"...Who exactly are you people?!" the marshal shouted, his voice trembling between fury and disbelief as he shoved Sakaar’s hand away from him. Nothing unfolding around him made any sense!
"..." Sakaar, however, kept his hand raised for a few long seconds, towering over the marshal. From beneath his mask his perception fixed downward, not with anger, but with the detached composure of soone examining a troubleso child—still deciding whether to discipline him or simply ignore his tantrum.
Only after those tense seconds did he finally move his arm behind his back. His tone was calm, steady, yet heavy as stone: "We are the aid you need if you wish to survive."
"...That wasn’t my question." Marshal Darvion ground his teeth so tightly it seed his very bones creaked. To his ears, that reply was the most arrogant, the most insufferably conceited response anyone could possibly give in such a dire mont. This stranger had marched into their bastion, the fortified heart of a planetary empire that had endured for a thousand years, and now dared to proclaim himself the one responsible for their survival!
And yet—sothing deep within whispered that he must not argue, must not challenge those words, no matter how offensive they seed.
"Your question is aningless, unworthy of an answer," Sakaar said as he turned away slightly, dismissing Darvion with a re glance. "What should matter to you is our work, not our identity." His chin lifted as if to emphasize his disdain. "Were it not for the fact that your Overlord already acknowledges our strength, he would never have deigned to negotiate directly with my Lord and request our presence. Is that not enough for you?"
"....."
Darvion’s eyes fell to the ground. That single, almost casual statent contained a veiled ssage sharper than any blade.
If their Overlord had truly spoken to Sakaar’s Lord directly, then this ant that the Lord of these crimson soldiers was no ordinary planetary emperor confined to the Young Belt and subject to so higher Overlord. Unlike the Shattering teor Emperor, who bowed to greater power, this one... this one conversed as an equal with Lord Hedric himself—their Overlord!
More than that, the Overlord negotiated with him for things?! The implications were staggering.
Sakaar fell silent, confident that a marshal of Darvion’s caliber could piece together the reality without needing further elaboration. He gave him minutes to stew in that revelation before finally breaking the silence. "Very well. That should suffice. I believe your subordinates can handle the rest from here."
"Hm? What?!" Darvion blinked, ripped from the whirlpool of his thoughts. "What did you just say?!"
He snapped his head toward the battlefield in alarm.
And at that mont, the winds of war had shifted entirely.
The dividing line that marked the shallow zone had collapsed. Three crimson soldiers alone had turned the allied flank into chaos. Their destruction was absolute—no array remained intact, no frontline soldier still stood his ground. All were either slain where they stood or had broken into panicked retreat.
Over the seas and skies, the naval and aerial battle had nearly reached its end. Nine massive warships, each belonging to a different army, had been struck down one after another, their hulks smoking in the waters below. The remainder of the great vessels had withdrawn hastily, fearing the sa fate. What remained in the field were only smaller, swifter ships clashing desperately with winged beasts. In this arena, the Falling teors Empire excelled, supported by their arrays and the coastal anti-air batteries.
Yet the crimson troops did not confine themselves to the frontlines. Several had infiltrated deep into the allied rear formations, igniting brutal close-quarters skirmishes. Limbs, armor, and shattered constructs littered the air like storm-tossed debris; the once-calm backlines were nothing but a maelstrom of death and wreckage.
Even the cannon fields—once roaring relentlessly—had fallen utterly silent. Since that newcor had arrogantly declared he had already dispatched soone to deal with them, not a single barrage had been fired. Instead, smoke and dust were billowing upward in heavy columns. From a distance it resembled the awakening of a volcano that had slumbered for millions of years, now erupting in uncontainable fury.
After giving the marshal ample ti to witness the scale of devastation, Sakaar finally transmitted his soul force into the sound-seal ring integrated with his crimson armor. His voice carried clearly, commanding, for all nearby to hear: "That will do for today. Pretend to be injured... and withdraw."
"What was that? Who are you speaking to?" Marshal Darvion swung toward him, outrage blazing. "Did you just say pretend to be injured? What in the hells does that an?!"
Sakaar did not answer. Yet the response ca swiftly enough.
"Arrrrgh!!" One crimson soldier on the frontlines suddenly reeled back, pierced by a stray strike that hurled him dozens of ters away.
BANG!
