CHAPTER 679: INTEL

"What?" Howler and the other zombies froze, their minds going blank.

Umbradrake’s words echoed in their skulls like a death knell.

A real... The Voidborn Undying.

"No wonder..."

In an instant, everything made sense. The overwhelming gap in strength, the crushing pressure, the way their boss got flattened in a single hit—it all clicked.

They hadn’t just picked the wrong fight.

They’d picked it with him.

"But how? Why would a real Voidborn Undying show up in the outskirts of Necroterra?"

"Does that mean we’re...?"

They didn’t dare finish the thought. Their minds spiraled into despair.

And then they saw him.

Ethan.

Walking toward them.

Step by step.

Calm. Unhurried. Like death itself was closing in.

The weight of his SSS-tier aura pressed down on them like a mountain. Every zombie on the field felt it—an instinctive, primal fear. The kind that said: Run. Or die.

Umbradrake, now fully aware of the nightmare he’d stumbled into, felt all resistance drain from his body.

There was only one option left.

Surrender. And pray.

"Please don’t kill me! I—I’ll serve you! Just give me a chance!" he blurted out, dropping to his knees and bowing his head without hesitation.

Ethan stared at him, unimpressed. He’d expected a real fight. A worthy opponent.

Instead, he got... this.

"What use are you to me?"

"I—I’ll do anything you ask! Anything! I swear!" Umbradrake stammered, desperate.

Honestly, submitting to a real Voidborn Undying wasn’t even that humiliating. If anything, it was a smart move. A survival tactic.

Howler quickly chimed in, trying to sweeten the deal. "Oh! And our corpse nest—we’ve got a ton of pigs! Like, a lot!"

"Oh? A lot of pigs?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. That actually caught his interest. He’d been meaning to set up a fresh meat supply. A pig farm would be a good start.

"Alright then. Tomorrow, bring me ten thousand pigs."

"Wh—what?! Ten thousand?!"

Umbradrake’s eyes bulged like he’d just swallowed a live grenade. His entire pig stock didn’t even come close to that number.

"Boss... I don’t have that many!"

"Really?" Ethan said coolly. "That’s odd. I thought you were The Voidborn Undying."

"Uh..." Umbradrake froze.

He wasn’t stupid. You didn’t survive long as a regional overlord without a working brain. And right now, his brain was working overtime.

Wait... is he telling me to keep pretending?

Use the title. Use the fear. Go to other corpse nests and "collect" livestock?

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

As long as Ethan didn’t expose him, no one else would know he was a fraud. At worst, they’d just think he lost a fight. But if he had the backing of a real Voidborn Undying?

He could go full tyrant.

And ten thousand pigs? That was doable.

"Alright! You got it! I’ll make it happen!" Umbradrake said, nodding furiously.

"Good," Ethan said, voice low and sharp. "But don’t try anything stupid. If you do, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re a fake."

That wasn’t just a threat—it was a death sentence. If word got out that he’d been faking the title, the other corpse nests would tear him apart just to make an example.

Umbradrake winced. "Understood. You don’t have to worry. I’ve got no way out now—I know what I have to do."

"Good. Then go. You’re dismissed."

The moment Ethan said it, Umbradrake and his crew looked like they’d just been pardoned from execution. They bowed deeply, then turned and slunk away, tails between their legs.

As they limped off the battlefield, Umbradrake kept smacking his thigh in frustration, muttering curses under his breath.

Damn it! Damn it! What the hell was I thinking?!

Why didn’t I just stay home and keep my head down?

Why the hell did I have to mess with him?!

Now, he’d lost everything—his pride, his arm, and probably his entire pig stock.

...

The Zombie Horde from Draconis Citadel had stormed in like a tidal wave—only to slink away like whipped dogs.

Once the dust settled, Ethan’s crew returned to the corpse nest, spirits high. The music kicked back in, the undead resumed their twisted revelry—dancing, drinking, and celebrating like the apocalypse was just another party.

