The three Grandmasters stood simultaneously. The pressure of their aura shook the very air, and in the blink of an eye, their figures vanished—disappearing faster than the eye could follow.
Only a handful of key figures remained in the room, all with eyes fixed on the war map, now almost entirely red—like blood soaking through the remnants of their broken strategy.
Maledictus Sect Fortress Headquarters.
Towering walls stretched hundreds of meters high, like a black shield separating the heavens from the earth. Beyond them, millions of robots and cultivators from the Invictus Sect launched an unrelenting assault. Each strike sent tremors through the fortress's defensive barrier, lighting it up with cracks that spread wider with every passing second.
Thousands of defense towers stood in a line along the wall, firing energy projectiles, fire arrows, and magical missiles that wiped out swaths of robots with each barrage.
The shriek of machines, thunderous impacts, and explosive magic clashed together in a chaotic symphony. Smoke billowed skyward, shards of metal scattered like deadly snow, and the ground around the fortress had turned into a field of ash and blood.
But no matter how powerful the barrage from those towers was, the enemy's numbers seemed endless. The robots kept coming—like an infinite desert storm carried by the wind. They pushed forward relentlessly, even as their bodies exploded and scattered into pieces.
Atop the wall, a middle-aged man in a black cloak stood with a grim expression. In his hand, he held a faintly glowing cross-shaped staff—like a symbol of despair strung around his fate.
He was the commander of the main fortress.
His eyes scanned the battlefield below, tension clearly etched into every line on his face. His jaw clenched each time a tower fell or his troops were forced to retreat. He swallowed the frustration that rose in his throat.
"Damn it… they're going all out on this fortress," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.
Before he could think further, three figures appeared mid-air before him—landing in utter silence, a silence more jarring than the thunder of cannons. Their presence made the air itself grow heavy.
The commander's heart skipped a beat. These three were no ordinary men. They were Grandmaster-level cultivators—beings who could alter the tide of war with a single command.
Immediately, he bowed low. "Respectful greetings to the Three Lords," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
He knew... if there was anyone to be blamed for the loss of 30% of their towers, it would be him. No matter the reason, the responsibility rested squarely on his shoulders.
One of the three stepped forward—Xyrael, a man with bracelets made of human bones around his wrists. His voice was calm, yet carried crushing pressure.
"Withdraw all troops. Activate full defense mode until the Elders arrive," Xyrael said, his tone low and final.
At the mention of "Elders," the black-cloaked man visibly shuddered. His breath caught in his throat. There was only one reason an Elder would need to descend—this war had crossed into something far beyond normal. This was no longer a simple battle between sects. This was a call to war that would leave a mark in history.
"Yes, my lord!" he replied quickly.
Without wasting a second, he turned and shot toward the fortress interior. His cloak flapped behind him in the night wind as he flew, leaving the three Grandmasters standing silently atop the wall. His task now was to pull the troops back and reorganize the formation into a full-scale defense.
The three old men remained still, their sharp gazes piercing through the darkness. They watched the battlefield unfold before them—a vast land cracked and scorched, littered with wreckage from brutal fighting.
To the right, the sea raged as if ready to join the chaos. To the left, tall mountains stood like silent witnesses to the madness. And in the center, Invictus Sect's robot army kept pressing forward, slowly forcing back their defenses.
"It seems that old man Malchaezar was right," Xyrael muttered, squinting. His voice held the weight of reluctant acknowledgment.
Malchaezar, the Grandmaster known for divinations using cursed paper, smiled faintly. "Of course. My readings and instincts never fail," he said in a raspy voice, his eyes fixed on Invictus Sect's headquarters in the distance—barely visible behind waves of robots and flashes of gunfire.
"Look at that tower…" he whispered again. "That's no ordinary defense system. They've embedded something into its targeting… something terrifying."
The other two Grandmasters nodded. They could see it too—the tower wasn't just a machine. There was something living within it, perhaps even an artificial consciousness, controlling each strike with lethal precision.
"Enough," Kaelor, the third Grandmaster, cut in, his voice deep and cold. He was a middle-aged man clad in a red-black flame cloak, and his bearing radiated the presence of a battlefield commander who never hesitated.
"Our orders are clear: destroy these robots, hold the line, and wait for the Elder. Until then, no one retreats," he said, his eyes sharp on the battlefield.
Suddenly, heat surged from Kaelor's body. His flame cloak blazed brightly, sending waves of scorching wind rippling through the night. With a single motion, the orange holographic band on his wrist spun rapidly. It flicked through various beast silhouettes before settling on the form of a legendary creature—a Phoenix.
A shriek tore through the skies as a colossal Phoenix emerged from the clouds. Its body stretched ten meters long, and its crimson wings flared like the glow of a dying sun. The air above the wall instantly shifted, trembling beneath the intense heat the beast released.
Without needing a word, Kaelor leaped and landed smoothly on the Phoenix's back. A mere gesture was enough—immediately, the Phoenix streaked through the air, diving straight into the heart of the robot horde.
A torrent of flame burst from its beak, engulfing thousands of machines in a single sweep. This was no ordinary fire—it burned through metal, melted steel frames, and annihilated the energy cores within the Invictus robots. Their bodies exploded one by one, sending shockwaves that rattled the ground.
Kaelor's attack triggered a chain reaction—an explosive counteroffensive. The flames of war ignited once more, even if the enemy's pressure still loomed heavy.
But for those watching from atop the fortress wall, that was enough—a sign that the fight was far from over.