Chapter 579: 579

“As the conclusion approaches, I find your hands are no longer on the board, which makes things far messier than before. It was much simpler when you were directly involved.”

Ikenga’s gaze was sharp, probing. “You sixth-tier demons are certainly cunning; this is the second time one of you has tried making me do something for them.”

Zarvok chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Vorenza certainly lacks manners, but you will find I have plenty.”

Ikenga remained silent, letting Zarvok’s words hang in the air. This meeting wasn’t what he’d anticipated. Zarvok seemed to have found a sudden use for the last sixth-tier soul he and Keles possessed. What truly surprised Ikenga, however, was who Zarvok intended to hand the soul over to: “Malzor.” The wingless gargoyle had reached his limits in this invasion and was now merely hiding in fear, sensing the shift in the battlefield. With sixth-tier beings making their appearance, the stage was no longer for fifth-tier demons like him.

Ikenga and Keles had, in fact, previously entertained the very idea of using that sixth-tier soul on Malzor, hoping to propel him to a new echelon of power. But Zarvok had vehemently denied them then, citing the imperative of not tipping the delicate hierarchy balance of this specific Abyss layer with the sudden appearance of yet another sixth-tier being.

Now, that very same Zarvok wanted him to hand the soul to Malzor. In Zarvok’s own words, it was to “give him more playing hands,” a convenient turn of phrase. Ikenga, however, was no fool. He knew this was Zarvok’s convoluted way of asking for help, a subtle plea veiled beneath the guise of strategy.

Vorenza’s situation was indeed looking dire, and Keles’s earlier warnings about her imminent downfall were becoming more chillingly believable with each passing day. Should Vorenza be dealt with, the full might of the Empire would inevitably turn its focus and power squarely on Zarvok. With himself, Keles, and two other sixth-tier demons already on Zarvok’s side, they should have no problem crushing the remaining Imperial resistance. But this was precisely the scenario Zarvok desperately wanted to avoid. He wanted this world conquered as pristine as it could be, brought under his dominion without the destructive, messy, and costly conflict that a direct confrontation with the Empire would entail.

Zarvok’s voice, a low growl, cut through Ikenga’s thoughts. “The current battle is escalating to extremes. The goblins are now willingly letting themselves be tainted by the Abyss just to secure a win.” His gaze flickered back to the war table, tracing the lines of conflict. “The longer this battle drags on, the more extreme, more regrettable actions will be taken by both sides.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “With how things stand on Vorenza’s side, once she’s gone, a vacuum will be left. A vacuum the Empire will no doubt seize, establishing a foothold directly within the Abyss.” His eyes, fiery and intense, met Ikenga’s. “I don’t want to give them that chance or opportunity. I need someone of our own to take over this vacuum and make the Empire question their very next step.”

Zarvok leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, though its intensity remained. “I need just a little more time, or a significant distraction, before I can have them all in the palm of my hand. Hence why I propose this idea to you.”

Ikenga absorbed Zarvok’s words, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant, muted roar of the Abyss. He understood the gambit, the intricate layers of Zarvok’s ambition. Giving Malzor a sixth-tier soul wasn’t just about boosting their ranks; it was about strategically placing a loyal, if somewhat terrified, proxy directly in the path of the encroaching Empire. Malzor, elevated to a power he could barely comprehend, would become a necessary, chaotic anchor, forcing the Empire to divert resources and attention.

“So, you’re not just giving me more chess pieces,” Ikenga finally said, his voice flat. “You’re offering a pawn to distract the queen, hoping she overextends her reach into a realm you intend to claim.”

Zarvok offered no denial, only a slow, deliberate nod, his fiery eyes gleaming. “Precisely. The Empire’s goal is to control the portal, yes. But their nature compels them to consolidate any gains. If a new, unexpected sixth-tier entity arises within the void Vorenza leaves, they will be forced to engage it, to understand it, to contain it. That buys me time. Time for my own preparations, time to ensure this world falls without unnecessary… scarring.”

