Without warning, the paper caught fire—not with normal flas, but with a silent, eerie burn—and turned to ash in an instant.
Velrath's expression hardened. His gaze grew serious, as if that small fire had ignited real worry in his heart. He looked toward Malchaezar, who finally spoke in a deep, calm voice.
"Lord Velrath… according to my reading, the one leading Invictus Sect's forces at Fortress Eight is most likely a King-tier Sovereign."
His words fell like muffled thunder, shaking the room.
Silence reigned once more.
Several faces went pale instantly. A burly man with bulging muscles and a black-red fla robe was the first to speak, his voice sharp, "How can you be sure, Malchaezar?"
Another elder quickly followed, confusion and disbelief in his voice. "If they had soone that strong, why bother deploying millions of robots?"
Their minds began piecing together the sa possibility. If the enemy truly had soone that powerful, maybe the overwhelming number of robots was rely a distraction—a way to mask their true strength.
After all, they still believed they held the upper hand in high-tier combat. There were already six Grandmasters in this room alone, waiting for their turn to move.
But Malchaezar remained unaffected by their skepticism. He stared blankly ahead, as if still seeing sothing the others could not yet comprehend.
Hearing the response from the middle-aged man, the elder seated at the head of the table gave a slight nod. His eyes then shifted to the far end of the table, where a bald old man sat motionless, radiating calm.
"Malchaezar, what do you think?" he asked, his voice flat but heavy with pressure.
Malchaezar didn't respond right away. Silence gripped the room. Then, a sheet of white paper slowly appeared above his head—materializing from thin air without a sound, as if summoned by so arcane will. His gaze sharpened, scanning the invisible symbols written on its surface.
Seconds passed. Suddenly, the paper caught fire. The flas were silent, almost sacred, and the paper turned to fine ash, drifting down gently into his lap.
Malchaezar's gaze shifted. A faint unease glimred beneath his calm. He turned to look directly at the elder in the center of the table—Lord Velrath.
"Lord Velrath," he said quietly, "based on my divination, the leader of Invictus Sect currently commanding Fortress Eight... is a Sovereign-class cultivator."
The words hit the room like a thunderclap.
Chairs scraped back as several elders leaned forward, staring at Malchaezar in disbelief. No one spoke until a burly man—draped in a black-red fla robe with a massive muscle emblem stretched across his chest—spoke up.
"How do you know, Malchaezar?"
Another followed, confused and borderline desperate. "If they really have soone that powerful, then what's the point of deploying that many warbots?"
Their thoughts began aligning—perhaps Invictus had deployed those combat automatons purely to mislead their analysis. A psychological tactic. In lower-tier warfare, those robots might dominate. But if this truly involved a Sovereign-class commander... all their previous calculations would collapse. Especially considering there were already six Grandmasters in this very room—Maledictus Sect's highest fighting force.
"I don't have physical proof," Malchaezar replied, his voice even and emotionless. "But my basic reading points to a... very grim outco."
There was no pressure in his tone, no attempt at persuasion. And precisely because of that, no one spoke. They believed him. The silence that followed was both a sign of respect—and fear.
Hmm...
Velrath, the elder seated at the room's center, closed his eyes for a mont. He rested his chin on his clenched hand, brows furrowed deeply, murmuring under his breath.
"Damn it... he's nearly impossible to read," he muttered in a heavy tone.
He was the chief commander of this war. And yet, ever since Fortress Eight was assigned, he had felt that sothing was off. As if misfortune clung to him.
He let out a deep sigh, then looked across the table to a young silver-haired woman sitting with a stack of open docunts before her.
"Do you have any updates regarding Invictus Sect's resource supply?" he asked, his tone calm but full of weight. He still couldn't understand how Invictus could field such an army of combat automatons.
Warbots weren't sothing you could just mass-produce easily. Even if only effective against Low-tier Sovereigns, their production cost remained enormous. And they had seen over ten million units. A ridiculous number.
If each robot cost one hundred Cosmos Gold, then ten million units would amount to one billion Cosmos Gold. That was enough to fund an entire sect's operations for months—possibly years, depending on how it was allocated.
"No new intel, my lord," the female assistant replied. "Aside from the takeover of the Law Manifestation Zone a few days ago, our reports haven't shown any major economic movents."
Velrath took a long breath, exhaling slowly.
Huff...
The sound of his exhale was heavy, as if so unexplainable weight pressed on his chest. Sothing was clearly wrong, and he could feel it in his bones.
There was a massive riddle behind Invictus Sect's strength. And he hated riddles.
DING—
A sharp chi echoed, freezing the room in an instant. The round table at the center lit up automatically, projecting a real-ti battle map. Their defense lines—marked in blue—were gradually fading and turning red, indicating fallen positions.
"Report, my lord! Our defensive bastions and watchtowers are under attack by Invictus Sect's warbot forces!" the assistant shouted in a hurried tone.
Velrath's eyes turned red. His gaze locked onto the holographic map—flashing red points spreading like open wounds, while tower icons vanished one after another, indicating destruction.
He clenched his fists, the joints whitening. His jaw tightened.
"Send word to the main command. Elder-class reinforcents are needed imdiately," he ordered, his tone low but laced with urgency that reverberated throughout the chamber.
His gaze then shifted sharply to the three Sovereign-level Grandmasters seated across from him. His eyes were like blades, piercing into their souls.
"You three… wipe out every last one of those paper robots. I don't care how—flatten them," Velrath said, voice heavy with command.
"Yes, my lord."
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