Ludwig stepped back from the perimeter of the nest, his boots sinking slightly into the damp, moss-choked earth. The ground was littered with the corpses of fallen Werebats—twisted, fur-covered mounds of flesh and bone, their wings torn, their fangs still bared in death. To most, this would have been a grotesque sight, but to Ludwig, it was an opportunity. A tool, he mused, his skeletal fingers flexing. Chaos is the best distraction.
His mana reserves, bolstered by his recent upgrades, hummed beneath his undead flesh. He could summon up to thirty of these creatures now, binding them to his will with the dark arts of necromancy. And the battlefield before him offered no shortage of raw material. Over the past day, he had carved through swathes of these beasts, leaving behind a graveyard ripe for reanimation.
