Chapter 22: A threat to the balance
Zhao's gaze swept over his lieutenants, his voice steady and commanding as he issued the final order, cutting through the evening stillness with the precision of a honed blade. "We strike now—300 Ironclaw Beasts in the caves ahead, Diamond-tier, slow but brutal. Valorn, lead the Knights with ten dragons—sweep from the east. Acel, take five dragons—flank from the west. Balor, position two War Fortresses at the main exits—block their escape. Lyra, Archers above—rain arrows on any that emerge. Elara, bring the egg closer—let it feed on the fight. Marcus, set leather traps at the rear—catch stragglers. Kael, Veyra—stand by with gear and elixirs. Move!"
The team sprang into action, their movements swift and synchronized, a testament to their training and Zhao's unyielding leadership. Valorn bellowed commands, his deep voice rallying the Eternal Knights as they mounted ten dragons, their Solfare weapons flashing with Vac fire as the beasts took flight, their wings beating with a thunderous rhythm that shook the clearing. Acel whistled sharply, leading five dragons westward, their scales shimmering into stealth mode—vanishing from lesser eyes, a mythic ability that cloaked them from all but the most perceptive—as they flanked the caves. Balor directed two Portable War Fortresses, their divine-tier steel plating glowing with Kael's runes, rolling into position at the main cave mouths with a low, mechanical hum, their bulk sealing off escape routes. Lyra's Archers scaled the trees, their Ancient Wave Panoply gleaming as they nocked poison-tipped arrows, their Solfare bows humming with energy, poised to unleash a deadly rain. Elara cradled the pet egg, moving it closer to the cave entrances, its pulsing light intensifying with each step, while Marcus and his workers strung leather traps at the rear, their hands deft as they worked under torchlight. Kael and Veyra stood ready, their divine-tier gear and celestial elixirs prepared for distribution, watching the unfolding assault with sharp eyes.
Zhao advanced at the forefront, his cloak billowing faintly, the scythe a dark silhouette against the twilight sky, the ring's crimson gem pulsing in rhythm with his steady heartbeat. The hideout loomed ahead—a dozen cave openings nestled into the hillside, framed by gnarled Ironwood trees, their dark maws quiet save for the faint growls of the Ironclaw Beasts within, their Diamond-tier rank marking them as formidable foes, above Bronze but below Platinum, their armored hides a challenge to any lesser force. His team fanned out around him, their positions set, their breaths held as they awaited his signal to strike.
He took a deep breath, the air cool against his skin, and stepped forward, his boot crossing the threshold of the hideout's perimeter, the boundary marked by a faint shift in the earth—loose dirt giving way to packed stone. The moment his foot touched the ground, a surge of necrotic energy erupted from him, an invisible wave of death unleashed by his "Lord of Death" class, amplified by the title "God of Death" and the equipments now bonded to his being. The air darkened, shadows lengthening unnaturally as the Cloak of the Nether pulsed, its golden veins flaring with necrotic power, the Reaper's Scythe humming with a low, menacing note, the Ring of Mortal Bonds glowing crimson as its runes activated.
Before anyone could react—before the dragons could dive, the Knights could charge, or the Archers could loose their arrows—a deafening silence fell, followed by a chorus of guttural gasps and thuds echoing from the caves. The 300 Ironclaw Beasts—hulking, armored brutes with razor-sharp claws and hides like forged steel—dropped dead instantly, their massive forms collapsing into lifeless heaps within the tunnels, their silver-flecked fur (adjusted to Silver-tier for narrative escalation) matting with the dirt as their growls ceased mid-breath. The wave of death had swept through them, a necrotic force so potent that it snuffed out their lives before they could even sense the threat, their Diamond-tier resilience—high-ranked but not invincible—rendered meaningless against the Lord of Death's dominion.
Zhao froze, his foot still planted on the stone, the scythe's glow dimming slightly as he stared at the cave mouths, his sharp eyes widening in shock. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant drip of water within the caves—no roars, no clashing steel, no cries of battle. The Ironclaw Beasts—600, he realized, doubling Acel's initial count as the caves held more than expected—lay dead, their silver scales dulling in the twilight, their bodies sprawled in grotesque stillness. He'd expected a fight, a test of his new class, not... this. The sheer power of his entry had annihilated them, a testament to "Death's Dominion" and the "God of Death" title's necrotic might, unleashed without conscious intent.
He turned, his cloak swirling faintly, and met the gazes of his subjects—Valorn's jaw slack, his Solfare lowered mid-step; Balor's eyes wide, the War Fortresses humming idly; Lyra's Archers frozen mid-draw, arrows nocked but unloosed; Acel gripping his spear, his golden eyes dilated; Elara clutching the egg, her breath caught; Marcus and the workers staring, tools slipping from their hands; Kael and Veyra motionless, their divine works paused. They looked at him not with awe, but with something akin to fear—a primal, hushed reverence tinged with disbelief, as if he were no longer their lord but a monster clad in human form, a being who'd turned a battlefield into a graveyard with a single step.
"By the gods..." Valorn muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his hand trembling faintly on his sword, "what... what are you, my lord?"
Zhao's smirk faltered, his own shock mirroring theirs as he processed the scene—the caves silent, the air heavy with the scent of decay, the weight of 600 Silver-tier monsters' deaths settling into him like a sudden burden. He'd felt it—the surge of experience points flooding into him, a torrent of power from the slain beasts, their essence absorbed by his class's necrotic dominion. The system chimed softly, its voice a quiet counterpoint to the stunned silence.
(Attention: 600 Silver-tier Ironclaw Beasts defeated)
(Experience absorbed: Zhao has reached the peak of Bronze Tier 5-star)