Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons-Chapter 144: [Bonus - ] A One-minute battle.

Thoren stared at Ernest with a knowing smile.

From the information he had gathered, Jareth was the Chief of the Federation Police, and Ernest served as his deputy.

However, their relationship extended far beyond official titles. No one knew the full story, yet everyone understood that their bond had been forged through something deeper than mere professional duty.

As Thoren studied Ernest, the deputy was doing the same.

He had never believed that a mere rookie would one day attempt to destroy everything they had painstakingly built.

I just need to hold him back until Jareth gets that thing moving, Ernest thought grimly.

His gaze shifted to the Level 18 undead standing not far away. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

Every instinct in his body warned him that this battle would be far from easy.

Beside him, the Federation Police officers stood in rigid formation, their expressions solemn and tense.

Mages gripped their staffs tightly, knuckles pale.

Warriors held their blades as though their lives already depended on them.

Assassins lowered their stances, prepared to melt into the shadows at a moment’s notice.

The tension thickened, nearly suffocating.

The air felt unbearably heavy.

Everyone waited for Ernest to give the command.

He parted his lips to speak and at that exact moment, a violent surge of undead energy erupted before the Iron Roar Komodo.

Undead energy expanded outward like an exploding storm cloud.

When the energy dissipated, two hundred undead beasts stood assembled.

The sight struck the Federation Police like a hammer.

Ernest felt his heart leap into his throat.

The weakest among them was Level 15. Most were Level 16. Dozens radiated the oppressive aura of Level 17 beasts.

A collective chill swept through the Federation ranks.

How were they supposed to fight such a terrifying undead army?

This was madness.

How could anyone on the first floor possibly command such an overwhelming force?

Thoren, however, paid no attention to their shock or silent calculations. He had summoned the two hundred undead beasts for a simple reason to crush whatever morale they had left.

They should abandon any delusion of victory.

"Kill," he commanded calmly.

Whoosh!

The undead surged forward.

Fear and panic seized the hearts of the Federation Police like an iron vice. Many felt their will to fight crumble in an instant.

This was no longer a battle.

It was a slaughter.

"Fight! Don’t be afraid!" Ernest roared, forcing authority into his voice. "We don’t need to defeat them, we only need to hold them off until the Chief returns!"

His words restored a sliver of courage.

Shields tightened.

Spells began forming.

But it was already too late.

"Ahhhh!"

Before the Federation Police fully registered what was happening, the Level 18 undead Royalty Stonewall had begun its massacre.

A Level 16 Berserker reacted a fraction too slowly.

The undead’s blade flashed.

Arms, legs, and fragments of armor burst into the air. The Berserker’s body fell apart in pieces before his scream had even finished echoing.

The Royalty Stonewall did not pause.

Its movements were impossibly fast, so fast that most of the officers could not even track it. Only Ernest, a Level 18 awakener could barely follow its trajectory.

"D-Die!" Ernest shouted, lunging forward in an attempt to intercept.

But he was too late.

The undead appeared before a frozen mage who was trembling as she attempted to complete a spell.

Whoosh.

Her head separated cleanly from her shoulders.

The blade flashed again, splitting her torso in two before her body struck the ground.

Blood splattered across the stone.

Ernest arrived in a heartbeat later.

With a roar, he swung his battle axe diagonally, aiming to cleave the undead’s torso in half.

Bang!

The Royalty Stonewall reacted instantly, raising its blade to block.

Bang!

Their weapons collided again, sparks erupting violently at the point of impact.

Ernest felt the shock travel up his arms. His lungs tightened. His muscles trembled from the sheer force behind the undead’s strike.

He skidded backward, boots carving trenches into the ground.

Shock and disbelief flashed across his face.

A thin crack appeared along the edge of his battle axe.

How is this possible? he thought in horror.

Before he could fully process what had happened, the undead was already upon him again.

Relentless.

Unfeeling.

Every strike aimed to kill.

Ernest raised his battle axe to parry once more.

Their weapons clashed and this time, the axe shattered.

Fragments of enchanted steel scattered across the battlefield.

The Royalty Stonewall stepped forward, blade descending like divine judgment.

"Ah!"

Ernest twisted his body at the last possible second, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike. The blade carved a deep trench into the ground where he had stood.

The undead adjusted instantly and launched a relentless barrage.

"Ahhh!"

Ernest tried desperately to evade and retreat, but the gap in strength was overwhelming.

A flash of steel.

Agonizing pain.

One of his arms was severed cleanly from his body.

Blood sprayed into the air.

The undead advanced again, emotionless, blade arcing toward his exposed form.

Horror consumed him.

In a frantic motion, he grabbed a broken shield from the ground and raised it in defense.

Bang!

The blade split the shield in two and crashed into his chest armor.

Ernest was hurled backward, blood spraying from his mouth as he tumbled across the ground.

A deep crack spread across his chest plate.

Even with the shield absorbing part of the impact, the force nearly crushed him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Federation officers being torn apart by the undead beasts. Warriors were dragged down. Mages were trampled.

Assassins were cut down before they could vanish.

It was tragic.

Brutal.

Merciless.

Regret flickered through Ernest’s eyes but only for a moment.

I can’t continue like this...

He had believed he could stall the undead Royalty Stonewall until Jareth returned.

Now he realized he had grossly overestimated himself.

The undead rushed toward him again.

He was no longer certain he could even escape.

The Royalty Stonewall arrived before him in an instant and swung its blade.

Ernest prepared to dodge but instead of a sword strike, a powerful fist slammed into his chest.

"H-How....?"

His vision blurred.

He felt his ribs shatter beneath the impact. Internal organs ruptured under the crushing force.

He crashed heavily onto the ground and vomited a mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of tissue.

His face turned pale.

His body felt distant, weak.

Thud. Thud.

Through fading vision, he saw the undead approach.

A grunt escaped his lips as the blade plunged deep into his chest.

From beginning to end, he had never stood a chance.

The battle had barely lasted a minute.

The Federation force that had controlled the awakeners of the first floor for decades was nearly annihilated in less than one minute.

Thoren remained expressionless as the final resistance crumbled.

Without hesitation, he commanded the Royalty Stonewall to advance into the Federation hideout.

He withdrew the two hundred undead beasts, their forms dissolving back into necromantic mist.

In their place, he summoned ten elite undead servants, each radiating an aura of overwhelming power.

With the Level 18 Royalty Stonewall leading and the ten elites following, Thoren stepped forward.

Without a word, he entered the Federation hideout.

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[AN: Thank you all for your support and gift. This Chapter is sponsored by Nooope]