Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 684: Cornered

Chapter 684: Cornered

The moment General Tiberius gave the order to retreat, an icy wave of shock rippled through the Graecia army. For over six arduous months, they had fought on these bloody slopes of the Korokor Mountains, each confrontation ending in a hard-earned victory. Even though every battle carried casualties and tested their endurance, they had never tasted the sting of outright defeat.

Yet now, for the very first time, the call to withdraw echoed across the battlefield.

Despite the surprise, the men and women of Graecia were seasoned soldiers—fighters who had survived years, some even decades, in the unforgiving Land of the Three Calamities. Their discipline did not waver. While a knot of dread twisted in their stomachs, they reacted swiftly, trusting in General Tiberius’s judgment. They had not become veterans by hesitating.

Formations pivoted with methodical grace, Sages and Guardian-tier warriors adjusting their lines, ensuring that no one was left behind. Steeled by countless life-or-death clashes, they erected a temporary defensive perimeter, skillfully stalling the Vorometallicae’s advance while their main body began the withdrawal to the relative safety of the Korokor Stronghold.

Unlike the Voroe, who often sacrificed their Guardian-tier soldiers as meat shields for retreat, the Graecia’s forces had started pulling back while they still possessed enough strength to hold a defensive line. Moreover, their fortress was only a few kilometers away, putting them within reach of protective runic barriers and potent artillery well before they risked total collapse.

The strongest Sages remained at the forefront, their auras exploding in a show of defiance that kept the enemy Sages at bay, while the Guardians quickly fell back. Groups like Angelo and his Viking brethren took on the role of a fearless rearguard, brandishing axes and hammers in fluid, coordinated arcs to repel any Voroe bold enough to exploit a gap.

Meanwhile, the blitzkrieg units that had wreaked havoc behind enemy lines adapted seamlessly to the new dynamic. They flanked the retreat, ensuring no pockets of the Voroe forces could encircle them. Their speed and unpredictability continued to confound the enemy’s attempts to break through.

On the opposing side, the Vorometallicae Sages and Half-Step Legends seethed with frustration. They had anticipated a moment to exact vengeance for the rivers of Voroe blood spilled these past months. Now, with the humans seemingly on the run, it should have been a prime opportunity to strike decisively.

However, the discipline of the Graecia retreat proved as formidable as any direct assault. Every time a Voroe Sage lunged forward to deliver a killing blow, a well-timed wall of magical force or a savage Viking ax barred their path.

Anger and hatred flared in the Voroe ranks as they realized the humans were slipping through their grasp. The unstoppable tide of High Champions they had unleashed now marched aimlessly ahead, many still thrashing themselves against the protective force field already active around the Korokor Stronghold.

The colossal dome of shimmering energy repelled them effortlessly, leaving the mindless monsters flailing in vain. Brainwashed and reduced to mere killing automatons, they would never cease their forward momentum—even with the Graecia’s soldiers now sheltered behind thick runic defenses.

Within the stronghold, a tense hush settled among the weary defenders. Soldiers collapsed against battlements, panting from exertion, adrenaline still coursing through their veins. Mage healers bustled around, tending to the wounded, bandaging injuries, and administering potions to keep the worst cases from drifting into the abyss of death.

Despite their exhaustion, none could ignore the thunderous booms and bursts of magic that continued to rattle the skies above. Six figures were locked in a deadly aerial dance—three Greacian Legends pitted against three Vorometallicae equivalents.

Over the months, the two sides had learned to gauge each other’s tactics and adapt. Yet in this particular fight, something had shifted. The Voroe Legends seemed to have gleaned deeper insights into the humans’ Laws, Domains, and core cultivation techniques.

"BOOOOOOM!"

A tremendous explosion crackled like lightning high overhead, drawing every eye to the roiling canopy of clouds. Suddenly, six silhouettes plummeted downward. As they approached, the details became painfully clear: while the Vorometallicae Legends were bleeding from numerous wounds, the Graecia Legends were in far worse condition.

One of them had a claw laceration so deep across his shoulder that strips of muscle and tendon hung loosely, and his arm clung to his body by only a few strands of flesh. Blood trickled in copious quantities, leaving a ghastly trail in the wake of his descent.

Gasps of dismay swept through the ranks of Graecia soldiers. Only days ago, they had seen these Legends withstand cataclysmic spells without flinching. To witness them now so grievously injured underscored how drastically the battle had turned.

General Tiberius, battered and bruised, refused to let his composure slip. His steely gaze met the furious stares of the Voroe Legends. But there was no point in dwelling on what went wrong—no time to investigate how or why the Vorometallicae had so precisely countered their Laws and techniques.

He had to think now, focus on survival.

The Voroe Legends hovered at a moderate altitude, eyes gleaming with a cruel sense of triumph. They had inflicted near-mortal wounds on two of the human Legends, forcing the third—Tiberius himself—into a precarious standoff. Even with the stronghold’s protective barrier, the sense of advantage was undeniable. A false step by Graecia could mean a swift, merciless incursion into the fortress, ending the campaign.

Then, in one decisive moment, the energy towers of the fortress flickered to life.

Glowing runes sparkled along their surfaces, signifying a partial charge—half the reservoir of arcane power still available. The Voroe Legends instinctively dropped lower, interposing themselves between the towers and their battered army.

Usually, a volley of advanced elemental spells from these towers could decimate a good portion of any approaching force. Even Legends risked severe injury if they stood in the direct line of fire. So the Voroe leaders braced themselves, each letting their domain aura expand around them in a protective sphere, ready to intercept.

But Tiberius wore a cold, knowing smile—one that spoke of a different plan entirely.