"The Roc-blooded race to the west is gone," Isilra reported, her voice flat. "They evacuated, stripped the land clean. All that’s left is a massive, empty territory."

"Good," Orion commented. "I was wondering where I was going to park my allies’ guilds. We’re running out of space."

Isilra didn’t respond to the comment. "To the east, the Fury tribe’s gnolls were scattered during the Scourge. Some were absorbed by the Nightwing race along the Sunrise Sea. They’re an aerial race, so the demonic invasion barely touched them. In fact, they profited from it, scavenging and hunting. Recruiting them will be difficult."

Orion could see the deep-seated weariness in her eyes. The Silverwood Realm wasn’t weak, not really. It was just fractured. Everyone had their own agenda—fleeing, fighting, or just hiding and hoping for the best.

"Don’t sweat it," Orion said, his voice laced with the easy confidence of someone who held all the high cards. "Once my guys are back to full strength, there won’t be room for any other factions on this continent. Flying just means they’re target practice."

As for the old dragon to the south... a demigod was a problem, but it was a problem for another day. And not his problem to solve.

"Mm," Isilra gave a small, weary nod. The arrival of the Champions Alliance had saved her, saved the Demigod of the Moonwell, and saved Staghelm City. They absolutely had the power to back up their claims.

"In a while," Orion said, his tone shifting from strategic to pragmatic, "you’ll come back with me to the Stoneheart Horde. We need to have the wedding."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of political reality. Both the Champions Alliance and Staghelm City needed to see a formal, unbreakable bond between them. Otherwise, an independent Staghelm City sitting in the heart of their new continental territory would be an unacceptable strategic risk. Until the marriage was done, her people would continue to live on a knife’s edge.

"Alright," Isilra agreed, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. She didn’t refuse. As an archlord peak powerhouse herself, backed by the full political weight of Staghelm City and the Demigod of the Moonwell, her wedding would be a major event. Even Orion had to treat it with the appropriate respect. A grand ceremony—two, in fact, one in the Stoneheart Horde and one in Staghelm City—was inevitable.

***

The Venomfen Swamp.

While Orion and Isilra were discussing marriage, Tangere stood on his new territory, staring out at the seemingly endless expanse of marshland, lost in a daze.

When Orion had first pulled him into the Silverwood Realm invasion group, he never would have dreamed he’d get a slice of the pie this big. This single piece of territory, if managed properly, contained more than enough resources to fuel his own push to archlord. Compared to what Caesar and Aerin had received, Tangere had hit the jackpot.

"The path is clear. The future is bright," he whispered to himself, a slow smile spreading across his face.

To anyone else, a swamp was useless wasteland—impossible to build on, impossible to traverse. But to Tangere, a master who cultivated and weaponized plagues, it was the perfect breeding ground. It was for this reason Orion had carved out the entire Venomfen and given it to him. If all went according to plan, Orion would soon be Tangere’s official patron. And Orion wasn’t stingy with his protégés.

***

The Abyss, Fifth Layer. Mosela Citadel.

Another half a month slipped by. The crimson mist still clung to the citadel, and even from dozens of miles away, the fortress was a monolithic, intimidating presence on the horizon.

Orion had the Conquest Legion make camp a safe distance away. His senses had been focused on the citadel, and he felt it: a demigod-level presence, slowly stirring from its slumber deep within.

He was right.

Deep in the subterranean vaults of Mosela Citadel, the Progenitor, Valacar, slowly sat up in his ornate sarcophagus. The faint ripple of cosmic law Orion had used against Iskar had been enough to rouse him.

He glanced at the two smaller coffins beside his. They were empty.

The coffins aren’t damaged,

he thought, his ancient mind processing the facts with cold logic. That means Iskar and Perrin weren’t killed. They were captured by a demigod. Those two clever fools. Did they really think luring a demigod here would solve their problem? Arrogance and confidence are two very different things, you idiots.

The arrival of Orion and his Conquest Legion was an annoyance, certainly. But Valacar felt no fear, no real concern. Just... irritation.

"A visitor is a visitor," he mused, stepping out of the sarcophagus. His silver noble’s finery was immaculate, perfectly tailored. "Whether they become a neighbor or are simply passing through, a new power on the board is an opportunity, not just a threat."

***

Conquest Legion Camp.

"My lord, we have a visitor from Mosela Citadel," Bidalun, commander of the first army, reported as he entered Orion’s command tent.

"Let him in." Orion had sensed the envoy approaching for miles, but saw no need to intercept him.

A moment later, a vampire in a black formal suit entered the tent. He took one quick, assessing glance at Orion, then dropped to one knee before rising into a respectful bow.

"Greetings, great and honored conqueror," the vampire said, his voice smooth and even. "My Progenitor, the Eminence Valacar, extends an invitation. He believes that regardless of whether our paths lead to war, there is no need for beings of the demigod tier to needlessly exhaust one another. Such a conflict would only serve to deplete our foundations and disrupt both our long-term ambitions."

This one’s sharp, Orion thought. For a mere Legendary level grunt, his delivery was flawless—deferential but not servile, and he’d perfectly articulated Valacar’s position. It wasn’t a show of fear, but a pragmatic appeal to mutual self-interest.

The vampire produced a gilt-edged invitation and offered it with both hands.

Orion gave a slight nod. Bidalun stepped forward, took the invitation, inspected it carefully, and only then presented it to Orion.

Orion opened it and fell silent. The tent became utterly still.

The situation was more complicated than it appeared. The reason Orion had halted his advance was not out of caution, but because of something he’d seen during his initial reconnaissance of Mosela Citadel: a large population of giant slaves.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, they were of the Shadowabyss race, one of the four great branches.

That was the cause of his hesitation. If he stormed the gates, he knew the giants would be the first ones thrown onto the walls as meat shields. He had long held the ambition to unite the four branches, to become a true King of the Giants.

With that prize dangling in front of him, he had chosen to wait.