The Black Tower was a hive of activity. With Orion now acting as bait on the front lines, the entire fortress had roared to life. Fueled by a steady stream of resources, the conversion chambers churned out a constant flow of demonic monsters.

Under Clymene's command, the undead armies swelled their ranks. Even Tangere's two hundred thousand Plague-thralls had arrived and were now amassed in the plaza outside, awaiting their orders.

On the sixth floor of the tower, two phantoms materialized. The Deputy Commander, having finished his work on the magical formation, appeared beside Alexander, following his gaze down at the mustering forces.

"The quantity and quality of the undead army are insufficient," the Deputy Commander stated, identifying their primary weakness with a single glance. Clymene had summoned two armies a million strong, but they were composed mostly of basic skeleton warriors—pure cannon fodder.

"Before he went into hibernation, Arthas transferred command of some of his subordinates to me," Alexander explained. "We lack the proper summoning materials here in the Silverwood Realm, so I've had them gather power in their own graveyards. When their numbers are sufficient, they will teleport here en masse."

The Deputy Commander nodded. While the Black Tower had materials, they were earmarked for converting demonic monsters and the new Skeletal Knights. Summoning the undead legions here from scratch would waste precious time and create a window of vulnerability.

"Are there any other surviving factions in the region?" the Deputy Commander asked, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon.

From a certain point of view, the native inhabitants of this realm were their de facto allies against the Cult of Four. If any organized resistance remained, they likely had a demigod of their own. The Champions Alliance was more than willing to extend a hand to such a group.

More importantly, local allies could hit the Cult of Four from a second front, catching them in a pincer. That was what the Deputy Commander truly wanted.

"We've found traces of gnolls to the east, but the Fury tribe the Wood Elves spoke of is nowhere to be found," Alexander reported. He waved a hand, and a holographic map of the surrounding area shimmered into existence. "In the Kiso Mountains to the west, Rocs still circle the peaks. It seems the Cult's influence hasn't reached that far yet."

He pointed to a location south of their position. "There is also a place called Staghelm City. I can sense a demigod's aura there. And even further south is a kingdom of the Nightwing race, centered around a city called Auri, but my scouts have yet to return with detailed intel."

He sighed. "Time is short. Our intelligence is incomplete. But it's clear that a portion of this world's elite are still fighting." He paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. "What I don't understand is, with so many Survivors here, why haven't they united against the Cult of Four?"

The Deputy Commander stared at the map, then tapped two locations: the western mountains of the Roc-blooded race and the southern Staghelm City. "Can you contact them?"

His tone was certain. "To have survived this long, their leadership must be intelligent. Extend an offer of alliance. I'm confident they will accept."

The Cult of Four was a tsunami; those left standing were either the strongest rocks or the cleverest fish. "Let them know we have the strength to confront the Cult head-on. All they need to do is harass the enemy's flank and not get in our way."

Alexander agreed. Even if the locals refused, it was unlikely they would side with the Cult. If they were cautious, they would simply keep their distance and let the two sides tear each other apart.

"I will go myself," Alexander said. His presence as a demigod would lend weight and sincerity to the offer.

"Staghelm is the priority," the Deputy Commander added, a ruthless edge creeping into his voice, a hint of the necromancer beneath the wise leader. "If they agree, they can stab those bastards in the back." When it came to the Cult of Four, to traitors, his usual tolerance vanished.

"My owls are already in the air," Alexander replied. "A rough world map will be sent to you shortly. But you'll need to send out explorers to confirm which factions still exist."

It was their usual dynamic. As the two bosses strategized, a new wave of demonic monsters flowed out from the tower, followed by a legion of undead and Tangere's Plague-thralls. From the tower's peak, it looked like a roiling tide of cannon fodder, crashing south across the plains.

***

To the south, on the Hydraea Plains.

This fertile grassland had once been the domain of the moon giants. During the day, the sky was a vast, cloudless blue. At night, a brilliant moon hung in the sky, its light cascading down like a liquid river, shattering into a million points of starlight on the grass.

The sight was breathtaking. And then, the howls of the demonic monsters would begin, and the tranquil beauty would be torn to shreds.

"The elements are rich, and the moonlight is gentle," Dirtclaw remarked from his position beside Orion on a low hill. "This is the second-best world Dirtclaw has ever seen."

"Second best?"

"Hehe, my lord, for a gnoll, nothing beats the Emerald Dream Realm," he said, his tail thumping against the ground. "There, my people can grow stronger just by sleeping! For the Stoneheart Horde to have conquered half of the Dusk Continent… it was the wisest, most brilliant decision ever made! My lord, may your glory and the Tribe's majesty pierce the veil between worlds and shine upon countless realms like that one!"

Dirtclaw turned his head, his eyes glowing with fanaticism as he stared up at the great figure beside him. For the first time, he felt truly close to his lord, as if he were basking directly in the Giant King's radiance.

Orion looked down at the hell-hound, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You still have a contract with Delilah, don't you? Would you like me to release you from it?"

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