The massive space, once filled with ridicule, disdain, and criticism, fell eerily quiet in an instant. The clay soldiers, the stone statues, and lastly, a figure adorned with a crown - whom Davey assumed was their king - all fell silent. Not a single breath could be heard as they began to shrink back. Just a single phrase was all it took.

The sight of a vast assembly of clay soldiers and stone statues, which dared not meet his eyes and knelt before him, was awe-inspiring in its resolute consistency. Was it because they felt loyalty to him that this had happened? No, that was not it. All he did was step outside their norms and give an order.

Typically, the undead would be subjugated on a soul level and would have shown him zealous loyalty, but these undead were subtly different in some way.

"Cough, this can’t… this can’t be!" The clay soldier wearing the crown tried desperately to lift himself, screaming at Davey. "Five thousand years! For five thousand years, I have ruled this place as a sovereign! I will not bow to the power of someone like you, who appeared out of nowhere!"

[Bow your head.]

Unfortunately, his futile defiance was also short-lived. Trembling as if struck by a tremendous shock, he too ultimately crumbled and lowered his head.

Beings that were dead...