The North. Blackstone City.

Deep within the recesses of Moonshadow Valley, the runic circles of the teleportation array flared with blinding light. As the arcane hum faded, two figures stepped out from the swirling vortex.

"Hah..." Dirtclaw inhaled deeply, savoring the bite in the atmosphere. "Nothing beats the air in Blackstone City. That slight chill? It wakes you up. Clears the mind."

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the overcast sky that served as a permanent canopy over the region. Blackstone City had just emerged from the iron grip of winter and was teetering on the edge of a thawing spring.

"Hasn't changed a bit," Gustalon remarked, standing beside him.

Gustalon was a traveler at heart. Aside from the reclusive Orion, he was one of the few within the Stoneheart Horde who had walked every inch of their sprawling territory. He knew Blackstone City down to its foundation stones. He knew it well enough to realize that time here seemed to have frozen.

"Heh. It hasn't changed, but it sure has attracted some unwanted attention," Dirtclaw chuckled, though the sound was low and sinister.

Standing at the zenith of the Legend rank, his senses were attuned to the land itself. He could feel the pulse of the Tribe's territory, a thrumming current of Faith Energy that fed him constantly. This gathered power was the lifeblood for Wardens like him.

But now, he felt a disturbance. Invaders were gnawing at the edges of the Tribe's lands, poaching the very energy he needed to ascend to the rank of Arch Lord.

To the Wardens, this wasn't just an invasion; it was an attempt to cripple their future.

When the order came to garrison Blackstone City, Dirtclaw had been seething. Now, that anger had crystallized into a cold, predatory intent. He wouldn't just kill these trespassers; he would harvest their corpses and sacrifice their souls.

Do they have a death wish?

For a split second, Dirtclaw's aura flared—a jagged, suffocating pressure that filled the valley—before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"The war between the North and South has begun," Gustalon said calmly. "There will always be short-sighted Lords easily manipulated into doing foolish things."

"They'll pay for that stupidity."

"Come on," Gustalon urged, nudging him. "The Lady is waiting for us outside the barracks."

Dirtclaw's murderous expression dissolved instantly, replaced by a sycophantic grin. "Right, right. Can't keep her waiting. Let's move!"

Moments later, near the exit of the military encampment flanking the Horde Hall.

Before Lilith, Lysinthia, or Lycanor could utter a word, Dirtclaw's voice was already booming across the courtyard.

"My Lady! Your beauty and wisdom outshine the constellations themselves! You are an eternal light in this vast cosmos, and we are but humble shadows gazing up in awe!"

Lilith and Delilah were identical in appearance, sharing a bond that went beyond mere blood. To Dirtclaw, praising Lilith was functionally the same as praising his true master, Delilah. Thus, he offered up his most extravagant flattery without hesitation.

He turned his attention to the next woman. "And the esteemed Lady Lysinthia. Your elegance is unmatched—the most breathtakingly cold beauty I have ever laid eyes upon. One wishes to stare, yet fears to make eye contact!"

Lysinthia offered a polite, knowing smile. She knew Dirtclaw well enough to let the theatrics slide.

"And finally, the noble Lady Lycanor," Dirtclaw said, his tone shifting to genuine respect. "Your talent is a gift from the heavens. Truly enviable."

With Lycanor, Dirtclaw didn't need to exaggerate. Her strength was ninety-nine percent hard work and raw talent; she hadn't climbed to power standing on the shoulders of the Stoneheart Horde giant like the others.

"Welcome back, heroes," Lilith said warmly. "You have expanded the Tribe's reach in the Otherworldly Battlefield. Your deeds will be etched into the Tribe's history books."

"Dirtclaw, Gustalon. It is good to have you home."

Lilith led the bow, with Lysinthia and Lycanor following suit. It was a formal gesture, representing the entire Stoneheart Horde's gratitude for their returning champions.

"Please, My Lady, you honor us too much!"

"It is only our duty!"

Gustalon and Dirtclaw hurried to return the bow. Only after the formalities were exchanged did they follow Lilith into the Horde Hall's outer fortress and take their seats in the war room.

Lilith wasted no time. She laid out every scrap of intelligence the Sentinel Corps had gathered regarding the enemy.

"The opposing force is the Alliance of the Hundred Races. Their leader is a Lokiviria," Lilith explained, pointing to a map. "Behind them stands a mysterious figure—an Arch Lord."

"Their objective is the South. They intend to push the demarcation line. The Lords invading our territory specifically are the ones too cowardly to face the Alliance of Four on the main front."

The briefing continued for some time. Eventually, having transferred command and resources to the two generals, Lilith, Lysinthia, and Lycanor departed. They were needed in the South to guard Stoneheart City.

Gustalon and Dirtclaw were now the Alphas of the North.

"When did these northern races get so ambitious?" Dirtclaw asked, staring at the closed door. "Do they not know the power of the Stoneheart Horde? Do they think we rose to power on luck alone?"

He turned his gaze to Gustalon. Dirtclaw had assumed Orion recalled them to face the Alliance of the Hundred Races' main army. Instead, they were here to clean up a mess made by cowards avoiding the real war.

To Dirtclaw, these enemy Lords were walking corpses.

"I think," Gustalon said with a rare smirk, "My Lord has given us a vacation. Who knows? Once we clean this up, we might get a real assignment."

It was a joke, but one that would prove prophetic sooner than they thought.

"Sigh... I can't believe our enemies are just a bunch of cowards," Dirtclaw grumbled. "Gustalon, hold the fort for a bit. I'm going home."

He wasn't underestimating the enemy, simply stating a fact. With their current power levels, even if a Lower Arch Lord showed up, the two of them combined could hold their ground. Whether they could win was another matter, but these invaders? They were nothing.

Gustalon nodded, unbothered. He had a manor in Blackstone City, but he'd barely spent a week there in total. It didn't feel like home.

Dirtclaw was different. Blackstone City held his first real "den" in this world—a place that was entirely his. And inside that den, a harem of Gnoll beauties was waiting for his return.

The Sixth Layer of the Abyss.

War had arrived.

Deep within the territory south of the Foundry Citadel, across a vast, sprawling landscape, the Conquest Legion clashed violently with the invaders.

This region had once been a dark, lush forest, rich with low-level magical flora and fertile soil. Now, the drums of war had turned it into a wasteland.

The earth was sodden with blood, turning the soil a gruesome shade of dark crimson. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and rising magma, choking out the natural scents of the forest.

It was the smell of Demon Fire. The scent of sin.

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