West. Moonprison.

After Brodin capitulated, handing over half his territory and population to save his own skin, Orion didn't waste a second. He led his brothers and the Conquest Legion westward, straight toward the domain of the Demigod Grefiel.

Moonprison lay directly west of the Foundry Citadel. Since Grefiel was one of the aggressors who had tried to sack Orion's city, Orion had zero intention of showing mercy. He was coming to liquidate the asset.

But when they arrived, Orion stopped dead in his tracks. He stared blankly at the horizon.

"Talk about a clean getaway," Leonidas grunted, looking out over the desolate wasteland. "They stripped this place down to the bedrock."

Where a massive fortress city should have stood, there was only a colossal, flat crater. It looked like someone had scooped the city out of the earth with a giant spoon.

"The spatial fluctuations are still turbulent," the Deputy Commander noted, eyes closed as he sensed the lingering mana in the air. "They haven't been gone long. He took the whole city with him."

"So, what's the play? We just let the prize walk?" Leonidas asked, turning to Orion. They had come expecting a shakedown, not an empty lot.

"It's not a total loss," Arthas interjected, his voice calm and pragmatic. "Grefiel might have fled to the Seventh Layer, but he couldn't take the land itself. This is still Demigod-tier territory."

Arthas swept his gaze across the barren landscape. "The soil, the leylines—they're still infused with power. It won't take long for the Abyssal Energy to reshape the environment. Wild demonic monsters and displaced tribes will migrate here naturally. It solves Orion's biggest bottleneck: the lack of a foundation."

Edward nodded. "Arthas is right. Instead of a one-time payout of loot, occupying this land is the superior long-term investment."

The Deputy Commander, Arthas, Leonidas, and Alexander—turned to Orion.

If they annexed this territory into the Conquest Legion's borders, the issue of generating consistent Faith Energy—a headache that had plagued Orion for months—would be solved.

"You're not wrong," Orion said, brow furrowed. "But isn't it a bit premature to start planting flags?"

He wasn't trying to be a buzzkill, but the situation was volatile. He pointed a finger toward the sky.

Everyone understood the gesture. High above, in the unknown dimensions, Kaidric was currently battling the Abyssal Ruler, Julius.

The outcome of that duel would dictate everything.

Orion's original plan was simple: hit and run. Extort resources, then fade into the shadows before the dust settled. But claiming vast tracts of land? That painted a giant target on his back. If Julius won, Orion would be sitting on stolen land with nowhere to hide.

"Bro, don't overthink it," Leonidas slapped him on the back. "Screw it. If things go south, just go cry to Commander. Knowing him, he'd probably conquer the entire Sixth Layer just to stop your whining."

It was a joke, but it carried a grain of truth. The Commander was aware of the situation. He had their backs.

"Leonidas is right," Edward said, his tone firm. "Take the land. Even if the Abyssal Ruler wins, he'll be grievously wounded. By the time he comes looking for trouble, who's to say he won't be the prey?"

The Deputy's confidence was infectious.

"Alright," Orion nodded, his hesitation vanishing. "We take it."

With his brothers flanking him, their combined auras flared, sending a clear warning to any neighboring Lords: Stay away.

"Heh, now that's what I like to hear," Leonidas grinned. "Look at our little bro, becoming a bona fide Big Boss of the Abyss."

Orion shrugged, looking down at the empty crater. Now came the hard part: logistics. Even with the land secured, rebuilding required resources. Agriculture, mining, water sources, labor... he was starting from scratch.

Over the next twenty-four hours, Orion utilized the Demigod Phantoms of his brothers to enforce a rapid expansion. The Conquest Legion, fresh off their victory, surged forward, claiming the empty expanse of Moonprison and the ceded lands of Brodin's Throne.

It was a frantic, uncontested land grab.

The territory was massive. Orion planned to establish two new satellite cities, forming a defensive triangle with the Foundry Citadel at the apex.

As for the Divine War raging above the sky dome? Orion could only wait.

He didn't know it yet, but the moment Julius was challenged, the entire Sixth Layer had descended into anarchy.

It wasn't just Orion causing trouble. The House of Julius had made countless enemies over the millennia. The only thing keeping the other Lords in check had been the fear of Julius himself.

But now? With the King on his deathbed, the wolves were feasting.

All across the layer, Lords and Demons who had been oppressed by Julius's clan rose up. It was a bloodbath. In a matter of hours, nearly ninety percent of the Arch Lords loyal to House Julius were slaughtered. The survivors were either powerful enough to hold their ground or smart enough to surrender their territories before the mob arrived.

In the chaos, the entire layer held its breath, waiting for a body to fall from the sky.

Titanion Realm. The Northern Bastion of Menethis.

It was a red dawn.

The night before, the Northern Bastion had weathered the largest Beast Tide since its construction.

The earth outside the city walls had been churned into a slurry of mud and gore. In the low-lying trenches, blood hadn't yet coagulated; it flowed like sluggish creeks, shimmering under the pale morning light.

Even the majestic bastion looked grim. The indestructible stone walls were scarred with thousands of claw marks. Shreds of flesh and fur remained jammed in the cracks of the masonry—a silent testament to the ferocity of the siege.

On the ramparts, Pallas leaned heavily on his trident. For the first time, the reality of war settled into his bones.

Back in the tribe, he had grown up listening to the elders tell stories about the rise of the Stoneheart Horde. They spoke of rivers of blood and mountains of corpses. Pallas had always assumed they were exaggerating for dramatic effect.

Standing here, smelling the iron in the air, he realized they hadn't been lying.

Victory wasn't glorious. It was messy. If you wanted to win, you had to drown the enemy in their own blood.

"This was just the appetizer."

Prince Theodore stood nearby, his single-handed greatsword resting against his shoulder. His posture was impeccable, showing no sign of fatigue.

Throughout the night, Theodore had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the VIPs—Elara, Pallas, Delphine, and Blizzarion. He had acted as their personal guard, ensuring that while they got their kills, they remained safe.

He wasn't just fighting a war; he was building alliances. Bonds forged in blood were harder to break than those written on paper.

He glanced at Delphine. The Blood Elf Princess looked exhausted but resolute. The shared trauma of the night had stripped away some of the courtly distance between them. Her gaze toward Theodore was softer now, filled with a reliance and trust that only combat could cultivate.

It was the kind of bond a woman—or a queen—would find hard to refuse.

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