《Skeleton King》


 Chapter 01 – Prologue: Death

    Veron opened his eyes ¡ª if he even had eyes ¡ª and quickly stood up. He had one of the worst dreams imaginable: he had been killed by all his comrades, thrown into an abyss, falling endlessly, and crashing at the bottom of that dark hell, seeing their smiling faces.


    He woke up startled, yet his mind was calm. Just a dream, he thought. Just another one of those dreams.


    "Oh, another one has been summoned," a distant voice said. "Looks like this one doesn¡¯t even know what hit him, huh?"


    Opening his eyes again, though he couldn¡¯t feel the motion, Veron turned his head to face them. He swallowed hard¡ªif he had any saliva left to swallow.


    They walked over their own bones ¡ª white skeletons approaching while chatting amongst themselves. Not just those two, but dozens, perhaps even hundreds of skeletons stood around, talking, gesturing at maps, even at paintings.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The two nearest ones crouched down. They wore a kind of tapestry draped over their torsos, concealing their shoulders and part of their chests. Their faces ¡ª their polished white skulls ¡ª were identical.


    "It¡¯s normal to be confused. I am Amin," said the skeleton with a piece of red cloth around his waist, extending a hand. "I can explain, but you have to promise you won¡¯t scream."


    Veron nodded. He raised his hand, looking at what was left of his fingers, white bones, not a single shred of flesh. He curled his fingers; no creaking, no sound.


    "I¡¯ll start explaining..."


    The iron door was shoved open, slamming against the wall. A skeleton clad in gray and bluish armor entered. Only his head was visible, with two horns on each side, making Veron think of an elk.


    "Commander Pokop," Amin turned quickly to Veron, pointing at him urgently. "I know you¡¯re confused, but we are beings summoned for war by a Lich. It¡¯s confusing, and we don¡¯t have time."


    The bodies of all the skeletons began to glow, including Pokop, who remained still in the doorway.


    "Don¡¯t just stand there, and don¡¯t let yourself get hit. You¡¯ve been given a second chance. Too good of one to throw away. Even as mere skeletons, we are..."


    The lights flashed, and everything vanished.

 Chapter 02: Life

    When the sounds returned, they weren¡¯t just voices. They were grinding metal, clashing armor, the echo of hurried footsteps, and the distant beat of drums that seemed to pulse in the air. Veron felt the weight of chaos around him, as if the world itself were groaning. He stumbled backward, his spine colliding with the cold feet of a skeleton who seemed just as lost as he was. For a moment, he remained still, trying to understand what was happening.


    Bony hands grabbed him, lifting him with surprising strength. Veron was placed on his feet, his body unsteady but held firm by the creatures surrounding him. He looked around and saw they were all the same¡ªskeletons, empty faces, eyes fixed ahead as if hypnotized by the immense sea of flames and embers consuming the horizon. The field around them reeked of raw mana, the same energy he had felt before, when he was still¡­ alive.


    His gaze was drawn to the other side of the battlefield. There stood the humans, organized in formation, pointing weapons and spinning staffs with precise movements. Fire and water spells were cast, creating a spectacle of color and destruction.


    "Don¡¯t worry," Amin¡¯s voice echoed beside him, calm, almost reassuring. "The Lich is a great Master. He uses mana inhibitors."


    Veron turned to look at Amin, his skeletal face seeming almost expressive.


    "What¡­ are we doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as if it hadn¡¯t been used for centuries.


    Before Amin could respond, a drum sounded in the distance, deep and resonant, like a call to war. Veron looked back and saw a massive Skeleton rising behind the lines of hundreds, maybe thousands, of others like him. The Skeleton lifted a bony finger, pointing forward.


    And then, they all began to run.


    "Have you fought before?" Amin asked, running beside Veron.


    The two advanced together, without weapons, without shields¡ªjust bones and determination. The landscape around them was a white blur, as if the world had been erased, leaving only the humans on the other side, clad in gleaming armor, wielding weapons and staffs that spat powerful magic.


    Yet none of it seemed to affect the skeleton army. An invisible barrier, raised above them, blocked any mana from reaching them. Veron remembered the mana inhibitor Resh used¡ªa technology he knew well.


    No, Resh wasn¡¯t his friend. He was just another one of those who smiled as they threw him into the abyss. False smiles, full of envy and fear. The entire rise of the Human Empire had been built on Veron¡¯s shoulders. He had fought against the Orcs, marched against the Witches, negotiated with the Carcamansus and the Desert Lords.


    The Human Empire was what it was because Veron had done everything he could. And he should have taken the throne.


    As they descended the hill, the humans began advancing toward them, led by war cries that Veron recognized ¡ª only now, they carried a new ferocity. These were the men who had chosen to serve those bastards, those cursed traitors.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "They deserve to die for what they did," Veron raised his voice, pointing forward, his bony hand trembling with rage. "Even if I die again. I swear I¡¯ll kill those bastards. I swear on my life."


