The process was slow at first, bodies dragging themselves upward with stiff, unnatural movements, bones creaking, joints struggling as if remembering how to move after years of stillness. Dirt fell away from their frames as they forced themselves free, hollow eye sockets staring into nothing.

Aiden didn’t stop.

His hand remained raised, his focus tightening as he poured more mana into the skill.

The ground responded more violently now.

More graves collapsed.

More bodies rose.

The weak ones came first. Old skeletons, barely held together, some missing bones, others cracked and worn by time. Their movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, far from the disciplined undead in his army.

But they kept rising.

One after another.

Dozens turned into hundreds.

The cemetery filled with the sound of shifting earth and scraping bone as nearly every grave was disturbed, the dead answering his call without question.

Aiden’s breathing grew heavier.

He could feel the drain clearly now.

Every single one required mana. His chest rose and fell more noticeably, and a faint strain appeared in his expression as he continued pushing the skill further than usual.

"Come on..." he muttered under his breath.

The ground cracked open again near the far end of the cemetery, and another wave of skeletons pulled themselves free, some collapsing halfway, others managing to stand, swaying slightly as they adjusted.

The number kept growing.

Five hundred.

Seven hundred.

Nine hundred.

Aiden’s arm trembled slightly, but he didn’t lower it.

"More..."

He forced the last of his mana into the skill.

The air around him tightened for a brief moment.

Then, the final graves burst open.

More skeletons dragged themselves out, completing the wave.

Aiden finally lowered his hand.

The motion was slow this time.

Heavy.

He exhaled deeply, his body relaxing just slightly as the strain caught up to him all at once.

"...That’s enough."

Around him, nearly a thousand skeletons stood scattered across the cemetery.

They were nothing like his usual forces.

These ones were weak.

Most of them had been ordinary people in life, their bones fragile, their movements unsteady. Some were missing arms. Others dragged one leg as they tried to stand upright. A few barely managed to rise at all, collapsing back onto the ground after a few steps.

Aiden looked at them calmly.

"I can summon this many, because it’s mostly ordinary people." he said quietly.

He turned slightly, looking toward the distant city beyond the cemetery walls. Even from here, he could see faint lights flickering in the night, unaware of what was about to reach them.

Aiden rolled his shoulders once more, ignoring the lingering exhaustion.

"Well then," he said under his breath.

"Let’s see how you deal with this."

He lifted his hand slightly and gave a simple command.

"Move."

The skeletons responded instantly, not in perfect formation.

They began to walk.

Slow.

A mass of weak undead, spilling out of the cemetery and toward the city like a spreading shadow.

Aiden stayed where he was, watching them go.

His breathing was still heavy, his mana nearly drained, but his eyes remained sharp, focused on the direction they were heading.

This wouldn’t destroy the city.

Not even close.

But it would do something else.

It would force them to react.

And that...

Was exactly what he wanted to see.

---

Not far from the cemetery, where the quiet of the dead gave way to noise and laughter, the red-light district was still wide awake.

Lanterns of different colors hung from wooden beams and doorways, casting warm, flickering light across the street. Music drifted out from open windows, mixed with loud voices, teasing laughter, and the occasional argument that never quite turned serious.

Life here moved differently.

Carefree.

A group of men staggered out of one of the taverns, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, faces flushed from drink. One of them carried a half-empty jug, sloshing whatever was left inside with every step he took.

"Another round!" one of them shouted, his voice thick and uneven.

"You said that three rounds ago," another replied, laughing as he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Then we’ll make it four," the first insisted, raising the jug like it was some grand declaration.

A woman standing by a nearby doorway rolled her eyes, leaning against the frame as she watched them.

"Idiots," she muttered, though there was no real bite in her voice.

The group kept moving down the street, loud and careless, completely unaware of anything beyond their own little world.

Then one of them slowed.

Just a little.

His steps became uneven, not from the alcohol this time, but from hesitation.

"...Wait," he said.

No one listened at first.

"I said wait," he repeated, his voice a bit clearer now.

That got their attention.

"What?" one of them asked, turning his head with an annoyed look.

The man squinted, staring past them, toward the darker end of the street, the direction that led closer to the cemetery.

