Chapter 117: The Test

The captain walked back to the center of the mercenaries, her presence demanding attention. "Alright, break time is over! Listen up! No matter what happens, do not break formation! If you do, you're as good as dead. Do you understand!?" she yelled, her voice full of experience and authority.

"Yes, ma'am!" the mercenaries shouted back, their voices showing their resolve and determination.

"Good! Now line up near the town's entrance and follow orders!" she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument or hesitation.

The mercenaries quickly formed a line at the entrance of the town, the rear guards wearing full iron armor and holding swords and shields to protect the archers behind them.

"Get ready!" the captain barked, her voice cutting through the tense silence. She raised her pistol and fired a shot into the air, the loud bang echoing through the empty town. The sound was like a death knell, a signal that reached the ears of the undead lurking in the dark streets.

The soldiers, who were standing next to the captain, watched from a safe distance, their faces showing a mix of seriousness and readiness. The mercenaries, who were in formation, waited for the imminent attack, their medieval weapons at the ready.

As the first groans of the approaching horde became louder, the captain's eyes hardened. The town, which was once peaceful and quiet, now stirred with unlife, and the mercenaries stood like Lunaria's last line of defense. The air became thicker with tension as the shadows of the approaching undead appeared, moving towards the mercenaries.

The captain's pistol shot marked the start of the trial, a test of discipline and skill in the face of relentless enemies. The formation stayed strong, and the mercenaries prepared themselves for the fight that would decide their fate on the outskirts of the town.

The mercenaries, their voices roaring in a unified battle cry, boosted their morale as they got ready to face the approaching horde armed only with medieval weapons. The fight between the living and the undead began, marking the start of a war on the outskirts of the town.

The archers, positioned strategically behind the protective shield of the rear guard, nocked their arrows and aimed with practiced precision. Hundreds of arrows flew through the air like a deadly storm, piercing the skulls and hearts of the undead. The first wave of the horde collapsed, their moans cut short by the relentless barrage of arrows. Yet, the horde was not deterred, and continued to advance, determined to break through the defenses.

As the zombies closed the gap, the rear guard sprang into action. Wearing full iron armor, and wielding shields and swords, they formed a solid wall against the encroaching threat. The clash was a brutal dance of metal and decay, a symphony of grunts and swordplay that filled the once-quiet streets.

The battlefield resounded with shouts and clashes as the mercenaries fought bravely against the endless onslaught of the undead. "Don't let them break the formation!" cried one of the mercenaries, urging his comrades to stay strong. Yet, despite their courage, the horde kept coming, threatening to overpower the defenders.

The sheer number of zombies was overwhelming for the mercenaries. Their formation, once firm, began to crumble under the relentless pressure. The clash of shield and sword against rotting flesh became a desperate struggle as gaps opened in their once impenetrable defense.

Sweat-drenched and exhausted, the mercenaries fought with unwavering determination, but the odds were against them. They realized the challenge ahead was too great, their medieval weapons inadequate to match the unstoppable numbers of the undead.

As the battle raged on, the line of defense tottered on the edge of collapse. The mercenaries, their faces marked with both fear and resolve, strained to hold their ground. Each clash with the zombies became a test of endurance, the air thick with the stench of decay and the sounds of a war that seemed increasingly hopeless.

The battle reached a fever pitch, as another mercenary's voice rang out over the clamor. "Hold the line!!"

The living and the undead clashed with ferocity, the battlefield a chaotic scene of struggle and survival. The mercenaries, armed only with shield and sword, fought not only for themselves but for the kingdom they served. As the horde pressed on with relentless fury, their fate hung by a thread, and the defenders faced a critical moment where the outcome of the battle could determine the course of their future.

The archers, who had been shooting arrows from a safe distance, now found themselves face to face with zombies that had breached their defenses. Quickly switching to swords or daggers, they joined the rear guard in close combat, creating a seamless transition from ranged to melee fighting.

The shields of the rear guard served as both a barrier and a weapon, blocking the clumsy attacks of the undead while creating opportunities for deadly counterattacks. The air was filled with the sound of steel clashing with decay, interspersed with the occasional twang of bowstrings as the archers continued to shoot at the remaining zombies.

In the midst of the chaos, Jonathan, a member of the rear guard, encountered a particularly fearsome zombie. With a swift movement, he lifted his shield to parry the creature's grab and countered with a powerful strike, cutting off the head from its rotting body.

The battle continued, a grim spectacle of survival in a world overrun by the undead. The archers, who had supplemented their bows with blades, fought bravely alongside the rear guard. Each slash of a sword, each accurate shot of an arrow, added to the ebb and flow of the conflict on the outskirts of the town. The war between the living and the dead raged on, a testament to the resilience of Lunaria's defenders armed only with medieval weapons against the unstoppable tide of the undead.

The archers, who had been overconfident and unprepared, faced the unexpected onslaught of zombies with panic and struggle. The zombies broke through their defenses, biting and tearing into the vulnerable ranks. The air was filled with screams of agony as the archers, who had once boasted of their safety, found themselves trapped in a nightmare of survival.

From a safe distance, the soldiers and the captain watched the scene in grim silence. Jonathan, who had witnessed the chaos, felt the burden of responsibility fall on him. With determination on his face, he took charge.

"Archers! Fall back! Rear guard, make room for the archers!" Jonathan's command pierced the chaos, and the mercenaries, who were shaken but obedient, followed his order.

"Archers, get moving and start shooting! Rear guard, protect the archers with your lives!" he yelled, his voice a rallying cry amid the turmoil. The archers, who were spurred by Jonathan's urgency, quickly retreated while the rear guard formed a protective shield around them.

The fight between the medieval weapons and the undead became more intense as the mercenaries, under Jonathan's leadership, fought to regain control of the situation. The archers, who were not yet defeated, repositioned themselves to unleash a storm of arrows upon the advancing horde.

The battle reached a fever pitch, as another mercenary's voice rang out over the clamor. "Hold the line!!"

The living and the undead clashed with ferocity, the battlefield a chaotic scene of struggle and survival. The mercenaries, armed only with shield, bow, arrow, and sword, fought not only for themselves but for their comrades. As the horde pressed on with relentless fury, their fate hung by a thread, and the defenders faced a critical moment where the outcome of the battle could determine the course of their future.

As the mercenaries fought to regain control, a distant ominous moan heralded the arrival of another horde. But this time, a new threat emerged – mutants. These zombies were faster and more agile than the others, and they surged forward, dodging the decaying bodies of their slower kin.

Jonathan, who had been observing the approaching menace, quickly realized the gravity of the situation. "Prepare yourselves! Mutants incoming!" he yelled, his voice piercing the chaos.

The archers changed their target, their arrows now aimed at the more nimble mutants, while the rear guard prepared for the increased challenge. The mutants closed the gap with alarming speed, their erratic movements forcing the defenders to react quickly.

In the midst of the new clash, the mutants proved to be a formidable enemy. Their agility allowed them to avoid the medieval weapons of the mercenaries, striking with sudden force. The archers, who had been used to dealing with the slower undead, found themselves overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of the mutants.