Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 687: The final battle of the Korokor Mountains

Chapter 687: The final battle of the Korokor Mountains

Once again, the Korokor Mountain soldiers marched beyond their walls to meet the oncoming Voroe army. At a glance, the Graecia soldiers could tell that this new horde was even larger than the last—vastly so.

Tension gripped their hearts as they beheld a wave of Vorometallicae that stretched across the horizon, numbering well over one hundred fifty thousand. By far the bulk of these were High Champion Voroe, but that did not ease the tension.

While it was true that those brainwashed monsters only worked as cannon fodder, they had already proved themselves dangerously effective in the last battle. Their relentless advance had drained the soldier’s stamina, generating openings that allowed the Voroe Sage to inflict numerous casualties.

Now, as they gathered in such overwhelming numbers, they appeared like a dark tide, their collective aura forming a roiling storm overhead. It was as though an ancient beast hovered in the clouds, ready to devour the fortress and all traces of light.

Granted, the Korokor Stronghold had received fresh reinforcements from various fortresses across the Land of the Three Calamities. Their total Sage count stood just shy of three hundred, and the Guardian force had grown to nearly five thousand. But when stacked against an enemy numbering over a hundred thousand—even if most were "only" High Champions—the disparity was astronomical.

At the front of the Greacian lines stood Vlad, his gaze unwavering. Despite the distance between the two armies, he immediately spotted Shitaru, the hulking Half-Step Legend who had nearly caved in his chest during their last encounter.

As one might expect, Shitaru’s eyes locked onto Vlad in turn, and a bloodthirsty tension crackled between them like static in the air.

Many among the Graecia forces felt the oppressive weight of this new threat, and the atmosphere grew suffocating, as though the oxygen had been sucked out of their lungs. But then three silhouettes rose from the highest tower of the stronghold—General Tiberius appeared once more, restored from his previous injuries and exuding an aura of even greater strength.

Accompanying him were two other Legends, both new faces to the rank-and-file soldiers. It seemed the wounds suffered by the original Legendary companions in the last battle had forced them to withdraw, but in their stead stood these two newcomers, expressions grim yet resolute.

The sight of three Legends again gave a measure of relief to the anxious Graecia ranks. They might be outnumbered, but at least the fortress had Legendary champions capable of standing toe-to-toe with the Voroe’s own top-tier fighters. Without them, the defenders’ already slim hopes would have plummeted further.

Tiberius didn’t need to speak to sense the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty among his soldiers. They had been overrun once, and now the enemy had returned in even greater force. Yet there was no tremor in his heart or wavering in his gaze as he floated above them, scanning the sea of Voroe.

He inhaled deeply, then shouted with unwavering conviction, his words echoing through the mountains.

"Forces of Graecia, remember what we fight for. There is no shame in fear, but it’s how we face it that decides who we truly are!"

His booming voice struck chords in the hearts of every soldier. Tiberius’s tone was fierce, but the underlying warmth reminded them of why they stood on these blood-soaked ramparts—why they endured sleepless nights and relentless combat.

"Push yourselves harder than you ever have! Treat this battle as the pinnacle of your path and achievements. If it’s to be our last stand, then let’s stand without regrets. We fight with everything we have, and even if our bodies break," Tiberius roared, "we will win!"

In an instant, a tremendous surge of power exploded outward from the general, an aura bright as a newborn sun. It rippled across the battlefield, stirring the dust at his feet and making the very sky tremble. He shot upward, the two other human Legends following suit like trailing comets. The Voroe’s Legendary warriors answered, launching themselves skyward for another earth-shaking showdown.

Below, the soldiers felt the air grow tighter still, the weight of that coming battle pressing on their spirits. But this was their domain—the battlefield beneath the clouds—and as they exchanged grim, resolute looks, the vanguard moved out.

Clad in fury and conviction, the Vikings led the charge at ground level. Angelo, their towering leader, brandished his massive axe while rallying his warband with a fierce cry.

Though the scale of the Voroe horde seemed insurmountable, the Vikings wore no fear on their faces. For them, to die in honorable combat was a warrior’s highest calling. Their hearts thundered with the fervor of those who believed wholeheartedly in valor and glory.

"Come, brothers and sisters! Let’s show them the power of the vanguard!"

Their collective roar shook the Korokor foothills. Rows of Sages and Guardian warriors followed closely, their weapons gleaming under the storm-laden sky. Fueled by Tiberius’s defiant words, they marched forward, forging a line of unwavering determination against the Voroe’s seemingly endless tide.

When the two frontlines clashed, the explosion of flesh and steel was immediate. High Champions surged in numbers large enough to bury cities. Yet the skill and might of Angelo’s vanguard cut swathes through them like a knife through soft clay. Severed limbs and broken bodies fell by the hundreds as the Sages’ abilities, runic martial arts, and unstoppable physical strikes.

Still, Angelo gritted his teeth, refusing to lose sight of the bigger picture. Slaughtering High Champions in droves was physically taxing and would drain their stamina, but these foes had minimal tactical value in the overall battle. They were, as always, mere expendable pawns. The real threat lay deeper in the ranks: the Voroe Sages, Half-Step Legends, and cunning generals who orchestrated these surging waves.

Angelo pressed ahead, ignoring the sticky crimson that clung to his boots. A single-minded mission guided him: to break through and reach the Voroe Sages. His men followed with grim coordination, focusing on swift but decisive kills to conserve as much energy as possible. They knew all too well the real fight was yet to come and they needed to keep pushing.