Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 1257: Bomber [1]

Michael’s spear returned to his hand almost at once.

This time, neither side rushed blindly. For half a second, both Michaels simply stared at each other.

Then black flames erupted around both spears.

The fire wasn’t ordinary. It clung tightly to the shaft and spearhead, moving like liquid darkness rather than flame. That was one of the functions of the Venomflare Lance. The black fire itself was already destructive, but its true annoyance came from how difficult it was to remove once it touched something.

Unless one had a suitable means of cleansing it, putting the flame out through brute force was troublesome.

Michael tightened his grip and the two dashed at each other again.

CLANG!

Black fire exploded outward as both spears collided. With the two of them coating their bodies with mana as a protective layer, this bit of unintentional flame was harmless to them.

Michael twisted his spear at once and stabbed toward the copy’s chest.

The reflected Michael redirected the spearhead with the smallest possible movement, then stepped forward and thrust.

Michael shifted aside. The spear passed his ribs by barely a finger’s width.

With neither able to land a meaningful hit, the two didn’t hesitate to charge madly at each other.

As they continued fighting, the playful edge slowly drained from Michael’s face.

At first, he had thought the difference between them would be small. It wasn’t.

When it came to pure spear technique and close combat efficiency, the reflected Michael was suppressing him. Michael could tell the other party had reached the same advanced mastery as him, but the other party was simply more efficient at utilizing that advantage than he was.

This couldn’t be helped. As his power grew stronger, with his undead once again taking the lead in combat and him no longer needing to hide his power the way he had when he first started, Michael’s role on the frontlines had gradually been reduced to support.

However, he didn’t think this was a bad change, as it was normal for necromancers to stay behind their undead in the first place. He was only an anomaly, since even his physical strength surpassed his peers at the same level.

It was still fine for him to fight personally when he could still match his undead and his enemies were people he could personally touch, but this was the first time in a long while that Michael had to face someone in this kind of intense one-on-one battle, outside of when he battled his other body as a form of training.

But this time was different from his training with his other body since here his opponent wasn’t holding back.

Michael swung his spear at the copy, who stepped half a pace to the side to dodge.

Not willing to let the other side settle, Michael thrust at its torso, to which it responded with a small movement, dodging once again by tilting its torso.

Michael feinted high before changing direction toward the waist.

The reflected Michael barely moved its spear, yet somehow intercepted the attack with the exact angle needed to push it away.

Michael clicked his tongue.

”Annoying.”

The two had another clash.

CLANG!

Black flames scattered everywhere as Michael retreated three steps, while the copy only took one.

This confirmed it again: compared to the other party, his movements were wasteful.

Michael was far beyond an ordinary fighter. He had accumulated enormous amounts of combat experience, absorbed memories through Memory Infusion, fought powerful enemies, and possessed excellent comprehension. But there was still a difference between knowing how to fight and having every movement refined until almost nothing was wasted.

The reflection was showing him exactly where those gaps were.

Michael stepped forward again. The copy stabbed at him.

Michael dodged, twisting just enough to let the spearhead pass a hair’s width from his side.

A second attack followed right after, aimed lower this time, angled toward his hip. Michael managed to block, the shaft of his own spear catching the strike with a jarring clack.

A third came right after, faster than the first two, testing. Michael barely deflected it, the tip skating off the edge of his weapon before the butt of the spear whipped around and slammed toward his ribs.

He twisted away, throwing his whole upper body out of range to avoid it.

Too much.

Michael noticed it right away. The motion had carried him farther than necessary, opening a gap the copy hadn’t given him. The reflected Michael had only needed to shift slightly to avoid the same kind of follow-up. He had overreacted, wasting distance he’d now have to close again.

Michael’s eyes sharpened.

Again.

They exchanged another ten moves. Then twenty. Then thirty, the spears a blur of silver and black between them, each clash sending small shocks up through Michael’s arms.

His breathing grew heavier. Not because he was exhausted. His body could sustain this pace for hours if it had to. It was something else.

He was learning.

Every exchange exposed something new about himself, things he had never consciously noticed because there had never been anyone capable of showing them to him this clearly. If anything, it was only now that he realized his training with his other body, while helpful, had also reinforced some of his bad habits. There were simply some things training couldn’t fix, things only real experience could correct.

Michael began correcting them in real time, adjusting with every exchange.

The next thrust came, aimed for his throat.

This time, Michael moved only enough to avoid it, no wasted distance, no overcorrection. The spearhead passed beside his cheek, close enough that he felt the displaced air against his skin.

Michael countered without hesitation, driving his own spear forward in the same breath.

The reflected Michael blocked, weapon snapping up just in time.

Michael smiled.

”Better.”

The copy attacked again, faster now, as if acknowledging the improvement and refusing to let it stand unanswered.

Michael shifted his weight, blocked the incoming strike, and returned a thrust of his own in one fluid motion. Their spearheads clashed, sparks of light scattering across the black water beneath them.