"That is a secret for another day."

Blizzarion shook his head, flatly refusing to answer Pallas's question. After spending the last fortnight fighting side-by-side, the White Dragon and the Giant had developed a rapport that bordered on friendship—or at least, a healthy, competitive rivalry.

"Oh, come on, don't give me that mysterious act," Pallas scoffed. "You're definitely using some kind of artifact."

He crossed his arms, staring accusingly at his companion. "My old man told me that pure-blooded Dragons can't usually shift into human form until they hit the Legendary Tier. You're holding out on me. You've got some high-level gear stashed away, don't you?"

Pallas was convinced. Over the last few days of their kill-count competition, Blizzarion hadn't just kept up; he'd matched the ferocity of Pallas's Black Dragon mount, Akdir, kill for kill. That alone proved his bloodline was top-tier, but the early shapeshifting was a dead giveaway of external help.

"Your Highnesses," Prince Theodore interrupted, approaching them on the ramparts. "Where is Lady Elara?"

Theodore had noticed her absence when Pallas touched down. The tiny powerhouse of the Stoneheart Horde was nowhere to be seen.

BOOM!

Before anyone could answer, a heavy object slammed into the stone battlements next to Theodore, cracking the masonry and sending dust billowing into the air.

"You called?"

Elara's voice cut through the dust. She materialized via teleportation, standing casually next to a bruised, battered, and unconscious creature.

It was a Goblin. A massive one, standing nearly five feet tall and rippling with muscle.

"The Goblin King," Delphine whispered, recognizing the tribal markings.

"A Goblin Warlord," Theodore corrected, assessing the threat level.

"That cave-dwelling runt," Blizzarion sneered, looking down his nose.

Three titles, three different perspectives.

"This little creep was spying on us from the ridge. Thought his stealth was high enough to ghost us," Elara said with a bored sniff. "I dug out his Core Stone. He's got about one HP left, so if you want intel, you better start talking to him fast."

Ignoring the stunned silence of the Human and Elf nobility, Elara hopped up onto Pallas's shoulder, making herself comfortable. She patted the Giant's massive head like one would a well-behaved golden retriever.

"Not bad today, big guy. You held your lines and didn't overextend. Way better than those brain-dead noobs back at the Tribe who just know how to zerg rush."

Pallas preened a little at the praise—Elara didn't hand out compliments often—but with the foreign dignitaries watching, he just rolled his eyes and shrugged, trying to look cool. "I'm always this good."

Theodore stepped forward, his eyes locked on the broken body on the floor. "A Goblin Warlord... alive..."

He checked the creature's vitals. Faint, but there. Exactly as Elara had said. He immediately signaled for his elite protectors to secure the high-value prisoner.

"Lady Elara, incredible work," Theodore said, genuine awe in his voice. "Capturing a mid-tier Warlord of the Hundred Races Alliance alive? This is a massive contribution to the war effort. I will ensure it is recorded in the official logs."

Elara, tossing the glowing Core Stone up and down in her hand like a coin, didn't even look at him. "Keep your medals. Unless I can cash them in at the Stoneheart Horde's vault, I don't care."

Theodore and Delphine exchanged a glance. The nonchalance was terrifying. This child-like entity had soloed a boss-level enemy, surgically removed its power source without killing it, and treated the whole thing like a minor side quest. Was this really just Legendary Tier power? Or was she something else entirely?

From that moment on, the way they looked at Elara shifted. The respect was no longer diplomatic; it was fearful.

"Your Highness," Blizzarion interrupted, his expression grim as he looked north. "The scouting report wasn't a suggestion. The main army and the beast waves are mobilizing."

He turned to Theodore. "You have seven days. Then the first wave hits the walls."

Theodore's hand went to the hilt of his sword. He drew the blade, the steel ringing clear in the mountain air.

"Gentlemen," Theodore announced, his voice hardening into that of a wartime commander. "Prepare for battle."

The civil war between North and South was about to reach its boiling point.

The Sixth Abyssal Layer. The Throne of Brodin.

The Throne of Brodin was a massive fortress-city south of the Foundry Citadel. Originally a humble gathering place for minor demons, it had been renamed when its ruler, Brodin, ascended to Demigod status.

In the center of the city stood a "God Mountain," a towering peak capped by a colossal statue of Brodin himself.

Today, however, the citizens of Garm were about to witness a spectacle they would never forget.

A beam of sword-light, bright enough to blind the damned, tore through the sky. It struck the God Mountain, cleaving the statue of Brodin into dust.

"Brodin!"

Orion's voice rolled over the city like thunder, cold and imperious.

Simultaneously, a massive phantom scythe materialized in the void, swinging down toward the mountain with world-ending force.

"Orion! Don't push your luck!"

Just as the scythe was about to make contact, a massive spectral figure erupted from the mountain. Brodin's Demigod Phantom caught the blade with his bare hands, the impact sending shockwaves through the city below.

"You want something? Just ask! There's no need for this!" Brodin roared, straining against the weapon.

Hummmm.

The air vibrated as four more figures descended, taking up positions around Orion in a perfect pentagonal formation. The Deputy Commander, Arthas, Leonidas, and Alexander.

One Over-tier powerhouse and four Demigod Phantoms unleashed their aura simultaneously. They didn't just suppress Brodin; they crushed the will of every Demon in the city.

The [Formation: Divine Fire Extinction] activated, instantly sealing the God Mountain in a cage of burning light.

Only then did Orion speak, his tone sounding like a business transaction.

"One Relic. Half your territory. Half your population."

It was highway robbery.

Orion wasn't here to play hero; he was here to raid. He left Brodin with half his assets not out of kindness, but out of calculation. Taking everything would force a death match. Taking half hurt, but it was survivable.

"You don't have the leverage to negotiate," Orion added, his voice devoid of emotion. "Accept, or perish."

"Heh... hehe..."

Brodin, a True-Demon who had survived the cutthroat politics of the Abyss for eons, suddenly relaxed his guard. "Honestly? That's cheaper than I expected."

He understood the play immediately. With the Abyssal Ruler distracted by a higher power, Orion was leveraging the chaos. He was using the threat of the 'Unknown Entity'—Kaidric—to bully the neighbors.

"I accept!" Brodin shouted, his capitulation so fast it almost gave whiplash to the surrounding warlords.

"I'm just curious though," Brodin chuckled, a raspy, grinding sound. "If that entity fails his challenge against the Ruler... what happens to you?"

"That's none of your concern," Orion replied, dismissing the formation.

"Fair enough," Brodin laughed. "But we're neighbors. If you fall, I'll be the first to come to your funeral."

Orion didn't bother responding. Brodin had paid the toll. With their own situation precarious, sparing Brodin for a quick payout was the only logical move.

They took the loot and moved on.

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