Two hours until the impending zombie invasion…

Beyond the first ring, a formidable sight unfolded. Over a million soldiers stood in resolute formation, a formidable force gathered on the open field. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, dark clouds swirling overhead, as if the very sky were preparing for the imminent storm. The air was thick with an impending sense of doom, the silence punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder. Rain was on the cusp of releasing its fury upon the land, while intermittent flashes of lightning danced menacingly within the churning tempest.

Standing at the forefront of the amassed soldiers was Arthur, a figure of unwavering resolve. Adorned in resplendent golden armor, he exuded an aura of command and authority. A magnificent leather cape, outlined in striking red and white, flowed majestically behind him. Gleaming at his side, a colossal mithril sword awaited its destined moment to unleash havoc upon the encroaching darkness.

Arthur was not alone in his formidable presence. Standing beside him were the seven leaders of the noble houses, each a pillar of strength in their own right. Together, they formed an indomitable alliance, united in their purpose to defend the kingdom from the impending onslaught. Clad in their regal armors, these leaders radiated an air of power, their hands firmly gripping a range of formidable, magically imbued weapons.

As the appointed leader, Arthur stepped forward, his voice commanding attention and respect. His gaze swept across the vast expanse of soldiers before him, the unyielding determination in his eyes a testament to his unwavering resolve.

“My comrades, it is with great honor that I have ruled over this kingdom throughout the years, and I have sworn an oath to protect it until my dying breath,” Arthur proclaimed, his voice ringing with conviction. “Today, I, Arthur James the Third of my lineage, declare that should anything befall me as we lead our forces into this perilous battlefield, one where our chances of victory and survival seem bleak, my son, Fredrick James the Fourth, shall assume the mantle of the next king.”

Arthur’s declaration hung heavy in the air, challenging any who dared to oppose it. With a firmness of purpose, he awaited a response from the seven leaders and the soldiers who stood steadfastly behind them.

As if moved by an unseen force, all seven leaders immediately bowed, their heads lowered in humble acceptance. In unison, they dropped to one knee, a powerful symbol of loyalty and submission. A ripple of awe and reverence surged through the ranks of the soldiers, who mirrored the actions of their esteemed leaders.

Arthur’s gaze swept over the scene, his voice resonating with authority. “Very well. Today, we face a choice: to fight or to perish. Let the gods themselves bear witness to our valor and decide our fate.” With these resolute words, Arthur withdrew his colossal sword, its gleaming blade catching the waning light. He drove it forcefully into the ground, a thunderous impact that reverberated through the ranks.

In that instant, a surge of otherworldly power coursed through the air. A brilliant, purple radiance pierced the sky, momentarily tearing through the suffocating shroud of clouds. An explosion of energy erupted, briefly parting the heavens to reveal the fleeting glimpse of the sun. The ephemeral illumination served as a signal, an omen of hope amidst encroaching darkness.

Unknown to Arthur and his loyal forces, the arrow responsible for this spectacle had been expertly shot by none other than Queen Derein herself. Hidden deep within the recesses of the kingdom, she wielded her power and skill to provide a beacon of light and inspiration for their collective endeavor.

In the secluded rear of the kingdom… 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝐞𝐥.

“My King, the sun has emerged from behind the clouds. It is time to set our plans in motion,” spoke a loyal butler, his voice tinged with urgency, as he addressed the scarred-eyed monarch.

“Initiate the march,” commanded the king, his scar serving as a stark reminder of battles past.

“Yes, Sir,” responded the butler with unwavering devotion.

With the royal command given, the vast alliance began its deliberate advance, a synchronized movement guided by the unseen thread of unity. They heeded Queen Derein’s signal, converging gradually with Arthur’s amassed forces.

Inside a war tent, the atmosphere crackled with intensity as six kings and a queen convened to discuss their strategy for the forthcoming battle. The flickering light cast their faces in an ethereal glow, the gravitas of the moment etched upon their expressions.

Queen Derein, her voice laced with determination, addressed Arthur directly. “Sir Arthur, how far have the enemy advanced?”

Arthur’s gaze turned toward the distant horizon, his finger extending to indicate the nightmare forest’s ominous edge. “There,” he declared, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency and steely resolve.

An eerie silence descended upon the room as all eyes focused on the seemingly impenetrable forest. And then, as if summoned by the dark forces that lurked within, a horde of grotesque zombies began to emerge, their twisted and decaying forms an affront to all that was natural. While their movement was sluggish, their sheer numbers posed a threat that dwarfed the might of the assembled kingdom.

Queen Derein recoiled in disgust, her voice laden with revulsion. “They are vile and repugnant creatures. Who could have conceived of such abominations?”

The scar-faced king interjected, his voice resonating with grim determination. “Whoever spawned these wretched creatures harbored no benevolence in their heart.”

Arthur interjected, his tone firm and resolute. “The originator matters little to me. My sole concern lies in safeguarding my people from this vile threat. Investigations into their creator can wait for another day.”

“Now, where shall each of us be on the battlefield?” the scar-faced king inquired.

“I will lead the charge from the front with my forces, and you shall follow up with the second advance,” Arthur responded.

As if to emphasize the gravity of the situation, Arthur punctuated his words by resuming his meal. His actions conveyed a profound understanding that every bite could potentially be his last, a poignant reminder of the peril that lay ahead.

Grok, the scar-faced king, observed Arthur’s seemingly relaxed demeanor and inquired with a hint of incredulity, “Why, in the midst of strategizing, do you partake in your meal?”

Arthur paused, his gaze steady and unwavering. “This may well be my final repast. Why not relish it before stepping into the great unknown? After all, I may not have the luxury of savoring such pleasures once we are immersed in the throes of battle.”