CHAPTER 805: REAPERS (I)

The forest where over five hundred thousand Zanis soldiers had been butchered did not remain quiet for long. Before the shattered ground could even settle, a second group arrived—this time composed of elite Sages accompanied by a powerful Legend.

Every member of the scouting force was on high alert, their spiritual senses expanded to the maximum, weapons at the ready. These were no ordinary soldiers; they were trained veterans with combat instincts honed over decades.

Word of the massacre had spread quickly, and while the scale of the slaughter was harrowing, no one was truly surprised by the casualties as they were facing enemies capable of taking down the three most powerful strongholds of the world at the same time.

What did shock them, however, were the accounts of the few surviving soldiers. According to their frantic, fragmented testimony, the enemy was not human—nor demon, beast, or anything they had faced before. The attackers were described as creatures from nightmares, more terrifying than anything conjured by hell or the Abyss.

Yet despite this horror, not a single survivor could clearly describe the enemy’s form. The only consistent details were flashes of black fire, glimpses of jagged claws, and a sudden, searing pain before everything went dark. Some had heard whispers in their minds. Others described being paralyzed by fear before being thrown into unconsciousness. The reports were incoherent and terrifyingly vague.

If they wanted to continue the investigation, they would need firsthand evidence. That meant returning to the site of the slaughter.

As the team of Sages and their commanding Legend descended into the ruins of the battlefield, a heaviness settled over them. It wasn’t just the pressure of combat readiness—it was a spiritual weight, as if the very air carried the cries of the dead.

And then came the true horror.

There were no corpses.

No scattered armor. No limbs. No dried blood. Not even the metallic scent of decay. The only signs of the battle were collapsed trees, scorched earth, and fractured terrain. Not a single trace of the half-million soldiers who had marched here remained. It was as if they had been erased from existence.

This was unnatural. Even demons and abyssal beasts that devoured flesh still left bones, armor, or blood. These attackers had consumed everything—flesh, weapons, clothing, even the bones. All gone. It was as if they had never existed at all.

The Legend crouched low, examining the dirt beneath his feet. He activated several scouting artifacts, attempting to detect any magical residue, any trace of movement. His frown deepened as he reviewed the data.

"They even erased their trail," he muttered. "These aren’t wild monsters. They’re an organized, coordinated force."

His words sent a ripple of unease through the Sages. They began scanning the area with wide-range detection spells, hoping to find something—anything—that could lead them to the enemy’s whereabouts.

But then, before anyone could speak again, a sharp glow pulsed from the Legend’s communication crystal. He lifted it with a grimace, focusing on the incoming message. As he read, his expression darkened.

"They struck again," he said quietly. "Another battalion—three hundred thousand strong—was ambushed. Fewer than two hundred survived."

Shock spread across the team. In total, nearly a million trained soldiers had been slaughtered in less than two weeks, and not a single clear image of the enemy had been obtained. The creatures weren’t just dangerous—they were tactical, intelligent, and lethal.

The Legend wasted no time. He compiled the details and sent the full report back to the main headquarters, directly into the hands of the Zanis Family’s scion himself.

August roared in fury as he read the report.

"Damn it!"

The marble beneath his boots cracked like brittle glass as he slammed his foot down, rage surging through him. The command room fell silent. Every officer nearby held their breath as the High Legend paced back and forth like a caged beast.

He had been confident in the plan: flood the continent with millions of Champion-tier troops, flush out the invaders, and sacrifice what was necessary to locate and crush the threat. After all, the deaths of soldiers meant little if victory followed.

But this? This was waste. Mass slaughter with no return on investment. He wasn’t just enraged—he was humiliated.

Still, August wasn’t just a warlord driven by rage. He was also a tactician. After a moment, he reined in his fury, cold logic once more taking control. He issued immediate orders: withdraw all remaining standard troops from Asaris Continent. The time for fodder had ended.

In their place, he summoned the elite.

