The mont the front line fell—
Alison and the others, who had just arrived at the rear kingdom stronghold, imdiately sensed that sothing was wrong.
At the sa ti, their communication artifacts began receiving Henry's final instructions regarding all affairs—handled with his usual prudence and precision.
But as they read through the ssages, they all understood the bitter truth: he was most likely already dead.
Even those who usually didn't get along with him couldn't help but feel a complicated swirl of emotions in their hearts.
So degree of sorrow inevitably showed on their faces.
Still, they didn't allow themselves the luxury of mourning for long. They knew there was still much to be done, and they couldn't afford to waste precious ti on grief.
Their imdiate task was to deliver a massive trove of intelligence to the various kingdoms. This included counterasures they had compiled over many years of battling the Abyssal Demons, as well as detailed observation reports on the plagues.
Every bit of information had been bought with countless sacrifices, hard-won knowledge that could help prevent further tragedy—there was no room for delay.
Moreover, unsure whether they had been infected by the plague during the recent battle, the entire team would be heading to a designated quarantine zone for isolation and observation.
This, too, was a hard-earned protocol derived from painful experience—a asure ant to prevent further spread of infection.
Not long afterward, the dozens of kingdoms behind the front line received the report that the front had completely collapsed.
Many of them had assud there was still a month or two of breathing room, but now panic swept through like wildfire.
After a bout of fierce argunts and political bickering—
By the end of the day, the many kingdoms that had once idled behind the protection of the frontline, indulging in political gas and petty power grabs, suddenly found a renewed sense of unity. They declared that all the nations of the Myling World were like brothers born of different mothers, bonded by a friendship as radiant and eternal as the sun—and swore to advance and retreat as one!
As a result, a slew of "sincere" and "heartfelt" treaties were signed with great enthusiasm. Rare resources and elite troops were hastily dispatched to the frontlines without regard for cost. The atmosphere of camaraderie was so thick it nearly reached the point of an on-the-spot brotherhood ceremony.
It had to be said, compared to the common folk, these high-ranking figures—though perhaps not much more intelligent—were certainly better at recognizing the need for compromise. When faced with life or death, they knew when to act decisively.
One could reasonably predict that even though the frontline had fallen, the Abyssal Demons would have a hard ti quickly subjugating all these kingdoms.
After all, this was a high-tier world. The very fact that kingdoms could be established here implied that each one possessed so hidden trump cards. A few might not be a threat, but dozens banding together was a different story entirely.
Furthermore, the various religions founded by the gods of this world were unlikely to sit back and do nothing.
No doubt, crusading forces were already being assembled.
In short, while the collapse of the front line marked the beginning of the Abyssal invasion, it was rely the appetizer—the symbolic act of planting a nail into the Myling World. It was far from being the decisive blow.
As for all this—Orsaga understood it clearly, but he didn't care in the slightest.
His obligations were complete. These matters no longer concerned him.
Now, it was ti for his own enjoynt.
At this mont, he was soaring through the sky at supersonic speeds, his figure streaking like a beam of light. Within just ten minutes, he had crossed the forr front
line—previously inaccessible due to the protective barrier.
He personally beheld the enormous ravine that stretched across the land below for countless kiloters.
He also saw the devastated demon forces beneath him—an utterly tragic scene.
Especially those demons who'd been half-blown to death and were now weak enough to be devoured by their own kind… it was a brutal spectacle.
For a mont, he felt a rare lancholy, lanting the hardships of demon life.
"Hahahahahaha!!"
In that instant, having experienced firsthand the terrifying power of that white beam, he couldn't help but laugh sorrowfully—an expression of empathetic grief, seen from a demon's perspective.
Along the way, he casually scooped up a few souls that were on the verge of dispersing, easing his heartbreak with this small compensation.
After all, he was still a demon—never forget your roots. Free loot should never go unclaid.
Retrieving the souls of his fallen comrades was, all things considered, not a bad deal.
After flying over the ruins—
On his journey toward other regions, Orsaga spotted many fellow demons.
Teleporting, digging, running, flying—
They were using every thod available.
He imdiately understood their intentions—similar to his own. They were all trying to escape into remote regions and hide.
Except that, while Orsaga just wanted to loaf around and maybe find so fun along the way, their motives were far more questionable.
These demons, like Orsaga, had chosen to pay ten sa-rank souls to join the war effort as lone wolves. They weren't under Ignarok's command and were all out to make a na for themselves.
Knowing their nature, their goals were likely the usual: mass slaughter, spreading cults, performing blood sacrifices… the usual demonic pastis.
If the demons under Ignarok's command were the ones storming the frontlines with brute force, then these guys were the sneaky saboteurs—rogue infiltrators who brought their own provisions and bought their own tickets into this world, each hoping to stir up chaos behind enemy lines and profit from it.
Although smaller in number than the main force, these demons were usually stronger and far more deranged in ntality—posing a danger no less significant.
That said, this kind of lone-wolf operation, while less competitive, ca with much greater risk.
Especially in a high-tier world like this one.
In lower-tier worlds, you could hide in the middle of nowhere and likely avoid any powerful figures. But in this high-tier world, magic barriers were everywhere—you never knew when you might get detected and ambushed.
It was a high-risk, high-reward venture: succeed, and you earned a fortune; fail, and you'd beco rare crafting material for this world's defenders.
After giving a quick glance at these comrades who shared his adventurous spirit, Orsaga didn't interfere with their plans. He simply selected a route based on the mories he had plundered and continued on his way.
Before long, he had crossed over a thousand kiloters and arrived at a vast, seemingly endless ocean.
Without hesitation, he dove straight in, sinking tens of thousands of ters beneath the surface as he pressed forward into the deep sea.
As he moved, his body began to shift rapidly—transforming from his true form, which had grown to nearly ten ters tall, into a more compact human form.
Hours later, along the coast of the Kingdom of Bloom…
As the waves rolled rhythmically ashore, a red-haired figure dressed in local Myling-style clothing erged from the sea under the cover of night.
He looked up at the sky, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of the massive detection barrier hidden above.
A trace of disdain flashed through his mind.
Compared to those on the front line, this one was several levels weaker—barely even a nuisance.
He didn't waste ti. Using the innate camouflage ability of his talent, [Crimson Exoskeleton], he silently slipped past the periter.
Sniffing the air, he caught the subtle scents carried by the breeze and quickly pinpointed the location of the nearest city.
Without haste, he leisurely strolled off in that direction.
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