Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 717: Seven days

Chapter 717: Seven days

The thrill pulsing through Marshal Maximo’s heart only grew stronger as he turned his full attention to Spartacus. He could clearly feel it—Spartacus’s power had risen again, refined, and intensified in just a matter of days.

Among Maximo’s entire force, Spartacus was one of the five strongest warriors. His mastery over the Law of Space made him an especially vital piece in this final assault. Any improvement, no matter how small, was more than welcome—it was exceptional.

"Hahahahahaha!"

The sheer joy swelling in Maximo’s chest erupted into roaring laughter, echoing through the entire camp like thunder. Every soldier turned toward him, eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. But more than that, they felt a sudden surge of renewed determination ripple through them like a shockwave.

It was one thing to see their commander stoic and firm, but quite another to hear him laugh with such vigor. That laughter wasn’t the sound of a man unsure or struggling—it was the sound of someone who had just glimpsed victory.

If Marshal Maximo could laugh, truly laugh, then the situation must not be hopeless. That belief burned like fire in the hearts of his troops, reigniting hope, passion, and the will to fight.

"Good. Good. Good," Maximo repeated, nodding with satisfaction as he approached the newly arrived force gathered atop the teleportation platform. "I am truly glad to see all of you."

He then turned toward the assembled Sages and Half-Step Legends, his expression becoming more solemn.

"Head to the rear ranks of the camp. General Amir will direct you to your battle stations."

Each of them nodded in acknowledgment, not questioning the Marshal’s authority. Even Janus, Agamemnon, Ouroboros, and Fafnir—fighters of great talent and reputation—accepted the command without hesitation.

They understood that in this battle, titles and pride meant little unless backed by Legendary might.

Until they broke through that ceiling, they would remain in the secondary support forces.

None of them liked it, but none of them argued. Instead, they clenched their fists and silently vowed to grow stronger, to reach the battlefield that awaited the true elites.

Left atop the platform now were Spartacus, General Tiberius, Vlad, Jormungandr, and Fang.

Although the massive winged T-Rex wasn’t technically a Legend, his continuous consumption of Vorometallicae corpses—including powerful ones like Asuru—had pushed his body to monstrous new limits. He could now endure strikes from regular Legends and strike back with devastating force. On the battlefield, he would undoubtedly make an impact.

"Follow me," Maximo said, and turned sharply toward the command tent at the center of the camp.

Inside the tent, the remaining high-ranking generals and Legendary warriors quickly gathered. The air was thick with tension and unspoken questions, but no one said a word.

Fang waited just outside, too large for the confined space but still very much part of the coming storm.

Once everyone was present, Marshal Maximo raised his hand and summoned a projection into the air—a large, glowing holographic representation of the Void Heart Stronghold, filled with runes and topographical detail.

"To win this war," he began in a deep, resonant voice, "we must accomplish two objectives."

He pointed to a section of the southern-east wall of the fortress. The image zoomed in, revealing deep cracks and scorch marks along its surface.

"First, we must break into the stronghold itself. This wall has sustained the most damage during our siege. Its runic and magical defenses are shattered. This will be our entry point."

Every general and Legendary nodded, acknowledging the strategic logic. No one was foolish enough to suggest flying over the walls. They all knew what that would mean—instant death.

The moment anyone flew above the walls, tens of thousands of Guardian-tier warriors would unleash spells and abilities in unison. Even a Legend couldn’t survive that kind of bombardment. And that didn’t include the defense towers embedded throughout the structure, each powered by dense magical cores capable of obliterating entire units in a single shot.

Aerial assault was suicide. Ground incursion was the only viable path.

Marshal Maximo let the silence hang for a moment, his gaze sweeping the room, silently inviting questions or comments. When none came, he continued.

"The second—and final—objective," he said, as he pointed toward the massive, towering spire in the center of the fortress, "is this."

All eyes locked on the dark structure, a grim monolith of arcane engineering.

"This tower is the core of the Void Heart Stronghold. It powers every single magical and runic formation in the fortress. More importantly, it channels its energy directly into the bodies of the Legendary Vorometallicae, amplifying their power and replenishing their reserves."

The gravity of his words sank in like a hammer blow.

"If we can take this tower—shut it down—we will cripple their ability to resist. Their reinforcements, their defenses, their entire war machine will collapse. Without it, we can overwhelm them and bring this war to a close."

There was no need to say what everyone already understood: the path to the tower would be drenched in blood. Every meter would be contested by beings who had sworn never to surrender.

Still, no one flinched. No one hesitated. Their eyes burned with conviction. They had chosen this path, knowing it led into the jaws of death. That was what it meant to fight in a Doomsday World. And they would see it through to the end.

As one, they turned toward Marshal Maximo and nodded, silently declaring their readiness.

"If there are no further questions," the Marshal said, his voice firm, "we will march at dawn."

Just as Maximo turned to close the meeting, Vlad raised a hand.

"Actually, Marshal," Vlad said, voice calm but deliberate. "I’d like to ask—what would happen if we delayed the attack by seven days?"

All heads turned toward Vlad, curiosity ignited by the unexpected question. Even Maximo paused, surprised by the suggestion. The Depravita of Wrath was able to remain calm, even beneath such many powerful gazes, showing just how much he had grown in the last couple of years.