    Amin¡¯s laughter echoed beside him, light, almost ironic.


    "Hey, buddy. You¡¯re already dead."


    That was it. When his heart beat, he had been alive. Now, after hitting the bottom of the abyss, the only thing left was to reach the true murderers.


    The first clash erupted. Skeletons and humans collided with an impact that shook the ground. A rain of bones flew in all directions¡ªarms and legs detached, scattering all around. But the march continued, relentless.


    The humans were well-equipped, with sharp weapons, sturdy shields, and magical barriers glowing behind them, sustained by Mages and Sorcerers. Their frontline was an imposing cavalry, charging forward with brutal force, trampling everything in its path.


    The second explosion roared like thunder, making the ground quake beneath Veron¡¯s feet. Debris flew in all directions, swallowed by the momentary blaze of flames. Amid the chaos, something caught his attention¡ªa gray sword, flung into the air, spinning like a silver lightning bolt. Its shape was unmistakable¡ªa thin, long blade, reflecting light with a cold and lethal gleam. There was a deadly precision in its movement, as if it were not just an object, but a fragment of history brought back to the present.


    His chest tightened. A spark of recognition burned inside him, as vivid as the fire devouring the ruins around him.


    That sword¡­ he knew it.


    "Is that Strifer¡¯s sword?" he murmured, almost unaware he had spoken aloud.


    Shock coursed through his body. How had those bastards gotten it? How¡­?


    If Strifer was here, then everything he had truly built was crumbling. What remained of his legacy would turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to the world.


    The screams around him pulled Veron back to reality. A burly man, his face sweaty and twisted in fury, bellowed orders as he fought against his own Knights. His voice was a mix of rage and desperation.


    "Get that sword now!" he roared, knocking down allies and enemies alike with his wild strikes. His eyes were fixed on the airborne blade, as if his very soul depended on it.


    "I want that sword!" he demanded, his voice rising above the battle¡¯s roar.


    Adrenaline surged through Veron¡¯s body. Without a second thought, he lunged forward, breaking from the marching ranks and sprinting toward the sword. Shoulders crashed against him, hands tried to push him back, but Veron held his ground. He had to reach it first. He had to seize it before anyone else.


    Strifer¡­


    The name echoed in his mind, heavy with old memories. A comrade. A friend. A man who, even in the worst storms, had never betrayed him. He had sworn to protect the entire world when he turned eighteen. His name was synonymous with honor, with strength. His oath¡ªa promise that he would never retreat from danger.


    But all of that¡­ everything he stood for¡­ was now dead.


    The respect he had earned, the glory he had achieved, the alliances and friendships, the trust-sealed agreements, the conflicts he had resolved with sheer determination¡ªit had all dissipated, like smoke in the wind. Even the families that had sworn loyalty to House Homun had been left behind, forgotten by time and the desperation of war.


    And now, all that remained was that sword, spinning in the air like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.


    When it finally fell into the chaos, its blade sinking into the ground, a human rushed toward it, ignoring the skeletons around him. His determination was impressive, but Veron Homun would never be merciful again.


    He bent down, grabbed a handful of stones, and before the man could get any closer, he threw them at him.


    "Not today."


    The stone struck the opponent¡¯s neck. He stumbled, clutching the wound and staggering backward. A pained grunt escaped his lips, his eyes filled with shock and suffering.


    Veron wasted no time. Amid the chaos, he advanced without hesitation, his steps firm on the scorched ground. He reached the sword, wrapping his fingers around the cold hilt, feeling the familiar weight of the blade in his hand. A shiver ran down his spine.


    This was not just a weapon¡ªit was a symbol of the past, a fragment of something he could never recover.

 Chapter 03: Warrior

    "What... How is he...?" The human stood up, pulling his own sword, but staring at the monster pulling the blade from the ground as if it belonged to him, with such familiarity that he wondered if it was possible.


    "Hey, drop that now." His voice was thick with incredulity and fear.


    Veron pulled the blade. It was an old companion, given by the hands of Blacksmith Abinal, forged in the Flaming Canyons, tempered in the Dark Valleys of Suapa, and finished in the eternal ice of Snowpeak Mountain Rescler¡ªan unreachable place for any common human.


    It had been made as a gift for Strifer, the man who, kneeling before House Homun, swore eternal loyalty. But now, fate had taken a cruel turn, and that sword was back in Veron''s hands.


    "Being a skeleton brought an old friend back to me." He tightened his grip on the sword hilt, feeling the cold texture of the metal between his bony fingers. "If you''re here, Kitnes, then Strifer is gone."


