Garrick reacted first, throwing up his Protective Dome and sealing everyone inside it.

The next second, the squad unloaded.

Skills detonated across the Infernal pack in rapid bursts—layered, overlapping, nonstop.

Big Mike cycled Toxic Rain and Rain of Flames back to back. Henry’s Rain of Light lanced down in curtains. Skinny Pete ripped the air apart with a tornado. Mia’s Ice Blade Storm turned the battlefield into a grinder.

Under that kind of wide-area pressure, the Infernal numbers started dropping fast.

The Infernals flared their Immolation Aura almost immediately, trying to burn away anything that got close—but the squad was Stage B now. Tier 16 and Tier 17 Infernals couldn’t hold up, aura or not.

Tier 17s could hang on for a bit.

Tier 16s were basically instant deletes.

And the Stage B Infernals?

Those were Ethan’s.

His daggers danced through the air like angry black fish, snapping from target to target. One moment they’d be fine, the next a blade would punch through an eye socket or into the back of a skull.

Stage B (Tier 18) or not, the Infernals couldn’t handle Ethan’s blades—especially when the knives came from impossible angles, switching targets mid-flight, never giving them a clean read.

They fought back, of course.

But every fire-type blast, every flaming meteor, every ability they hurled—

—got erased by Garrick’s dome before it could touch anyone inside.

In the end, the three-thousand-plus Infernals were simply... butchered.

A full-on stomp.

Ethan exhaled once, then nodded at Skinny Pete. "Tell the Flamebirds to carry out the crystal cores. They can keep the bodies."

"On it!"

Skinny Pete relayed it to Ember. The leader’s eyes practically lit up. It screeched a command, and the flock surged down like a wave.

Flamebirds pounced on the corpses with enthusiastic violence.

A moment later, one after another dropped crystal cores at the squad’s feet—then immediately went back to eating, tearing into meat like they hadn’t seen food in weeks.

Which, honestly, they probably hadn’t.

In this world, food was scarce to the point of insanity. Whether Flamebirds or Infernals, going ten days or half a month without a real meal sounded normal here.

No wonder everything fought constantly.

No wonder so many species had gone extinct.

These Flamebirds had been starving. Now they were finally eating until full, and Ethan could almost feel the thought behind their frenzy:

Following these humans isn’t so bad. At least there’s food.

For them, hate was optional.

Survival wasn’t.

Ethan happily scooped the cores into his storage ring.

Having the Flamebirds harvest was ridiculously efficient. Way faster than doing it by hand.

He hadn’t let them join the fight earlier for a reason. Their overall tier was still a step below the Infernals, and if they got dragged into the brawl, losses were likely.

And he hadn’t gone through all that trouble to win premium mounts just to watch them die.

Ethan pulled out the Tier 18 cores and handed them around. "Here. Everyone top off—push to peak Tier 18."

Chris and the others didn’t need to be told twice.

One day inside the Void Realm, and they’d rocketed from Tier 14 all the way to peak Tier 18.

It felt illegal.

But once you hit Tier 18, the free ride ended.

This Void Realm didn’t have anything beyond Stage B (Tier 18). There were no higher crystal cores to leapfrog with. From here on out, they’d have to level the hard way—absorbing mysterious energy slowly, or finding another Void Realm with higher-tier enemies.

By the time everyone finished absorbing, the Flamebirds had mostly eaten their fill too.

Ethan waved them up. "We’re moving."

They launched again, heading for the next isolated group.

This one was bigger—over four thousand Infernals, with more than two hundred Stage Bs mixed in.

Still manageable.

They repeated the same method. And now that everyone had hit peak Stage B, the fight was even easier. The Infernal group got erased.

Again, they let the Flamebirds harvest the cores, and the bait team that had "lured" the Infernals got to eat the bodies as payment.

Ethan collected the cores and didn’t even wait for them to finish chewing. He immediately pushed the team onward, taking the same Flamebird unit toward the next direction.

But this time, something had changed.

When they arrived, the next Infernal group—still four thousand strong—was already turning back, retreating toward their tribe.

They’d sensed something was wrong.

Ethan didn’t give them time to regroup.

"No hesitation," he said, eyes cold. "Hit them."

The squad dropped in and opened fire.

