CHAPTER 818: MEETING WITH THE REBELS (I)

Vlad smiled calmly as he sensed the hatred and frustration radiating from Augustus and his team. Once he had put sufficient distance between himself and the fortress, he and Jormungandr separated, their fusion ending in a smooth ripple of energy.

"Hahahaha! Did you see their faces?" the small yellow cat laughed heartily, his voice echoing in the cold wind. But soon, his expression shifted to something more serious. "Boss, why didn’t you fuse with Ouroboros and Fafnir as well?"

Jormungandr could not help but remember the strength they were able to display in Valhalla. The power to level mountains and burn seas with a single strike would have been perfect for this fight. "If all four of us combined our strength, we could’ve destroyed Augustus and his team completely. Maybe even reduced that entire fortress to ashes."

Vlad looked at the True Depravita of Gluttony with a thoughtful gaze before shaking his head slowly.

"Even with the Brain of Thot, fusing with all three of you is not something I can maintain for long," he replied. "Yes, the power we could unleash together would be devastating. But it’s risky to put all our eggs in one basket. A cornered animal is dangerous, and if Augustus had a tool capable of severely harming us or sealing us, it might very well be the end of the entire invasion."

He paused for a moment, exhaling a quiet sigh as his eyes glanced back toward the distant fortress, which still shimmered faintly on the horizon.

"And even if we succeeded—if we killed Augustus and destroyed the stronghold—it might trigger an early alert to the Zanis Homeworld. That could bring an entirely new set of problems down on us. Right now, our understanding of the enemy’s full capabilities is still too shallow. I won’t risk the entire invasion on a premature show of force."

Finally, Vlad turned back to Jormungandr and offered a small smile. "Never jump the fence if you’re not prepared for what’s waiting on the other side."

The yellow cat gave a slow, respectful nod, his eyes glowing with admiration as he saw how much Vlad’s tactical mind had grown.

After a few hours of travel, the pair found a hidden valley shielded by cliffs and dense magical interference. There, they rested and recovered from the intense battle. When both were once again at their peak, they ascended into the skies once more, resuming their part in the war effort.

Over the next few weeks, Vlad launched a series of relentless hit-and-run strikes across enemy lines, delivering destruction deep into the heart of Zanis-held territories. His attacks didn’t succeed in inflicting long-term devastation, but they forced Augustus and his elite guard to stay constantly on the defensive. They had no choice but to dedicate their time and elite forces to defending their structures and personnel, unable to focus on advancing or retaliating. It bought the Xaos forces precious time.

By the time Augustus and his commanders had managed to rally enough elite soldiers from other strongholds and military installations spread across Exilon, it was too late. The Xaos armies had already reached the Tier III Continents.

These lands were notoriously inhospitable. Some zones were so cold that even Champion-tier warriors could have their blood freeze in minutes. Others were home to monstrous creatures whose strength rivaled or surpassed that of low-tier Guardians. But despite the harsh environment and the ferocious monsters, the Xaos forces advanced with unmatched efficiency and resolve.

They didn’t just march—they harvested.

As they moved, they gathered every valuable resource in their path. Minerals, crystals, ancient relics, and, most importantly, biomass. Hundreds of monsters fell each day to their blades and firepower. Every corpse was carefully preserved and prepared, stored in spatial rings and flown back to the Dragon Spine via orbital drones. These resources would fuel the Thiamatos Obelisks and accelerate the production of the Reapers.

One of the most infamous of these territories was the Mist Continent, named for the dense, frozen fog that blanketed the land year-round. The mist wasn’t just cold—it was fatal. It reduced visibility to nearly zero and turned everything it touched into brittle ice. Most considered it a perfect hunting ground for monsters—and a death sentence for unprepared hunters.

But that changed the moment Xaos troops arrived.

Among the apex predators of the Mist Continent was a species known as the Frozen Rex—enormous, draconic lizards that measured hundreds of meters in length. With jaws that could crush fortresses and claws that shredded steel, they had ruled these lands for centuries.