    The human charged at him, running like a lunatic, sword in hand, roaring like a wounded animal. The skeletons around tried to stop him, but they were mercilessly shattered. Bones cracked, skulls split, and each strike tore different screams from the Lich¡¯s legion, which remained motionless, merely observing.


    "This is life and death." Veron raised the sword and ran toward the human.


    The blades clashed, sparks flew into the air. The human was stronger, faster, trying to cut Veron at any opening, aiming for his head, his arms¡ªanything that could bring him down. But Veron deflected the blows with impassive precision. Every strike was just a strike, every step just a step.


    Without flesh to weigh him down, without exhaustion to hinder him, he was pure focus and concentration. His oath came to the surface:


    "I will avenge every bastard who smiled at me that day."


    Suddenly, the human got close enough to grab Veron¡¯s neck with his bare hand. But before the grip could tighten, Veron twisted his body, using his own back as leverage, throwing the man over him and slamming him onto the ground.


    Before he could rise, Veron''s blade came down mercilessly upon his head. Blood trickled down his forehead, dripping into his ears, soaking the ground. The human''s eyes became empty, capturing the last moments of his life as death took him.


    Some skeletons around stopped to watch the scene but soon continued their march.


    "Just another dead human," one of them muttered.


    Veron agreed. "Just another one I need to kill to get to them!"Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    He turned, observing the white battlefield being torn apart by the humans. The snow, stained red, contrasted with the cold gleam of blades and the shattered bones scattered across the ground. If he was to take down that stronghold, if he was to destroy it, it would be on his terms.


    To the east, the trenches were filled with soldiers, a living fortress of steel and flesh, but that was not the true heart of the resistance. That was not the focus. If he tried to cross the battlefield to reach it, it would take hours¡ªperhaps he would be taken down before even getting close. He needed to find an approach, a weak point.


    At the back of the enemy formation, Mages and Sorcerers moved their hands in healing rituals, Priests murmured prayers over the wounded, trying to save them from the inevitable. A key piece needed to fall for that line to break.


    A Commander had to die.


    Veron ran alongside the horde of skeletons that advanced without hesitation, throwing themselves onto the battlefield. He lowered his arms, concealing his weapon, blending in as just another among the undead. A skeleton, a monster, a creature forged to be commanded.


    But Veron Homun was never that kind of man. And he would not be that kind of skeleton.


    With a roar, he let his determination explode. The hidden blade gleamed in a cutting arc as he launched himself at the humans. One of the skeletons in front of him had his torso pierced, and the warrior on the other side locked tense eyes with Veron. This was the moment. Using Kitnes, his ancestral blade, he stabbed his own skeletal ally, piercing through him to reach the human¡¯s throat.


    The man didn¡¯t even have time to comprehend the strike. His life was taken before he could react. The blade was pulled back, and in the next instant, it was already lodged in another target. Veron carved his path, taking down two warriors in succession, breaking a small gap in the human wall. The soldiers recoiled, bitter, feeling the inevitable advance.


    Even the fallen skeletons moved again, reassembling themselves like a living wall. A white, eternal wall that always rebuilt itself.


    Veron slipped behind another ally, waiting for the right moment. A third warrior appeared, and he didn¡¯t hesitate. He thrust his sword into the man¡¯s shoulder, drawing a cry of pain.


    "Push him back!" a voice roared amid the chaos. "Stop trying to break the lines! Our mission is to hold these bastards back!"


    The other skeletons didn¡¯t react. They didn¡¯t change formation, didn¡¯t shift their empty gazes. They simply advanced, indifferent to human strategies. They dragged one or two soldiers down, but there was no tactic, only the inevitability of numbers.


    Swords and spears from the fallen were recovered. Veron raised his head, searching for a specific figure amidst the carnage.


    "Amin!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the confusion. "Amin!"


    "I''m here!" came the distant response.


    In the middle of a pile of swords and bodies, Amin fought against two humans, his movements precise but overwhelmed. He held firm, resisting. But then, a hammer strike came out of nowhere, hitting him square in the chest. Amin was sent flying backward, landed sitting, and got up angrily. Another skeleton had already taken his place, but he wanted to reclaim his spot.


    "Use the weapons on the ground!" Veron shouted. "Grab anything and stab those bastards!"


    Amin looked around, his lifeless eyes spotting a fallen dagger among the bodies. He picked it up, holding it for a moment, almost hesitating. His voice, though expressionless, carried a hint of shock:


    "Can I use this against them?"


    "You must." Veron did not waver.


    The battle left no time for doubt.


    Spinning, Veron brought his sword down on another nearby warrior, carving a deep gash in the enemy¡¯s shoulder, forcing him to retreat. But his attack also drew attention. Some soldiers noticed his intent. Their eyes locked onto him. Now, he was no longer just another skeleton in the horde.