weisshem known to consort daily with the undead, the once eerie and mysterious air surrounding these undead had significantly waned in the eyes of the Indahl populace.

Some middle-class observers, after quietly assessing the situation and noting the almost desolate state of Weisshem’s camp as the battle drew near, hesitantly reached for their purses and ventured toward the betting stalls to place their wagers.

The bookmakers welcomed all bets with open arms. Since the payout of a Radiant Sun Church’s victory was so low, there were also many that punted on a miraculous Weisshem upset. This was a scenario in which the bookmakers stood to lose nothing.

Mrs. Griff, a resident of the Grantham District who had once visited “Perfect Dream Portrait Studio,” had come over together with her housekeeper, Madam Wille, and her personal maid, Claire.

Mrs. Griff had little interest in the battle itself. Her journey, undertaken with great effort, was driven by her enthusiasm for social gatherings and parties. She astutely recognized that Charlie Rex’s rising or falling fortunes would capture the attention of the nobility, and she couldn’t afford to be ignorant of such matters.

It had to be said that Mrs. Griff often played her cards right in her social climbing endeavors. Today, she encountered a baroness whom she knew from the social circuit. Thanks to her active flattery at social events, Mrs. Griff didn’t have to endure the discomfort of sitting in the less favorable viewing areas outside the pavilions like her middle-class counterparts. Instead, she was invited into the exclusive shade of a pavilion reserved for the more distinguished guests.

“Why does it seem like Weisshem, despite being the challenger, isn’t taking this battle as seriously as one might expect?” critiqued the baroness, a striking ruby necklace adorned on her neck. Her interest in the battle was evident as she repeatedly observed Weisshem’s camp through a finely adjusted telescope set up by her servant.

Mrs. Griff knew all too well why the baroness was so invested in this battle. The baroness, now a widow, had harbored a deep-seated grudge against the former lord of Weisshem, Baron Markus, and would relish seeing his downfall.

In a more private setting, Mrs. Griff would have cunningly woven words to disparage Baron Markus’s family to curry favor with the baroness. However, with the Markus family’s pavilion not far from their current location, Mrs. Griff dared not stir up trouble for herself. She opted instead for subtle flattery and non-committal compliments.

While the baroness lamented Weisshem’s apparent lack of vigor, elsewhere, Baron Markus himself could barely contain his glee at the prospect of witnessing his arch-nemesis’ potential misfortune.

Despite the generally unfavorable view of foreign military displays on local soil, the situation was entirely different when one’s most hated adversary was on the receiving end of such a spectacle. Charlie Rex’s usurpation of Weisshem and the subsequent loss of the lucrative red-light district had severed a significant source of income for Baron Markus, intensifying their enmity.

The adage that a starving camel remains is still bigger than a living horse (a Chinese proverb) held true; despite losing his domain, Baron Markus’s wealth remained intact, keeping him within the circles of Indahl’s elite. He was acutely aware that Charlie Rex’s reign was unlikely to last—once the most critical yearly autumn tax was settled, Adra III would have the time to deal with that upstart bastard.

But seeing misfortune beset the enemy earlier was always pleasing… If the Radiant Sun Church could get rid of that detestable pretty boy during this battle, Baron Markus’s family would definitely celebrate tonight.

Two in the afternoon. The time of the battle as stated in the Indahl Weekly.

The time set for this battle… corresponded with 7.30 p.m. Earth time, which was the peak hours of online gaming activity.

The leader of the scouting party had scoured the wilderness for half a day without uncovering any hidden forces, which led to a bafflement yet instilled a growing confidence in Captain Roy, who was leading the knightly order’s forces.

As the hands of his pocket watch reached the moment of commencement, Captain Roy, who had stepped forth from the camp to lead his men, cast a glance toward the Weisshem encampment and gestured for his officers to gather.

The plan was decided on securing captives from the outset and preventing the prime catch, Charlie Rex, from escaping—only by capturing that fellow would there be able to ensure a swift exchange for their Commander Walton, who was in enemy hands.

“Captain!” an ever-vigilant scout, peering through his binoculars at the enemy camp, suddenly exclaimed with urgency, pointing in the direction of the Weisshem encampment.

Captain Roy promptly lifted his own binoculars to his eyes.

Atop the nameless hill’s plateau, where the betting folks had been meticulously observing both camps, was where the anomaly was first detected.

“Oh, my! Oh heavens!” Cries and exclamations came from the betting crowd. “Look at Weisshem’s side. Oh my!”

Steward Gould, who had already gotten bored of observing the battleground and was engaged in conversation with the Darcys’ steward, sensed something amiss amid the rising clamor of astonishment from the pavilions of the noble families. Hurriedly, he returned to his pavilion and positioned himself before the telescope.

As he adjusted the lens to the previously observed Weisshem camp, Gould’s initially squinted eyes widened in disbelief.

“Wh-what in the world is happening?!”

In the pavilion where Mrs. Griff had a vantage point, the baroness began to shout in a frenzy, “Oh, oh! Heavens, Griff, come see this!”

Mrs. Griff hastily lifted her own binoculars.

Through the lens, Mrs. Griff witnessed… a stream of armored, weapon-wielding skeletons streaming out from the solitary tent.

Mrs. Griff rubbed her eyes and blinked hard.

She wasn’t mistaken; from the tent, roughly about the size of their family’s own camping tent, was an unabated stream of undead.

The once empty Weisshem camp and even the open space outside were now crammed with skeletons, and that magical tent showed no signs of stopping.

“Witchcraft! This is witchcraft! This is the most vile demonic summoning ritual!”

Baron Markus’s outraged curses could be heard clearly even a few pavilions away. “That damned Charlie Rex has sold his soul to demons! That bastard should be put on the stake!”

Captain Roy, on horseback with one hand on his sword and the other holding a binocular, gradually let his jaw drop as he stiffened.

His field of vision was getting filled with an ever-increasing, dense mass of undead…

The Weisshem side of the field had successfully demoralized the enemy before even the first strike, but there was little sense of joy at holding this upper hand.

When Yang informed them through the imprint matrix to prepare for the arrival of the undead army, Wagner, fully aware of the destructive power and unpredictability of the undead, promptly decided to have Kenn’s men retreat beyond the camp and stay away, lest they be despised by the undead upon arrival—he was all too familiar with their disdain for “allies.”

Wagner’s response was indeed astute; the undead summoned through the so-called “summoning circle” did not show hostility toward him, standing alone. They even had the “courtesy” to exit in an orderly manner, making room for more undead being sent over.

However, as more and more undead were swiftly summoned in batches, the situation started to spiral out of control.

“Hey hey, what’s with the hold up in front? Make way! It’s getting packed!”

“Don’t you know this game doesn’t allow characters to phase through objects? Stop blocking the way! Get out!”

“Stop pushing! Stop it! F*ck! Don’t you people know that you can get trampled to death in this game!”

“Can you stop squeezing from behind?”

“Hell, it’s not like I want to squeeze, I damn well can’t even touch the ground with my feet!”