Chapter 485
Taking a deep breath, he finally allowed himself to sit, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders. When a truth is laid out so clearly before you, when it calls you out in ways you cannot deny, there is nothing left to do but accept it.
Acceptance, however, did not mean submission.
His eyes drifted back to the book, his mind already shifting. The calculations were inevitable, but inevitability was merely an excuse for those who had already given up. Zephyr was not ready to surrender just yet and besides his grandfather’s book offered solutions.
The cursed clans were not exempt from this decay. Zephyr’s fingers skimmed over the records, his expression darkening as he took in the undeniable truth. Training regimens, once grueling and unrelenting, had softened. The drive that had once burned fiercely in the hearts of warriors had dulled to embers. They still trained, still followed the routines passed down through generations—but it was hollow. The intensity, the hunger, the need to push beyond their limits had faded.
It was not just a matter of declining strength—it was a betrayal of purpose.
Zephyr’s gaze locked onto the next passage in the book, his breath slowing as he absorbed the words. The cursed clans had been created for a singular reason: to be the vanguard, the unbreakable shield and unstoppable sword of the Apeling Kingdom. Their curses were not punishments but gifts—gifts that allowed them to transcend natural limits and wield overwhelming power. They were meant to stand at the forefront, to be the storm that shattered their enemies before war could even take root.
Of course, the normal apeling army still existed. Their presence was necessary, an additional force that could wage conventional battles. But the book made one thing clear—the standard army only mattered on a surface level. They were soldiers. The cursed clans were weapons. When they marched, they were expected to end wars before they truly began. Their presence alone should have been enough to break morale, to instill fear so profound that surrender became the only option.
The cursed clan army numbered between two to three hundred thousands—a formidable force. Among them, twenty thousand warriors had reached the fifth stage of strength, evenly five thousands among the four cursed clans. The vast majority remained at the fourth stage, with the weakest still sitting comfortably in the middle of that tier.
At a glance, they were still strong. But strength without growth was nothing more than stagnation in disguise.
The normal apeling army, by contrast, numbered in the millions. In raw numbers alone, they dwarfed the cursed clans. And yet, despite their overwhelming population, their highest stage warriors could hardly compare with the cursed ones. Only seven thousand of their troops had reached the fifth stage, and while the distribution among lower tiers was still respectable, their lowest members were merely at the peak of the third stage.
This should not have been an issue. Should not have been.