A week passed faster than anyone expected.
The mine never stopped. The forges burned day and night. The sound of hammer striking metal echoed through the camp without rest, until even the air itself seemed to carry the weight of iron and ash.
And now, it was time.
The open ground outside the town had been turned into a silent war camp. Rows upon rows of undead stood in formation, unmoving, their weapons held steady, their armor catching the faint morning light. Two hundred of them were fully equipped, covered from head to toe in newly forged gear. Blades, spears, shields, even crude but effective plating. Not elegant, but deadly.
Behind them stood the rest.
Five hundred undead in total.
Aiden's army.