It would take time to gather enough of them on the continent, but once they arrived, they would stand a chance. Each elite was the product of decades of training and resources, armed with powerful weapons, reinforced armor, and military formations that had been perfected across generations. They were veterans of other wars, soldiers who had slain demons and survived.

They would not fall easily.

As for August himself, he would remain in central command. Though tempted to enter the battlefield himself, he knew the risks. If the enemy had even a fraction of the power needed to eliminate him, then one misstep could mean the collapse of the entire war effort. He was not just a fighter—he was the keystone of the war. And keystones didn’t charge into the unknown without preparation.

Days passed. The standard battalions retreated, but not without cost. The nightmare creatures continued their strikes, merciless and invisible. Even during retreat, the Zanis troops suffered heavy casualties.

By the time the final evacuation was complete, an additional 2.5 million soldiers had been lost.

For weeks, Asaris Continent was a silent graveyard. No patrols. No skirmishes. Not even a scouting party dared to enter the dark woods and ruined valleys. Even the most seasoned Legends hesitated to walk the land alone.

But that silence eventually broke.

From the skies, airships descended, and from their holds marched the elites.

The ground trembled beneath the disciplined march of soldiers clad in glistening black armor, each marked with glowing sigils of power. These were the elites of Exilon—men and women chosen from among millions, each the equivalent of an army by themselves.

The elite forces of the Zanis Family advanced through the rugged terrain in highly coordinated groups of fifty thousand. Though these units were significantly smaller than the battalions of half a million standard troops that had marched before, their combat strength was incomparable.

Fifty thousand elite soldiers could effortlessly slaughter forces ten times their size. This confidence in their power allowed them to move with calculated calm. They did not fear the monsters lurking in the shadows. On the contrary—they waited for them.

They knew the enemy would come. It was only a matter of time.

That moment came sooner than expected.

One such unit was traversing a jagged mountain range when their leading commander suddenly came to a halt, raising a clenched fist. The entire battalion froze in perfect unison. The silence of the mountains thickened. No words were spoken, yet every soldier heightened their awareness, spiritual senses scanning in all directions.

It was faint—so faint that even trained Champions wouldn’t have noticed. But this was not a unit of Champions. These were Guardians and Sages, veterans of hellish wars, wielding power far beyond the common ranks. What the commander detected was a subtle shift in the ground beneath their feet—a tremor that did not belong to tectonic movement or wind. It was rhythmic. Intentional. Something alive was approaching.

Without hesitation, one of the tactical officers pulled a metal disk from his pouch—a specialized seismic detonator—and placed it on the ground. Within seconds, the device activated, sending a brutal wave of pressure into the soil. The mountain trembled as though struck by a god’s hammer. Earth shattered, rocks split, and a shrieking sound echoed from below as the unseen invaders were caught in the shockwave.

But it wasn’t enough to kill them.

The earth at the foot of the ridge erupted violently, a geyser of stone and flame bursting into the sky as something tore its way upward with feral strength. And then they saw it—the monsters.

Towering over four meters tall, the creatures’ hulking form radiated power and menace. Their bodies were built like living weapons—thick, volcanic muscles layered with armor-like plates of obsidian black, fractured in glowing seams that pulsed with molten energy. It was as if the planet itself had forged a warrior from magma and darkness.

They moved with terrifying grace. When still, they were like a statue carved from infernal rock. But the moment they struck, it was a blur—faster than sound, heavier than a landslide. Every motion cracked the ground beneath them, scorching stone with radiant heat.

Where eyes should have been, their faces were dominated by a sleek, skull-like plate, blank and expressionless. They did not see in the conventional sense. Instead, four large auditory membranes—ribbed, twitching, and sensitive to even the faintest tremor—allowed them to perceive the world through sound alone. The heartbeat of a man, the soft hiss of steel drawn from a sheath, even the shallowest breath—none could hide from their detection.

Their arms were monstrous weapons in themselves, ending in claws over a meter long. Curved like scythes, they shimmered with unnatural sharpness, capable of cleaving through enchanted steel, reinforced walls, and anything foolish enough to stand in their way.