And once again, that Infernal group was wiped out to the last.

Ethan didn’t even have time to collect the crystal cores. He pushed the Flamebirds hard, racing for the next target.

Still—he was a step too late.

By the time they arrived, the scattered Infernal teams had already regrouped into one larger force. Ethan took one look at the numbers and clicked his tongue.

No opening.

He had to give it up.

They doubled back to the previous battlefield and finally gathered the cores they’d left behind.

When Ethan saw the pile—then felt the weight of it in his storage ring—his pulse jumped.

Over ten thousand high-tier crystal cores.

And the lowest among them were Tier 16.

If he could bring home enough of these, Fallen Star City’s overall strength wouldn’t just rise—it would explode.

And with more and more entrances to different Void Realms being discovered, the pressure in Ethan’s chest kept tightening.

It felt like something was coming.

Something worse than anything they’d dealt with so far.

When that day hit, a handful of elites wouldn’t be enough. They’d get drowned.

He needed Fallen Star City as a whole to level up—fast—so they’d have a real chance of surviving whatever was on the horizon.

"Ten thousand’s nice," Ethan murmured, licking his lips. "But it’s not enough."

"We need another run."

Sean frowned. "After getting tricked once, they’re not going to fall for it again."

"Sure," Ethan said, eyes sharp. "That tribe won’t."

He smiled. "But this world isn’t just one tribe. We switch locations and run the same play on someone else."

Big Mike’s eyes lit up. "Heh. Yeah. Hit each tribe once and we’ll be swimming in cores."

"That actually works," Mia said, grin spreading.

Ethan swung back onto his mount. "Then let’s move. Next one."

Everyone mounted up, each choosing their own Flamebird. The flock rose and followed without needing their leader to herd them.

This time, the Flamebirds were practically eager.

They’d learned the deal: follow these humans, and you get meat.

In a world this starved, food erased grudges fast.

While Ethan and the squad pushed deeper into the Void Realm...

Back on Earth.

Yamato Empire — Highest Command Center.

Ryuji Takahashi was practically dancing in place. "Hahaha! Those Atlas Federation people went into the volcano crater and never came back. There have to be stronger Infernals down there. They got cocky and killed themselves!"

Around him, Yamato’s senior brass looked like it was a holiday. Faces bright. Voices rising. The kind of giddy that only came from imagining your enemy finally eating dirt.

They’d called Atlas Federation leadership again that morning... and gotten absolutely shredded.

The people on the other end hadn’t even let them speak—just took turns ripping into them like they’d been holding it in for weeks, unloading every ounce of anger straight down the line.

In the end, Yamato hadn’t managed to say a single useful sentence. They’d just eaten a full serving of abuse before the call cut off.

It felt like swallowing a bucket of shit.

So when they saw Ethan’s group disappear into the volcano and never come back out?

They could barely believe it.

They waited.

Hours passed.

The sky darkened.

Still nothing.

By the time night was creeping in, they finally accepted the obvious.

Those bastards were dead.

The unexpected good news had them practically leaping out of their chairs.

Ryuji slammed a fist onto the table, laughing. "Hah! Atlas only dared act that arrogant because they had those few monsters on their side. Now those monsters are gone—let’s see them act tough now."

He leaned forward, eyes burning. "We send troops. Hit them again while they’re shaken. I want to humiliate them."

Takeo’s face twitched. He spoke quietly. "Um... maybe we... don’t. Maybe we should stop."

He sounded like a man with a fresh bruise on his pride—and a real fear of getting it hit again.

Ryuji’s laughter faltered for half a second. He didn’t like admitting it, but that earlier phone call had left a mark.

"...Fine," he said, forcing bravado back into his voice. "Then we won’t attack. We’ll send them the video—of their people going into the crater and never coming out. Let it rot in their group chat. I want them furious."

He straightened, eyes narrowing with thick, hungry ambition.

"Just wait. When we’re stronger, the first thing we do is wipe out the Atlas Federation. Make those Atlas people our slaves."

His voice rose, filling the command center.

"We leave this island. We take the whole world. We plant Yamato’s flag everywhere."

His gaze glittered, like he could already see it.

"Our ancestors didn’t finish their conquest... so we’ll finish it for them."