The second week of September in the year 1798 of the Solar Calendar was dubbed by the newspapers across all nations as the Alliance's darkest seven days.
In just one short week, under targeted hunts by the Twelve War Gods, the United Council of Kingdoms Alliance lost a staggering nine Tier 8 combatants.
The Creti Empire had spared no military sacrifice, coordinating suicidal assaults to force the allied nations to dispatch reinforcements to critical bastions. Then, the moment a Tier 8 powerhouse was left isolated en route, the War Gods would strike in precise kill teams of three-on-one or seven-on-two, locking them down for an inescapable execution.
Faced with at least one crowd-control specialist, one heavy striker, and one healer among the War Gods simultaneously, no Tier 8 stood a chance.
Even news of High Priest Loren's death arrived.
Meanwhile, the War Gods remained in full fighting condition. Not a single Tier 8 powerhouse of the Alliance had managed to inflict an effective, lethal wound upon them before dying.
...
Across the vast western lands of the Southern Continent lay a superpower known as Cambella.
Not only was it a frontrunner in comprehensive national power among the kingdoms of the Southern Continent, but it had also long been celebrated as the hub of peace and stability.
Both the headquarters of the Southern Continent Shadow World Management Association and the Card Makers Association were located here. Its territory was vast, completely dwarfing the Hutton Kingdom situated on the far eastern edge of the continent.
In Cambella's royal capital of Sloveni, inside the Supreme Council Chamber of the United Council of Kingdoms.
The sheer grandeur of the architecture seemed to challenge the heavens themselves. Pure white walls were adorned with intricate openwork patterns, and the sunlight streaming through these delicate apertures fractured into countless golden ribbons, weaving splendid tapestries of a divine age across the hall.
Deep within this supreme chamber lay an enclosed space fortified by barriers and heavy metal gates.
At that moment, several figures sat around a round table, their expressions grave.
Embedded in the mirror-smooth surface of the table was a star-speckled chessboard that reflected every beam of light in the room.
"The Twelve War Gods have only one objective: hunting down Tier 8s."
Someone broke the silence.
Every battle the War Gods had participated in before had merely been a facade; seizing cities and land was neither their true role nor their greatest threat.
To any nation, a Tier 8 protector was an irreplaceable pinnacle asset that only long years could ever replenish.
In truth, the War Gods' brazen, surgical strikes against Tier 8s were an open conspiracy.
Just who was leaking the whereabouts of the Tier 8s?
Anyone could see that there were traitors among the high-ranking officials of the United Council of Kingdoms.
The Creti Empire deliberately wanted the Alliance to know this.
Now, panic swept through the entire United Council of Kingdoms Alliance.
The citizens of the allied nations no longer trusted the Council's leadership.
Nor were the allied kingdoms willing to adopt high-risk strategies any longer. They would inevitably choose the safest possible measures to preserve their own nations' pinnacle assets, refusing Council mobilization orders and refusing to risk ambushes just to reinforce other countries.
As a consequence, once the Alliance's conservative shift was anticipated by the Creti Empire, mutual reinforcement dwindled, and the frontlines began a formal, catastrophic collapse.
A heavy atmosphere permeated the Supreme Council Chamber. The faces of the figures seated at the table were set in intense, solemn, and anxious scowls.
"Could it be that in addition to leaks from within, the enemy also possesses an extraordinary divination master?"
One figure voiced his concern.
The deeper they investigated internally, the more terrified they became. The moment one mole was rooted out, another seemed to lurk just behind.
"Regardless, the Creti Empire has already achieved its objective. Once a crisis of trust takes hold, it can never be undone," another figure added.
The councilors' gazes shifted between one another, searching for each other's stances and thoughts in the quiet exchange.
"The Creti Empire focuses entirely on offense without defending, slaughtering civilians indiscriminately. In reality, they are using the populace as leverage, forcing us to ramp up our defensive engagements and reinforcement frequency."
Seated at the head of the table, Council Speaker Steven pinched the bridge of his nose as he sought the opinions of the other councilors.
"And once reinforcements are mobilized, pinnacle combatants must be stationed at critical fortresses. Otherwise, we can only pull back the frontlines, surrendering our territory and leaving countless civilians to die just to preserve our core assets."
As elite individual combatants, Tier 8s possessed mobility far surpassing entire legions.
In a full-scale campaign, they were equivalent to highly mobile, dispatchable grand army units.
The territory of the United Council of Kingdoms Alliance was simply too vast. The Twelve War Gods' movements were elusive, and the Creti Empire frequently deployed body doubles to allow the true War Gods to roam free and strike.
Now, they were determined to kill the Alliance's Tier 8s at any cost.
To defeat a Tier 8 combatant who had practically stepped into the realm of the gods, one either needed another Tier 8 to counter them, or relied on armies and massive military fortifications—such as Phantom Tremor Towers, Magitech Rift Cannons, and Firmament Shield Formations—all of which could inflict sufficient, decisive damage on a Tier 8.