"...Am I really that drunk?" he asked slowly.

"What are you talking about?" another laughed.

The man lifted a shaky hand and pointed.

"I think..." he swallowed once, "...I think I’m seeing a bunch of skeletons... walking toward us."

There was a brief pause.

Then laughter broke out.

"Yeah, you’re drunk," one of them said immediately.

"Too much," another added.

"Sit down before you fall over."

But the man didn’t laugh.

He kept staring.

"...No," he said, quieter this time. "I’m serious."

Something in his tone made the others look.

One by one, they turned.

At first, they saw nothing.

Just the dim end of the street, shadows stretching between buildings where the lantern light didn’t quite reach.

Then something moved.

A shape, thin, and unsteady.

Stepping into the light. It’s a skeleton.

Its bones were dull, stained with dirt, one arm hanging lower than the other as it dragged itself forward with slow, uneven steps. Its head tilted slightly, empty eye sockets facing forward with no awareness, no thought.

Dozens of them began to spill into view, emerging from the darkness in a loose, broken line, their movements uncoordinated but steady, like something that didn’t know how to stop.

The laughter died instantly.

"...What the hell..." one of them whispered.

The man holding the jug dropped it without noticing.

It shattered on the ground.

No one cared.

A woman from the doorway straightened, her earlier boredom gone as she stared at the approaching figures.

"...Are those... real?" she asked under her breath.

No one answered.

Because now they could all see it clearly.

More skeletons were coming.

From every side street connected to that direction, more of them staggered forward, forming a slow, spreading wave that pushed deeper into the district.

One of the men took a step back.

Then another.

"...That’s not funny anymore," he said.

The first man who noticed them let out a sharp breath.

"...Run."

The group broke instantly.

What had been laughter and drunken noise just moments ago turned into panicked movement as they stumbled over each other, rushing back the way they came.

"Skeletons!"

"Skeletons in the street!"

"Run!"

The shouts spread faster than the skeletons could move.

Doors slammed open.

People rushed out, confused at first, then frozen when they saw the same thing.

The panic didn’t stay contained for long.

The moment the first screams spread, word traveled fast through the nearby streets, carried by frightened voices and the sound of hurried footsteps. People ran without direction, some still half drunk, others barely understanding what was happening, but all of them moving away from the same thing.

And in the middle of that chaos, someone tried to respond.

At the edge of the red-light district, a small compound stood with its gates half open, a wooden sign hanging crookedly above it, marked with the name of a minor clan that most people barely paid attention to.

Inside, the noise had already reached them.

A young guard rushed in, breathing hard.

"Elder! There’s trouble outside!"

From within the courtyard, a man in his fifties stepped out, his robes loose, his expression irritated at first.

"What kind of trouble?" he asked, clearly expecting something trivial.

"Skeletons!" the guard blurted out. "A lot of them, they’re coming this way!"

The elder frowned immediately.

"Don’t be ridiculous," he snapped. "Since when do skeletons move?"

The guard shook his head quickly, still trying to catch his breath.

"I’m not joking! They’re already in the streets. People are running everywhere!"

For a brief moment, the elder didn’t move.

Then another shout came from outside the compound.

Closer this time.

"Run! They’re coming!"

That was enough.

The elder’s expression hardened as he turned toward the gate.

"Open it."

The guards hesitated for only a second before pushing the gate wider.

The elder stepped out first.

And then he saw it.

At the far end of the street, under the dim glow of hanging lanterns, figures were moving toward them.

Dragging their feet like broken puppets.

At first glance, they really did look like skeletons.

But the longer he stared, the more wrong it felt.

"...What kind of hell is this..." he muttered under his breath, his brows tightening.

Behind him, several disciples stepped out as well, their earlier confidence fading the moment they saw the same thing.

"E-Elder... what are those?" one of them asked.

The elder didn’t answer immediately.

Because he didn’t know.

This wasn’t something they were taught.

This wasn’t a beast.

Not a human either.

But whatever it was...

It was coming straight for them.

"Form up!" he barked suddenly, forcing his voice to stay steady. "It doesn’t matter what they are. If they move, we cut them down!"