The ambush came without warning.
One moment we were following Master deeper into the Ashen Territories, marveling at the incredible quality of necromantic materials scattered across the corrupted landscape. The next, the ground beneath us erupted with dark energy as armored figures burst from concealment with the coordinated precision of a military unit.
Knights. Dozens of them, clad in the ornate plate armor of the Creighton family's elite guard. But something was terribly wrong with their appearance—their armor bore the scars of mortal wounds, their movements carried the unnatural fluidity of undead animation, and the air around them reeked of centuries-old death.
"No," Rachel breathed beside me, her voice carrying horror and recognition in equal measure. "These are... these were Father's knights. The ones who died fighting the Arch Lich."