A choice had to be made.
Tier 8s were irreplaceable hero units that dictated tactical flexibility.
If all the Alliance's Tier 8s were wiped out, their chances of victory in this war would become vanishingly slim.
"If we consolidate any further, our defense may be secure, but what about the civilians who can't escape? Are we really going to hand over most of our land to the Creti Empire on a silver platter?"
After a long silence in the Supreme Council Chamber, someone finally slammed the table in fury.
"Then what do you propose we do?"
"Why not take a gamble? Concentrate all our superior forces and launch an all-out assault on the Creti Empire!"
"The Creti Empire's tactics are utterly arrogant. They act as if they couldn't care less whether we counterattack. They're telling us loud and clear—if you dare attack our home, they'll happily trade bases."
"And that means preparing for total annihilation. A battle like that would end very quickly, and if we get pinched from both sides, we will find ourselves in the worst possible scenario."
The Creti Empire's mad-dog offensive proved they didn't care about their civilians. Conversely, they knew the Alliance cared deeply about its own.
"Furthermore, even if we were willing to wager everything, could we really convince all the nations to coordinate and participate in such a plan?"
When that question rang out, silence fell over the Supreme Council Chamber once more.
Trust had shattered. It was impossible for every kingdom to agree to such a desperate gamble, and unless all nations stood united, the wager was meaningless.
After prolonged deliberation,
in the end,
the United Council of Kingdoms was forced to make a bitter decision.
For the sake of security,
every nation would proactively contract its frontlines, no longer dispersing combat assets to hold isolated ground.
Only by yielding territory could they increase the density of their armies and defenses, safeguarding their Tier 8 hero units and allowing multiple Tier 8s to operate together.
*Keep land and lose people, and both land and people are lost; keep people and lose land, and both people and land are preserved.*
Even so,
this decision meant the United Council of Kingdoms would steadily cede territory in the days to come. Civilians across tens of millions of square kilometers began the largest mass migration in recorded history...
...
A few days later.
Kingdom of Posen.
District 1, South Bank, Palieu, the City of Flowers.
At four in the afternoon in Luxen Park along the Selena River, the autumn sun cast a shimmering glow across the water, blanketing it in a delicate golden veil as a gentle breeze dispersed patches of mist.
Regardless of the war raging beyond, the capital in the heartland of Posen remained a relatively safe haven.
A slender young man sat on a bench by the riverbank.
He seemed lost in a daze, completely motionless.
After who knew how long, another figure finally came over, took a seat beside him, and casually opened a newspaper.
"Meeting by the Selena River. Quite a pleasant mood you're in," Nigel murmured to himself while reading.
He had tracked Lanqi down, dressed in civilian clothes to blend in like an ordinary citizen of the flower capital.
From the moment it was decided that he would help Lanqi infiltrate the Creti Empire, he would no longer interact with Lanqi under his identity as Lieutenant General Nigel.
"It's rare to catch a sunny day," Lanqi replied, turning his gaze from the river to Nigel beside him with a helpless smile.
"Lately it's been nothing but rain and fog. I feel like my heart's about to rust," Nigel remarked with a sigh, exhaustion evident in his eyes.
The waves of the Selena River lapped steadily against the shore.
"It won't always be like this," Lanqi murmured, looking back toward the water.
"I've finalized your arrangements. Tomorrow, you'll be heading to the Creti Empire alone," Nigel said, turning a page of his paper.
Lanqi's shadow rippled, and a small cat poked its head out, hopping curiously onto Lanqi's lap.
"So sudden, meow?" it asked Nigel in surprise.
By rights, Nigel had promised to handle everything within a month.
"It's not sudden. I asked to expedite the trip to Creti myself. There are important matters to deal with," Lanqi replied, stroking the cat's head.
The cover identity might be a bit of a stretch—the age and profession differed noticeably from what he had originally envisioned—but it allowed him to enter Creti much sooner.
Even arriving one day earlier could save countless lives.
"If you need to return, you can submit one of your paintings to the Creti Central Daily. Someone will contact you and arrange a way back to the Alliance," Nigel said, passing the newspaper to Lanqi.
Though it looked like an ordinary paper, it contained the instructions for contacting Posen's intelligence operatives within the Creti Empire.
He was confident Lanqi would memorize it after a single glance.
"Understood."
Lanqi took the newspaper.
"I look forward to the day we can call each other comrade once again." Nigel stood, adjusted his hat, and looked at Lanqi. "Take care."
With that parting wish, he walked away without looking back.
In this war, every meeting could be their last.
In their line of work, there came a time when one's life no longer belonged to oneself. Facing invaders, death was not frightening; what was terrifying was dying in vain.
"Take care," Lanqi whispered.
He shifted his focus to the newspaper in his hands, leafing through it.
Looking at the memorial photograph of Loren printed on the page, a storm of emotion surged within him.
