Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 686: Improvement

Chapter 686: Improvement

A crushing pressure weighed upon every warrior of the Korokor Stronghold after General Tiberius spoke. Some felt it like an endless wave, a suffocating force that threatened to drown them in despair. Others burned with renewed determination, a fierce inner fire prompting them to grow stronger at any cost.

Tiberius took in the mingled expressions of fear and grim resolve from his soldiers. Though he, himself, was wounded—blood trickling from cuts and bruises, and fatigue etched into every muscle—he hovered in midair, refusing to show weakness.

His eyes shone with an almost monstrous battle spirit, an unspoken vow that he would never compromise the defense of the fortress. To those on the edge of panic, he became a guiding light. To those burning for vengeance, he served as a catalyst, intensifying their fighting will.

Having said his piece, Tiberius finally nodded in satisfaction and, with the other two Graecia Legends, flashed toward the highest tower of the stronghold. The defenders below watched him depart in solemn silence, his words echoing in their minds. Then, one by one, they dispersed, heading to their residences for healing, rest, and, above all, the urgent need to grow stronger.

Amid the exodus of soldiers, Vlad remained within his own quarters. He had been there the entire time—coughing up mouthfuls of blood, the result of the spiked club’s devastating blow that had crushed several of his ribs and left deep internal injuries. Still, he had heard every word Tiberius uttered, and those words stirred something fierce in his heart.

If Vlad were honest with himself, he’d never nursed any particular hatred for the Vorometallicae race. To him, the Land of the Three Calamities was originally just a stepping stone to hone his skills and strengthen himself.

Yet, over the months of constant warfare, that perspective had shifted. He had seen men and women—valiant, selfless, and resolute—lay down their lives to protect their homeland. He had bonded with warriors whose camaraderie ran deeper than mere battlefield cooperation. And he had witnessed the Graecia high command, men and women of high rank, personally risking their own lives in the front lines for their soldiers’ sake.

Bit by bit, a sense of kinship and brotherhood bloomed within him, transforming his view of the war. No longer did he see it as merely a convenient stage for personal gain. Now, it felt like his war as well—one he would fight with everything he had. Even if that ’distant land’ that these soldiers called home was unfamiliar to him, the sacrifice and ideals they represented had become dear.

"If I can be strong enough here, I can be strong enough to protect those I care about," The Sky Seed Depravita murmured, many faces crossing his mind, the most striking one that of a fierce young woman.

Despite the fiery pain flaring in every breath, Vlad forced himself into a meditative posture. His injuries were nowhere near fully healed, yet he reached for another vial of black potion, swallowing it in one gulp.

Every second mattered. The sooner he broke through into a True Depravita, the greater impact he could have on the battlefield. He refused to let his body’s protest slow him down.

A few minutes later, the door to his quarters swung open, and Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir entered. The three Sky Seed Depravitas, each wore their own wounds and fatigue from the last battle.

Like Vlad, none of them spared time for idle talk. They each moved to a separate corner of the room and resumed their respective training regimens.

Jormungandr produced the Dino Egg that he had obtained from the secret plane of the Dino People. He continued his delicate, painstaking work on it. Every step of unraveling the egg’s mysteries sharpened his understanding of the Law of Life, granting him deeper insights and fueling his cultivation with each small breakthrough.

The Depravita of Gluttony’s gaze was so intense that standing too close felt like being cut by an invisible blade.

Across from him, the white werewolf feasted on chunks of specially treated vitality-rich meat purchased from the Military Logistics Center. His advanced physique, already at Level 23, absorbed the nutrients like a sponge, fueling further metamorphosis.

Concurrently, arcs of lightning danced across the Depravita of Greed’s body, each surge integrating deeper into his flesh. He was in the process of mastering the Thunder Clad Divine Flesh technique. Once fully realized, it would take his speed—already monstrous—to unprecedented levels.

Meanwhile, Fafnir, the light-fire dragon, practically radiated with a solar-like glow. His scales and flesh vibrated with a constant micro-tearing effect. Each tear was infused with cosmic energy, reforging and strengthening him in small increments.

The Depravita of Envy was immersed in the excruciating Legendary Technique: Atlas Ascension, a path that demanded unwavering resolve and endurance. Fafnir pushed himself relentlessly, knowing that every ounce of pain brought him closer to a new threshold of power.

All four Sky Seed Depravitas plunged wholeheartedly into their cultivation. Their sessions were brutal, leaving scant time for sleeping beyond the bare minimum necessary to keep their minds coherent. In a testament to their iron wills, four grueling months passed in this ceaseless cycle.

The fortress remained in a tense holding pattern, each day overshadowed by the threat of another Vorometallicae offensive.

Then, at last, the inevitable alarm blared once more through the stronghold’s walls. Sirens flashed crimson, and defensive runes activated, their light flickering against the fortress’s interior.

In a silent, collective motion, Vlad, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir opened their eyes. Each had grown grealty over the last couple of months—body or soul, technique or domain.

They exchanged brief, knowing glances: the Voroe had returned. It was time to return to the battlefield, but this time no matter what they would not lose!

Outside, muffled roars and resonant shockwaves hinted at the enormity of the assault. The tension in the air crackled. Yet these four Depravitas felt no panic, only resolute purpose. Rising to their feet, they prepared for the next great battle—hoping that, this time, their newfound strength would be enough to tilt the scales in Graecia’s favor.