Their reign ended today.

The leader of their horde, the largest and most ancient of the Frozen Rex, was lifted into the air by his neck. His thrashing limbs were helpless against the grip of the figure who held him—a man more colossal than the monster itself.

Clad in radiant golden armor, the figure stood like a living mountain. His body seemed capable of carrying entire peaks on his shoulders. Cold eyes glared from beneath his helmet as he tightened his grip. The bones of the Frozen Rex snapped audibly, one by one, before its neck finally shattered. The Sage-tier beast gave one final, desperate growl before it went limp, its centuries-long life ending in the grip of a titan.

And the titan did not stop there.

He turned toward the rest of the monster horde with unshaken focus. In his hand gleamed a massive halberd, etched with runes that glowed with restrained power. Despite his immense size, he moved with astonishing grace—every step calculated, every strike masterfully executed. He weaved through the battlefield with an expertise in martial arts and combat rarely seen even among the greatest warriors.

He wasn’t alone.

Thousands of elite Xaos soldiers followed behind him, each one moving like a ghost—silent, precise, and deadly. They executed the monsters with surgical efficiency, their blades never needing more than one strike. Within less than an hour, the entire Frozen Rex horde lay dead. Their enormous bodies were preserved, sealed in space rings, and sent back to the Dragon Spine.

Grand Marshal Anglius’s massive frame trembled slightly as the final echoes of battle faded into the howling wind. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the surroundings with meticulous focus, making sure that everything was in order.

He oversaw every detail with unwavering discipline, ensuring that every ounce of biomass was collected from the fallen monsters. Not a single drop of usable tissue was to be left behind. Though Anglius believed that soldiers—disciplined and loyal—were the true heart of the Xaos military, he also recognized that every Thiamatos unit, forged from monster remains and destined to die in battle, could mean one more soldier spared. That alone made their grim harvest worth every effort.

Once the area had been swept clean and the final space rings sealed, Anglius prepared to mobilize the troops and move to the next sector. But just as he raised his arm to signal the advance, something caught his eye.

His body stilled.

A figure stood alone in the distance, obscured by the swirling blizzard. Anglius narrowed his eyes, but the snow made details impossible to discern. Channeling energy into his vision, he enhanced his sight with elemental precision—focusing past the blinding storm until the shape became clear.

It was a man. A lone figure standing against the wind, his posture relaxed, calm.

He was staring directly at Anglius.

Then, he raised his hands and made a series of slow, deliberate gestures—signals, unmistakable in their intent. Once finished, the man turned around and began walking away, disappearing slowly into the fog of ice and mist.

Anglius’s eyes sharpened even further.

"He wants me to follow. Alone."

It could easily be a trap. But something in the Grand Marshal’s instincts stirred. He had survived dozens of campaigns, had looked into the eyes of deceivers, predators, and gods, so he knew how to detect danger, and this was not the case.

This wasn’t a baited ambush. This was the main reason why they had marched into this place to begin with.

"Commander Sirus!" Anglius’s voice thundered across the frozen plain.

The second-in-command, a lean man with a steel gaze, appeared instantly at his side.

"You are in charge while I’m gone," Anglius said. "Hold the men in full battle formation and wait thirty minutes. If I don’t return by then, lead the troops to the Dragon Spine and report to High Command."

Commander Sirus’s eyes widened slightly. The thought of leaving the Grand Marshal to wander off alone was deeply troubling. For someone of Anglius’s rank and power to be separated from the main force in enemy territory, it went against every rule of command.

Yet he saw the unwavering resolve in the Marshal’s eyes.

Sirus’s mouth tightened into a grim line, and he offered a solemn nod.

"Yes, sir."

Anglius gave one final glance at his troops before stepping into the storm, following the trail left by the mysterious figure. His massive form vanished into the snow, swallowed by the blizzard.