Far to the east, isolated on a massive island fortress.

The mood here was a stark contrast to the laid-back banter happening between Orion and Leonidas. Inside the Great Hall of Auri, the Nightwing high command was on the verge of a collective nervous breakdown.

The atmosphere in the council chamber was suffocating. The Nightwing leadership encircled their two monarchs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"They won't stop!"

"They're invaders, plain and simple!"

"They're like locusts—insatiable!"

The booming voice belonged to Grand Marshal Malachai. Standing at Peak Legendary rank, he was the kingdom's heavy hitter, third in command only to the Twin Kings and the most likely candidate to ascend to Arch Lord status.

"The Marshal is right," a high-ranking noble chimed in, backing the military leader. "This 'Champions Alliance' faction is no different from the Cult of Four. They want the whole map. They want the entire Moonlight Continent."

"They are eating into our territory and choking our supply lines."

Spymaster Vane, standing beside the First Night King, stepped forward. His voice was devoid of emotion, delivering cold, hard data.

"Latest intel confirms a hard purge in the eastern sectors. The Champions Alliance isn't just expanding; they are wiping the board. It's a total cleanse of all rival factions."

"Our patrols in those zones have been engaged," Vane continued. "Casualties are over fifty percent. It's a slaughter."

Vane kept his tone clinical, but the tremor was there. The soldiers dying out there—captured, killed, deleted—were his people. They had sworn oaths to the Nightwing race in front of him.

"The pattern is undeniable," Vane concluded. "These victors have zero tolerance for outsiders. When our units encounter them, the choice is binary: submit or be deleted."

A heavy silence descended on the council. Even the hawkish war party led by Malachai fell quiet. No one wanted to speak up, because the first person to offer a solution would likely be the first one sent to the front lines to die.

"We don't need to fear them," Malachai broke the silence, his voice gruff. "Our kingdom is an island fortress. They can't touch us here."

It wasn't that Malachai was stupid or in denial. He knew exactly how precarious their position was. But in his position, he had to hold the line. He had to keep morale from collapsing. Until the Twin Kings made a decision, his job was to play the bad cop, the aggressor, the unyielding wall. It was about Nightwing dignity.

"We have air superiority," Malachai insisted, though the argument felt thin. "We have room to maneuver. We aren't helpless."

But everyone knew the truth. The Nightwing race had fled to this island because they couldn't handle the Cult of Four on the mainland. The Champions Alliance had crushed the Cult. Simple math dictated that the Alliance was a far deadlier beast.

"With all due respect," a breezy, arrogant voice suddenly echoed through the hall, "you guys are painfully squishy."

The council froze.

"Who's there?!"

"Show yourself!"

"Enemy contact!"

"Outsiders?"

"Intruder alert!"

Panic rippled through the room.

"Show your face, you coward!" Grand Marshal Malachai roared, his eyes scanning the room, mana flaring. "Don't hide in the shadows like a sewer rat!"

For the Marshal, this was a slap in the face. An outsider infiltrating the heart of the capital? It was a humiliation.

"Since you are already here, guest, please show yourself," the First Night King, King Nyx, said calmly, staring into the empty air. He could sense the elemental fluctuation, but he couldn't pin down the location.

"Heh... fair enough."

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gustalon. Warden of the Stoneheart Horde, representing the Champions Alliance."

Gustalon materialized out of thin air, wind coalescing into form. It was a flashy entrance, designed to impress.

"I'm here on orders from my Lord to deliver a recruitment offer."

A gentle breeze swept through the hall, ruffling hair and adjusting robes. A letter, nominally penned by Orion himself, drifted through the air and landed softly in front of King Nyx.

"Gentlemen," Gustalon said, "if you want to keep living your comfortable lives, I suggest you bend the knee. Sooner rather than later."

Gustalon waited. He was hoping for a violent reaction. He was practically vibrating with anticipation.

But... nothing happened.

Sigh.

Before he lost his cool, Gustalon let out a disappointed exhale that seemed to echo in the wind, and then dissolved back into the air, vanishing instantly.

It was a total letdown.

Gustalon was currently sitting at Peak Legendary strength. With his unique elemental physiology and combat prowess, farming Battle Achievements on the battlefield was a joke to him. He was the MVP of the Stoneheart Horde, holding the highest contribution points record.

With all those points, he had raided the Champions Alliance vaults, decking himself out in top-tier resources and gear.

That was the reason for the massive power gap within the Stoneheart Horde right now. It wasn't just between the Arch Lords and the Lords; the gap between the Legendary-level and the Alpha-level officers was becoming an abyss.

Top-tier fighters like Lorelia, Gustalon, Clymene, and Soraya had power-leveled their way to Peak Legendary status without even realizing it. Even Lilith, who barely lifted a finger in actual combat, had pay-to-won her way to the upper Legendary tiers using pure resources.

Meanwhile, the old guard—Elders like Earthshaker, Gronthar, Onyx, and Thundar, as well as the guardian Dace—were still hardstuck at Alpha-Peak.

Sometimes, the difference in power wasn't a matter of inches; it was lightyears.

Gustalon had come here ready to throw hands with an Arch Lord. He had his ultimate queued up. He was confident he could survive at least thirty seconds against a boss-level entity like the Night King.

But for whatever reason, King Nyx and the Second King didn't take the bait. They just sat there and let him leave.

As an offensive elemental lifeform, Gustalon had an ego. He wanted to test his limits. He had prepped a massive AOE spell just in case he needed to exit hostile territory in style. But he never got to cast it.

"Clear the room."

"Marshal, you stay."

After Gustalon's presence had completely faded, King Nyx spoke. His voice was flat—no anger, no fear.

The council members stood up, bowed, and filed out of the Great Hall in an orderly fashion. They knew the drill. The council was just for show; nothing was ever decided there.

The real decisions were made by the two Kings. The meeting was just a way to let the anxiety trickle down the chain of command.

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