CHAPTER 810: NEW HIGH COMMANDER

Overlord’s eyes widened for a single second. Immediately, he issued the retreat command to the Reapers—but it was too late.

Blood had already been spilled everywhere, and the Reapers, in their aggressive advance, had moved straight into the heart of it.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM."

A cataclysmic explosion followed—one that engulfed not only the corpses of the elite troops but also the still-living soldiers. The blood within their wounds ignited as well, transforming them into living bombs and amplifying the force of the blast to terrifying levels.

Despite the fact that this detonation originated from a force of just thirty thousand soldiers, the resulting explosion far surpassed that of the earlier wave of five hundred thousand. This was not due to numbers, but because the flammable compound in their blood had evolved—its potency intensified in correlation with the strength of the individual host. The result was a blazing inferno that reached for the heavens, like a second sun rising from the earth.

It was, in a twisted way, a magnificent sight—raw power unleashed with apocalyptic beauty. But beneath that spectacle lay a horrifying truth: the fire was fueled by human lives.

It took several moments before the fire began to settle. From the dome of flames, a few Reapers managed to emerge, dragging their scorched, crippled bodies from the hellscape. Fewer than a third of the battalion had survived.

"A defeat," Overlord said quietly, his aura dark and solemn.

The A.I. Chip Clone could only agree. The strategist on the enemy’s side had proved far more cunning than anticipated. First, they had baited him with the expendable. Regular troops—seemingly harmless—had been used to lull him into a false sense of security, leading him to believe that the explosive blood was only present in disposable soldiers.

But it had been a trap.

In the eyes of the one orchestrating this strategy, everything was disposable. Pawns, knights, and even kings—if necessary.

A cold question surfaced in Overlord’s mind: If Champions and elites could be turned into living bombs, what if they used a Legend?

That thought was absurd. A Legend was not just a soldier; they were weapons of mass destruction—living embodiments of divine wrath. Mortals revered them as gods. The very idea of sacrificing a Legend like common fodder was almost laughable. No sane Legend would agree to such a fate.

And yet... this enemy was not bound by sanity.

The Legends of Exilion were indoctrinated from birth. Many of them would likely see such a death not as a loss, but as the highest possible honor. If even one of them exploded near Xaos territory, the destruction would be beyond measure.

The A.I. Chip Clone frowned. This war was no longer straightforward. If this had been a simple, conventional conflict, the Xaos Kingdom would win ten times out of ten. Their soldiers were better trained. Their military technology was superior. Their Legends far outclassed the enemy’s. And above all, they had Vlad, a force of nature who could destroy anyone short of a Lord.

But this was no longer a battle of strength—it was a war of will. Of madness. And the enemy was willing to do what no conventional army would dare. With a population in the billions, even children as young as five could be turned into suicide soldiers. The scale, the zeal, the sheer ruthlessness of their tactics made the path forward almost impossible to see.

Overlord’s mind raced through countless strategies and contingencies. Even so, his commands to the Reapers did not slow for a second. The wounded were ordered to excavate deep underground, using the friction of stone and soil to scrub the flaming gel from their armor. Once the fires were extinguished, newly deployed Reapers devoured the crippled units to recycle their biomass and energy.

This cycle repeated across the continent.

New battalions of Reapers were sent out to engage waves of enemy forces—hundreds of thousands of brainwashed, drug-enhanced soldiers. These troops would charge recklessly, using everything they had just to get close enough to detonate and take a Reaper or two with them. Others, composed of elite warriors, used precise formations, surrounding the Reapers and pulling in the bodies of their fallen to maximize the blast radius when their blood ignited.

Now that Overlord knew anyone could carry the explosive blood, he approached each engagement with heightened caution. His measures helped reduce Reaper casualties, but not entirely. Many were still killed outright. A greater number were too damaged to continue and had to be consumed by their brethren.

Given the volatile nature of the blood, the lives of those soldiers would end even if the Reapers were not sent to fight them. Unfortunately, avoiding the battle was not an option, since the Exilon soldiers could not be allowed to explore the continent.

Overlord knew that if the enemy discovered the precise location of the Dragon Spine—the heart of Xaos operations—they would not hesitate. They would send tens of millions, perhaps even hundreds of millions, of Exilion citizens. All of them carrying explosive blood. All of them ready to die.

And if they reached it, the devastation would be unimaginable.

Only the True Depravitas might survive such an inferno. Everyone else would perish in agony, suffocated by toxic smoke, incinerated by flames that clung to their flesh and refused to die.

Fighting was not optional.

Every one of these suicide troops had to be eliminated before they came anywhere near the Dragon Spine. Every battle had to be fought, every detonation preempted.

...

"Hahahahaha!"

Laughter—loud, triumphant, and brimming with pride—echoed through the command center of the Zanis Family in Exilon.

August stood at the center of the room, his gaze fixed on the screens displaying the battlefield across the Asaris Continent. Each image showed chaos: Reapers engulfed in flame, monstrous forms forced to burrow underground in a desperate attempt to shed the ignited blood clinging to their flesh like molten tar.

Every explosion, every Reaper consumed by fire, sent a thrill through August’s veins. He felt no sorrow for the lives lost in the process. Hundreds of thousands of Exilion soldiers—gone. But to him, they were nothing more than numbers on a chart.

Only the deaths of the elite soldiers stirred the faintest twinge of hesitation in his mind. He recognized their value—how much time and resources had been spent to train them. Even so, he was willing to pay that price. If sacrificing a few elites could eliminate hundreds of Reapers, it was, in his view, a worthwhile exchange. As for the regular troops, August would gladly burn every last one of them if it meant delivering another blow to the enemy. Their deaths, to him, were not a tragedy, but a necessity.

"You’ve done excellent work, Orfry," August said, turning to the side.

Standing beside him was the young man who had orchestrated this strategy: Orfry from the Zanis Research and Development Department. He had not only conceived the idea of weaponizing the soldiers’ blood but had also guided the troops with near-perfect precision, triggering deadly chain reactions that had already cost the Reapers thousands of units.

Orfry gave a respectful bow, his expression calm and composed. "Thank you, my Lord. But honestly, it wasn’t all that complicated. The people of Exilion have been indoctrinated since birth. They truly believe that dying for the sake of the nation—or rather, for you—is the highest form of honor. Exploiting that zeal was only natural."

A brief pause followed. Orfry’s tone remained calm, but his eyes flickered with a cold light, sharp and unforgiving.

"What surprises me," he continued, "is that none of your generals or strategists realized this sooner."

His words sent a ripple of tension through the room. Several officers visibly stiffened. Rage simmered behind their eyes, but none dared to speak. They were seasoned veterans, masters of logistics, tactics, and command—but they had never considered using their own soldiers as living bombs.

Of course, none of them would challenge Orfry now. Not with August smiling at him like a proud father. The young man had become the golden child of the Zanis Family, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Hmph," August sneered, briefly glancing at the nearest general with a look of mock disappointment before shifting his attention back to Orfry. His smile returned, broader than ever.

"You’ve earned your place. I’m appointing you as a High Commander," he declared. "You will have complete authority over the movements of all standard troops across the Asaris Continent. Additionally, you’ll have advisory privileges concerning the deployment of elite units."

Orfry bowed once more, though this time a faint smile curled at the edge of his lips.

"Thank you, Lord August. I promise you—you will not be disappointed."

His voice was soft, composed, and yet it carried the weight of chilling certainty. In that moment, everyone in the room understood that the battlefield had changed—and the young man standing before them was no ordinary strategist. He was a cold mind in a warm body, and he would stop at nothing to win this war.

No matter how many lives it cost.