The Genesis of the Dead
'What is my purpose?' He thought as he gazed at the carnage that surrounded him. With every step he takes countless perish, with every action countless mourn. Behind him legions so vast they cover the horizon and blot out the heavens. His soldiers, servants, friends, children. 'That's right.' He remembered with a tinge of melancholy, 'This is my purpose.' Author's note: High fantasy setting, with a heavy emphasis on action, army tactics, political schemes and world building. No harem and very little romance.
Chapter 37
The eight figures appeared unbothered by the Living Blade's attempt at an attack, effortlessly controlling the roots to ensnare several of Maveth's forces. The strength of the roots caused many of the skeletons' bones to shatter, leaving them struggling helplessly to break free, the sound of cracking bones echoing ominously through the battlefield.
As his creations fell in battle, Maveth felt a subtle decrease in his own strength, a sharp reminder of their connection. Each loss was not just a blow to his forces but to his very essence, a tether snapping with every fallen soldier. If this continued, he would lose too many troops, rendering the entire venture a failure. Unwilling to let that happen, Maveth doubled his efforts to harm the ethereal foes, his resolve hardening like iron in the heat of desperation.