Hank, in particular, was practically starstruck by Big Ears. The way he’d read the battlefield, predicted the outcome, and kept his cool? Genius-level stuff. In Hank’s eyes, Big Ears wasn’t just a strategist—he was a damn warlord in the making.

As for Ethan, he returned to his hovercraft, back to his usual routine—sending out signals, probing the networks, and diving deeper into the mysteries of human tech.

And just like that, the long night passed.

The next morning, three suns slowly rose over the horizon, casting a golden-red glow across the wasteland.

True to his word, Umbradrake showed up early, dragging along Howler and the rest of his crew. They brought the first batch of pigs—what little they had from their own corpse nest. It wasn’t anywhere near ten thousand, but it was a start.

The rest? Well, that was going to require some "creative acquisition."

Which, for Umbradrake, was basically just going back to his roots—extortion, intimidation, and good old-fashioned corpse nest shakedowns. He was surprisingly efficient at it, too. Like slipping into an old, bloodstained coat.

Ethan watched all this unfold with mild amusement. Sure, Umbradrake’s bluffing ability hadn’t lived up to the hype, but maybe—just maybe—there’d come a time when that fake aura of his could be useful.

More importantly, their little chat had given Ethan something far more valuable: intel.

Compared to Dreadpaw, Umbradrake’s territory wasn’t as remote, so he actually knew a bit more about the layout of Necroterra.

According to him, the continent was divided into five major regions: Eastreach, Westmarch, Southvale, Frostmere, and the central zone—Heartland.

Heartland was the crown jewel. Rich in resources, full of rivers, mountains, and fertile land. It was said to be overflowing with food and energy.

But it was also crawling with monsters.

The strongest of the strong ruled there—most notably, The Five Warlords of the Heartland, a group rumored to be the most powerful beings on all of Originis.

Of course, Umbradrake didn’t know their exact strength or class. He was just a fake Voidborn Undying scraping by on the edge of Southvale. Heartland was a distant dream to him—one he had no intention of chasing.

And honestly? Ethan didn’t blame him.

From what he’d gathered, Umbradrake was... slightly stronger than Dreadpaw. Not by much. But enough to be useful.

Still, the information he provided gave Ethan a clearer picture of what lay ahead.

And it confirmed one thing: now was not the time to head toward Heartland.

Not yet.

The tech Ethan had brought from Earth was still powerful—but only out here, in the fringe zones. If he pushed deeper into the core of Necroterra, he’d be outgunned fast.

Who knew what kind of monsters those central-region Zombie Kings were packing?

Especially that one Voidborn Undying who had sent him a signal from Originis all the way back to Earth. That alone proved the guy had access to tech far beyond anything Ethan currently had.

And the way he seemed to know everything—even Ethan’s plan to restore Mia’s memory—was unsettling. Like he was watching. Listening. Always one step ahead.

Where the hell is that guy from? Ethan wondered. Which Region?

Whoever he was, he’d told Ethan to find him after synthesizing the spatial key.

And if he could monitor Ethan’s movements across dimensions, then he probably already knew Ethan had arrived on Originis.

Which meant he was likely already planning something.

Something bad.

Time was running out.

Ethan knew it in his bones—he had to grow stronger. Fast. Because whatever was coming... it wouldn’t wait.

"Looks like I’ll have to pay human civilization a little visit," he muttered.

...

A few days later, Ethan was ready to move.

The plan? Raid some tech. Upgrade the gear. Arm his undead army with something a little more... modern.

Who knew? Maybe he’d find a few surprises along the way.

Meanwhile, Umbradrake’s extortion campaign was going surprisingly well. The pig count in the corpse nest was rising fast, and the first official undead livestock farm was now operational.

Ethan handed off the management to Big Ears, officially naming him the Pigmaster General.

Because while the guy couldn’t fight for shit, he was weirdly good at everything else.

And honestly? That was exactly what Ethan needed right now.

...