With this power in hand, Soraya’s ambition soared. The archlord tier was a hazy mist she could now see straight through. Her gaze locked onto the distant peak of demigod.

“Then let’s start rebuilding,” Orion said, gesturing to the ruins, the surrounding oasis, and the endless desert beyond. In truth, while this world was a Godforsaken Land, it felt more like a small, self-contained realm that had been remarkably well-preserved. Its only real flaw was its monotony. But for a desert-dwelling race, that wasn’t a flaw at all.

“Don’t worry,” Soraya said, her voice filled with a new, quiet strength. “I will forge this place into a perfect kingdom for the sand scorpions, and gather more faith for the Horde.”

Wielding the Desert’s Authority, her understanding of faith had deepened exponentially. She now understood it was a vital resource, essential for her own path to archlord and demigod. She finally grasped why Orion led the Horde on its endless campaigns. It was all about accumulating faith.

Orion needed it for his own ascension, and the high-potential Wardens in the Stoneheart Horde needed it to break through to the archlord tier. For the horde to produce more top-tier powerhouses, it needed more than just resources; it needed territory and the belief of its people.

A wave of clarity washed over Soraya. She saw the grand strategy, and in seeing it, she accepted a greater share of the responsibility.

“Right, one more mission for you,” Orion said. He reached over, plucked the miniature phoenix from his own shoulder, and set it gently on Soraya’s.

“While you’re rebuilding, you two can spar. Get some PvP experience against an archlord-level opponent.”

Both Fenyra and Soraya were green. One was a prodigy raised in a sheltered environment, coasting to archlord on raw talent and inherited power. The other had just been handed a geo-locked archlord power level via an external buff. Neither had any real combat experience at this tier. A little sparring would do them a world of good.

And so, a period of calm settled over the sea of sand. The oasis was rebuilt, and out in the dunes, two rookie archlords pounded on each other like a couple of noobs, with Orion occasionally stepping in to offer pointers.

***

The Abyss, Fifth Layer. The Crimson Plain.

The spatial rift had sealed itself weeks ago. For the Conquest Legion, their current location was irrelevant. Whose turf it was, what it was called—none of that mattered. Their objective was simple: plunder enough resources, and Orion would punch a hole into the sixth layer of the Abyss.

So, the Conquest Legion made camp right where they stood and began sending out small raiding parties into the surrounding area. They were probes, and they were bait. Orion wanted to draw out the master of The Crimson Plain.

That night, a blood-red moon hung in the sky.

A crimson cloud bank, vast enough to swallow half the horizon, began to roll in. In the Abyss, this wasn’t unusual. But Orion felt a strange, unsettling quality to it.

The blood moon itself was an ill omen, but one he could accept as a natural phenomenon. This approaching blood-mist, however, was different. It seemed to move slowly, yet it covered ground with unnerving speed.

More importantly, Orion sensed a palpable killing intent radiating from within it.

“Here they come,” he murmured to himself, a slow grin spreading across his face as he stared up at the encroaching haze. “Took them long enough.”

He didn’t raise a general alarm. Instead, he sent a silent command to Eparus, Bidalun, and Ashreign, putting the Scourge Wardens, the First Army, and the Wraith Knight army on high alert.

A few hours later, the blood-mist roiled overhead, eclipsing the moon. It seemed to have a life of its own, coiling and shifting like a nest of serpents.

“Heheheh… Invaders. All of you will become our feed!”

A ghostly, ethereal laugh echoed from the mist, dripping with a sadistic arrogance that claimed dominion over all it saw. Having failed to detect any significant archlord-level powers within the Conquest Legion, the vampire, Iskar, let his cruel nature show.

As the laughter faded, the mist parted.

A dense swarm of winged monsters blotted out the stars, their shrieks cutting through the night as they looked down upon the encampment of fresh meat below.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Suddenly, hundreds of black spears of light erupted from the ground. They shot into the cloud of vampires, instantly melting anything they touched. The vampires struck by the blasts dissolved into showers of gore, and for a moment, a crimson rain fell upon The Crimson Plain.

“Filthy bottom-feeders,” Eparus roared from the ground, the other Scourge Wardens joining his battle cry. “Who gave you the courage to look down on us?”

Behind them, their Wheels of Scourge morphed into spears and bows, unleashing volley after volley into the sky. On the ground, the First Army and the Wraith Knight army assumed combat formations. Bidalun and his elite Bone-gnawer beast race remained on the ground, their heads tilted back, calmly watching the chaos and awaiting Orion’s command.

The vampires scattered under the assault, some dissolving back into mist to avoid the deadly projectiles.

“What is that race?” Iskar hissed, a flicker of genuine alarm in his voice. “Why do I feel threatened by them? Their strongest are only at the peak of the legendary tier. This is… strange.”

He could feel a distinct sense of danger from Eparus, Holrivus, and Thronlis. It didn’t make sense. By all rights, the only opponent on the field worth his attention should have been the hulking bloodfiend carrying the war banner. He was the one with the archlord signature.

“Two archlords,” Orion observed from the shadows. “One in the open, one in stealth. Cautious.”

Neither the visible Iskar nor the hidden Perrin had escaped his senses.

He noted with a flicker of satisfaction that they couldn’t sense him at all. The cleansing by the Apocalypse Flame seemed to have permanently altered his Deathly Soul-Reaper form.

Tempered by the relics—the war scythe and Doomscourge—his body was not only developing a resistance to certain effects, but its innate stealth had been significantly buffed. This physical enhancement meant his power was constantly, if slowly, increasing. And with the war scythe in hand, his combat prowess was easily on par with a first-step demigod phantom.

He weighed his options. Kill them, or enslave them? Enslavement seems like the more… efficient choice.

Having made his decision, Orion rose. To the Bloodfiend Vex, Xalathar, and Dracolich Phorzak, his form was there one moment and gone the next.