"Hoe to !!" Another, the one who had been casually felling warships with a single arrow each, was struck square in the face by a direct artillery blast. The cliff beneath his feet crumbled apart, dropping him into the sea.
And so it repeated across every front. In the blink of an eye, every crimson soldier who had overturned the course of battle suffered sudden, chaotic injuries and were forced into retreat. The tide of war, once annihilating, seed to ebb deliberately, like a tide withdrawing at its master’s will.
Behind Sakaar, a swirling gate of crimson and violet opened with a thunderous hum. From within, Amon erged first, his colossal fra slightly bent, dragging one leg as though wounded. Helga followed right behind, one hand gripping her shoulder where her armor was scorched and cracked. Yet, the mont the gate closed with a resonant snap, both of them straightened, their posture returning to perfect stability, as if the injuries had never existed.
Amon’s harsh, gravelly voice broke the silence: "We managed to annihilate only seventy percent of the cannons completely within the ti limit. The rest sustained heavy damage but remain salvageable — repairs will take ti, but they are not entirely gone. Those weapons are absurdly massive and built to withstand ages of war."
"I’ll accept that outco." Sakaar inclined his head slightly, his tone calm, steady, unshaken by the enormity of the task. "Gather the remaining kings at once. Join Baron and the others in scouting for a proper refuge and begin the expansion. What I want is not a re hideout — I want an entire city carved beneath the earth, fortified and self-sustaining. I trust I don’t need to elaborate further."
"Understood." Both Helga and Amon gave sharp salutes, their armored fists clashing against their chests. Before leaping from the platform into the chaos below, Amon hooked his arm around the general how escorted Sakaar here and tucked him under his side like a parcel. "Co with us. You’ll guide us through the terrain."
Hwaaaaah~~
The thunder of their departure faded, leaving only Sakaar’s imposing presence looming quietly over the platform, and Marshal Darvion, standing rigid, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief.
"What is this... what is happening here?!" Marshal Darvion finally erupted, his voice cracking between fury and desperation. His eyes darted over the battlefield as though the entire world had betrayed logic itself. "Why did you order them to retreat instead of crushing the enemy outright?! Today was the mont — the perfect chance to obliterate their foothold in the shallow lands once and for all! We could have pushed them back across the continent and, by week’s end, reached their stronghold on Conka itself if we pressed forward!"
"Have you already forgotten the mission I told you about earlier?" Sakaar turned slightly, his voice like iron wrapped in calm certainty. "I am not fond of repeating myself."
Marshal Darvion clenched his jaw so hard the veins in his neck bulged. Insult — pure, unadulterated insult. When was the last ti soone dared speak to him in such a manner? Even the Alliance marshals, who ruled entire sectors, gave him his due respect. Yet here he was, being dismissed like a naïve officer.
And still, despite his pride, he forced the words through clenched teeth: "...To safeguard Planet Verilion until it ascends to the dium Belt?"
"Correct." Sakaar nodded once, the motion deliberate and slow. "The mission said nothing about exterminating every last one of your enemies, nor did it say we are to fight on the frontlines on your behalf." His massive hand rose, and he extended a single finger, pointing it downward like a verdict. "Even if every soldier under your banner were annihilated, our responsibility is simply this — to prevent the destruction of the planet itself until the mont of ascension. Nothing more."
"That’s outrageous!" Darvion’s voice cracked under the weight of his fury. "You have the power to help! Anyone can see it! This is the final continent still under our banner! Here lies the seat of the imperial family, here is the soil upon which the Overlord first descended! If we lose it, the wound will be irreversible. Even if the planet rises after that, it will no longer hold the sa glory or importance to the Overlord. Your Lord will punish you for this negligence!"
"Oh?" Sakaar tilted his masked head slightly, as though amused by the outburst. "So, you want to assist in protecting the last bastion of your empire?"
"Yes!" Darvion shot back instantly, his voice raw, trembling with urgency. "We are allies, aren’t we? Allies fight for each other!"
Sakaar chuckled low, the sound echoing like stone grinding against stone. "Very well. We can discuss it." His imnse arm lifted slowly, almost lazily, before descending to pat Marshal Darvion’s shoulder twice. The weight of the gesture was like that of a mountain pressing down. "But first... bring a proper seat."
User Comments
0 comments from readers