Chapter 368: Caminata Aerea!
The hive kept sending the drones forward, using them as cannon fodder to drain the stamina of the Lords of Horror. Yet, even as hours passed, the towering warriors remained unmoving, fighting nonstop. Their movements never became sluggish; neither their minds nor reflexes showed any sign of deterioration. It was as if fatigue did not exist in their vocabulary.
Freya’s eyes had not left their figures the entire time. She couldn’t help but feel in awe. Her strength and speed were greater than any of them, but she had to admit that when it came to endurance, she couldn’t compare. In a single clash or duel, she could defeat any of the Lords of Horror, but they were superior in terms of impact on the battlefield.
"Just how were they created?" she wondered aloud. Not even in Valhalla, a higher plane with advanced civilization, had Freya seen this type of war machine.
Grand Marshal Anglius was just as shocked as Freya, perhaps even more so. It took a moment, but he remembered the name Ned Anark. He was a first lieutenant, a man with an excellent military record, but according to his recollection, Ned had been only a Level 10 Warrior three months ago.
The golden giant couldn’t understand how such a massive change could have occurred. A small part of him couldn’t help but desire that transformation, becoming one of those unstoppable machines. Of course, Grand Marshal Anglius didn’t know that he wasn’t suitable for the transformation; his potential could allow him to become a Guardian, so there was no way he would be transformed and block his future.
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Hours carried on, and night had already fallen. The battlefield was bathed in an eerie glow from the arcs of lightning that crackled across the sky, illuminating the scene in brief, intense flashes. The Lords of Horror showed no signs of exhaustion, their massive forms moving with the same relentless precision as when the battle had begun. Their bastard swords swung through the air, each strike sending bolts of lightning slicing through the swarms of drones.
The ground was slick with the dark, viscous blood of the Leviathan drones. Broken bodies piled high, forming grotesque mounds that steamed under the cool night air. The scent of scorched chitin and ozone permeated the atmosphere. The Lords of Horror waded through the sea of corpses without hesitation; their white armor splattered with streaks of black ichor that only served to make them appear even more formidable.
In stark contrast, the Leviathans began to falter. The once seemingly endless waves of drones had been reduced at a steady rate. After fifteen hours of relentless combat, fewer than twenty thousand cannon fodder remained.
The Leviathans had kept their most powerful aerial drones and insect-humanoid warriors at the back, preserving their strongest units for the moment when the humans would show signs of weakness due to exhaustion. But it seemed they would run out of drones before that happened. The hive mind calculated its next move, realizing the exhaustion tactic had failed.