Lanqi finally stood, walking to the water's edge beside a stone pillar connected by iron chains.
Silently reciting the coded message, he tore the critical page of the paper to shreds and cast them into the river.
Closing his eyes, he heard the mournful blast of a ship's horn.
The vessel's broadcast gradually grew clearer—
"September 17, 1798, at 4:30 PM Posen time, South Aquitaine Domain Free Radio with an urgent bulletin."
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received a battle report from the frontlines. The 2nd Chris Magitech Armored Division was ambushed by the enemy's 11th Heavy Cavalry Legion near Fort Harrison in the southeast. Following a day and night of fierce fighting, our forces suffered heavy casualties, losing approximately 60% of our combatants and magitech equipment. At present, the frontline has been forced to fall back thirty kilometers west of the Yser River. Simultaneously, on the Bronte Heights, our 55th Infantry Division is surrounded by the enemy's 7th Mountain Division and 1st Airborne Special Forces, facing the imminent threat of total annihilation."
"According to the battle report from Supreme Command, in the past twenty-four hours, over 25,000 personnel of the United Council Alliance forces have been killed or gone missing. The enemy's advance is unstoppable, surging north from Horsen in a relentless push while our forces retreat on all fronts. To the north, the enemy's 4th Army has broken through our blockade near Ylis Province and is driving directly toward Port Austin."
"Southern Supreme Commander General Albion delivered an address this morning, calling upon the military and citizens of Posen to unite as one and fight the invaders to the bitter end. He stressed that though our situation is dire, so long as we hold fast in our resistance, the dawn of victory will eventually arrive. Let us stand shoulder to shoulder to welcome the final dawn!"
The announcer's voice choked with emotion, unable to suppress the sorrow and outrage within.
The radio then swelled into a stirring rendition of the "Hymn of Glory"—
*Forward, forward, brave warriors!*
*Raise high the banner of justice and truth.*
*With our blood and our lives, we write an immortal heroic hymn.*
"Dying takes courage."
Lanqi bowed his head and stood for a moment before returning to the pier.
Without uttering another word, he sat alone on the bench, facing the rising morning sun and the sea breeze.
The dying embers of dusk cast their glow over the slowly drifting river, dyeing the water golden, while the clouds at the horizon blushed crimson like the colors of dawn.
Lanqi sat alone on the bench dressed in a simple white shirt. His face was marked with grief and sorrow, tears glistening in his eyes as he gazed reluctantly into the distance, as if reminiscing about the days he had spent in Ikerite.
From the church behind him drifted soft, distant music, like someone feeling their way forward through the darkness in solitude—saying nothing, merely pressing on, not knowing how far away the light still lay.
The surroundings felt exceptionally quiet around his stillness, broken only by the occasional birdcall and the distant voices of children.
A riverbank beneath the setting sun, a bench, a gentle breeze stirring his hair and clothes, while he remained utterly still.
"Lanqi, meow..."
Boss Cat worriedly raised a paw and patted Lanqi gently.
It was the first time it had ever seen Lanqi like this.
Lanqi shook his head, signaling to Boss Cat that he was all right.
He picked up the little cat and gazed into the distance.
"Look on the bright side, Lanqi, meow. Maybe Loren isn't dead after all. He's so strong, maybe he found a way to get away! Besides, the Creti Empire probably announced his death just to demoralize the Alliance, and, and..."
Boss Cat had no idea how else to comfort him.
All it could do was take out that [Counterfeit Slate - Wind] and press it into Lanqi's hands, hoping it might offer him something to hold on to.
Although combatants killed by the Twelve War Gods left no corpses behind, one couldn't simply insist Loren was alive just because his body hadn't been found.
If one clung to that hope, seeing a War God in Creti's camp unleash the [Original Slate - Wind] one day would only deliver an even more devastating blow.
Lanqi looked at the [Counterfeit Slate - Wind], his grip tightening around it, and raised his head.
"I'm heading to Creti. Rest assured."
In Lanqi's emerald-green eyes, the setting sun, the river waves, and the opposite bank were reflected.
"I will persevere."
"As long as we walk the same path, we will meet in the end."
"When victory comes, I will come see you."
He spoke firmly to himself.
"I will inherit Loren's name, and in the Creti Empire, I will carry his will through to the very end."
It was unclear to whom he spoke that final sentence—perhaps to himself, perhaps to the Hutton Kingdom, or perhaps to the Goddess of Fate.
"..."
Boss Cat stared at Lanqi.
As everyone knew, there were two Lorens in this world.
Now that the surface Loren was gone, the covert Loren was going to take the stage in full force.
"Wait, Lanqi, what if he's not dead..."
Boss Cat suddenly felt a pang of worry.
It was afraid that even if Loren truly were alive, Lanqi running rampant across the Creti Empire under his name would terrify the real man so much that he wouldn't dare show his face ever again.
Chapter 705