Old Man would never forget those words, nor the scene that followed.
He couldn’t fathom how a force of fewer than a thousand evolved could declare the slaughter of a well-established base with towering walls and over ten thousand defenders.
He was grateful to this group, yes. Even though today’s ordeal had begun when they sought him out, they had sacrificed two of their own to cover his team’s retreat.
Old Man knew he wasn’t irreplaceable. He understood those boys could have taken only him and left the rest of his squad to die. That was why he felt indebted.
And precisely because of that, he hated seeing his compatriots blinded by rage, charging into a fight they might not win.
Perhaps they truly were strong enough to wipe out Stink Nest. But how many would die in the process?
Was avenging two lost lives worth losing even more?
He wanted to reason with this young leader, but the calm determination on the man’s face told him any plea would be futile.
What also shocked him was the reaction—or lack thereof—from the rest of the group. As their leader, perhaps this "Mr. Ye" had no choice. But why didn’t his subordinates try to dissuade him? Weren’t they the ones risking their lives in what seed like a aningless battle?
To Old Man, this fight held no purpose.
Five years in the apocalypse had taught him to avoid reckless vendettas.
Yet what happened next left him utterly stunned.
The first to move were the won warriors wrapped in thick furs.
Old Man had always wondered why most of this force were won. They carried an aura of strength, yet many seed frail, as if recovering from severe injuries.
But the mont they entered combat, they transford. In unison, they drew their blades—then, in a flash, the weapon in the lead warrior’s hands morphed into a massive black scythe.
A blinding arc of light sliced through the Ice Bear Knights.
The seven-star captain and his n barely twitched before the light cleaved through them.
Then, stillness.
To Old Man and Ivan on the walls, the sight was horrifying.
Over two hundred knights split cleanly in half.
The bodies slid, then toppled. A few seconds in reality, an eternity in the eyes of those witnessing it for the first ti.
What kind of attack was this? How could a single strike kill hundreds?
Old Man’s hands trembled violently, though he didn’t notice.
The riderless ice bears panicked. So charged Cloud Peak’s lines; others rampaged sideways, straight into their own unprepared allies.
Chaos erupted beneath the walls.
"Kill them all!"
A voice—one of the Young Army—rang out. The furious boys surged forward like enraged bulls.
Only those who had fought and bled beside them daily could understand their bond.
They were all brothers and sisters. Each loss was a wound to the soul.
They weren’t saints—just selfish survivors who cared only for their own.
Their blades rose, their eyes burned, and they beca reapers.
Then the sky ignited.
A dragon descended, wings beating, breath scouring the battlents. Siege engines exploded; evolved turned to ash before realizing their doom.
"A dragon! An actual dragon!"
People who saw it were stunned and shouted.
To those raised on Eastern legends, Yangos was more a force of nature than a mythical terror. They were more afraid of its level and strength. As well as its giant body.
But here, it was the stuff of nightmares. It was the top of the food chain, and its appearance sent them into panic.
The appearance of the fire dragon extinguished their hope of resistance.
Even Ivan, Stink Nest’s leader, took one look at the beast and fled toward the rear gates.
As the leader, he wanted to flee.
The icebirds struck next—silent, lethal. Frost spread, freezing dozens solid before shattering them with a touch.
Nine Treasures erged from underground, its massive fra crushing everything in its path.
Yellow Ball beca a golden streak, vanishing into the city’s heart.
Only then did the female guards advance. By now, the Young Army had slaughtered every defender outside the gates.
Resistance on the walls crumbled without leadership. The won raised their crystal rifles, suppressing the last pockets before Yangos finished the job, roasting everything in sight.
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