“And Malzor?” Ikenga’s gaze was calm. “He is weak-willed, easily terrified. A sixth-tier soul will grant him immense power, but will it grant him the fortitude to wield it, to stand against the Empire’s might?”

“Power breeds fortitude,” Zarvok retorted, a hint of disdain in his tone. “Or it breaks him entirely. Either outcome serves my purpose. If he holds, he becomes a significant obstacle. If he breaks, the chaos he unleashes will still serve as a potent distraction. He is a tool, Ikenga, nothing more. A very large, very powerful tool”

Ikenga extended a hand, and the shimmering, pulsating orb of pure, contained energy materialized within his palm. The sixth-tier soul, captured and refined, throbbed with raw, unbound potential. “Take it,” Ikenga stated, his voice flat, “and do with it as you will to achieve the effect you want. Have whoever you put up to the task mention this word: ’A gift from Phantom.’”

Zarvok stared at the soul in his hand, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Phantom, huh? Is this another hand of yours? I believe we’ve never met before.”

Ikenga, already walking away, merely waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “You will soon.”

Kaelen, Lyra, and Korvin stood resolute before the churning Abyss portal, its chaotic energies mirroring the suppressed anticipation of the army behind them. The remaining thousands of men, no longer burdened by the palpable sadness of days past, now exuded a different aura. The scent of war and blood, thick in the air, was no longer a grim reminder of loss but a potent, intoxicating perfume to the new soldiers.

Beneath this raw excitement lay a profound willingness to embrace death. The Abyssal armor they now bore signified an irreversible change; their lives would never be the same. For centuries, they had lived as ogres, viewed by the Empire as little more than brutish muscle. Now, tainted and transformed by the very essence of the Abyss, they knew their future was bleaker still. Yet, in this grim realization, they found a perverse liberation. They would fight with a fierce eagerness to meet death, to throw themselves into the maw of the Abyss, if it meant helping Kaelen achieve his impossible goal. For in Kaelen, they saw a future perhaps not for themselves, but for upcoming ogre generations. If Kaelen were to achieve victory today, it meant that a future, however uncertain, was possible for their kind.

For the ratfolk, their feelings at this moment were a complex, almost paradoxical swirl. Should they be thankful to the Empire, which had so long oppressed them? To Kaelen, their grim, demanding general? Or to the mysterious figure who occasionally whispered to them in the depths of their minds?

Because of that enigmatic figure, they had indeed made progress, achieving a level of integration and power they had never thought possible. Yet, this came at a brutal cost. Compared to the ogre and goblin mages, the armor’s corruption on the ratfolk was far more profound, and many of their people had been lost, transformed into nothing but an armored husk driven by primal instinct, their individual consciousnesses swallowed whole.

Despite this horrific toll, they clung to a desperate hope. They believed in that elusive figure who spoke to them, that whisperer of the Empire’s deepest, darkest secrets. So far, everything the figure had foretold had come to pass. There was a change. The Empire was no longer actively seeking their extermination but now desperately needed their help to survive, to preserve their very world. If nothing else, the surviving ratfolk now fought with an almost religious fervor, eager to see the day this brutal battle would end, just so they could finally get a glimpse of this great, unseen figure who had given such unexpected, terrifying hope to their beleaguered race.

Rattan, however, was unburdened by such complex considerations. His sole, unyielding focus was on staying alive through this final, cataclysmic clash. His mind, ever pragmatic, was already building vivid pictures of the next steps he would take, meticulously outlining a future strategy if his calculated thoughts aligned with the outcome.

For him, the victor mattered little. If the Demon Queen won, it didn’t concern Rattan; in a twisted way, they were on the same side now, united by his Guardian presence. If Kaelen won, that too was acceptable. Rattan knew that with Kaelen alive, the Emperor and Vellok would find no rest. They would be perpetually challenged by Kaelen’s relentless ambition and unconventional methods. Worst of all for them, there would be no denying his and Kaelen’s accomplishments in this war, a fact that promised to dismantle the very foundations of the Empire’s rigid hierarchy.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep