Loser to Legend: Gathering Wives with My Unlimited Money System
Chapter 68: The Massacre

Chapter 68: The Massacre

"Grrr!" Lyra growled at the lion man, her ears standing erect as though they were horns.

Xavier glanced at the man, then turned to Lyra.

"You know him?"

"His name is Piolet. He’s a killer," Lyra said, her voice heavy with venom. "When I was in the slave camp, he was there too. Same gang. Bull hunted everyone down—but not this one. He’s different. He’s got powers."

Xavier narrowed his eyes. Among all the mercs that had stepped out from the dropship, Piolet stood out. Not just because he was calm, but because he was unarmed. No rifle slung over his back. No shoulder armor or exosuit gear like the rest. He was dressed in a dark grey tech-coat with glowing veins running down the sleeves, eyes glowing faint blue, like cold fire.

"What kind of powers?" Xavier asked.

"No weapon works on him," Lyra replied. Her claws had extended fully, knuckles trembling. "I don’t know the details. Bull never spoke of it. But after fighting Piolet once... Bull never tried again."

’Alright, let’s not mess with this guy’, Xavier thought. ’Even if I wanted to, this weak human body wouldn’t hold up.’

"Who are you?! What do you want?!" the beast land commander shouted.

"Kikiki! Are you the leader of this pack?" Piolet replied, chuckling.

"No." The commander motioned to the throne stone. "He is our king."

"King, huh?" Piolet tilted his head. "Didn’t know rabbits started wearing crowns."

"Mind your manners! You are in the presence of—"

A pulse of light snapped out. The commander dropped before the sentence finished—dead. A hole clean through his forehead, smoke curling up from where his brain had been.

Xavier’s jaw clenched. ’What the hell? No gun... did he just shoot that from his finger ?’ Xavier was confused, but more than that, he was intrigued.

"Luso!" The crowd erupted in gasps. Beasts sprinted toward Luso’s body.

"What did you do?!"

"Why did you kill him?!"

"Oh, my bad," Piolet said, grinning from ear to ear. "I was aiming for his shoulder, but... his head made a much better target."

"Why are you doing this?!" Kilop asked, stepping forward.

Piolet rolled his neck, cracking the bones loud enough to hear. "I want this land. And to take it, you all have to die. That clear enough?"

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Then came the war.

From the massive spacecraft that hovered above, sleek ramps unfolded. Hatches hissed open, neon blue steam pouring out like breath from a mechanical beast. His mercenaries stepped down, rifles glowing with plasma cores, their exo-suits clicking and humming with micro-servos. Helmet displays flickered red. Chrome-plated leg armor, synthetic spines, railguns mounted on shoulders—everything screamed kill-mode.

Fifty of them at first. Then, as the battlefield heated, thirty more emerged—each more jacked-up than the last.

Gunfire erupted—short bursts with no hesitation. The mercs moved like they’d rehearsed this scenario a thousand times, as though they had done this a million times.

The beasts of the Beast Land scattered, but not without resistance. They grabbed their weapons—crudely made blades, scrap-metal rifles, a few arcane relics powered by old tech. They were strong, feral, wild—but they lacked the precision, the upgrades, the cruel efficiency that space mercs had.

Still, they fought. They didn’t fall back. They pushed forward with roars, claws, bloodied weapons, and primal will.

Beasts from the crater’s edge rushed in, alerted by the ship’s arrival and the heavy sounds of gunfire and screams. They came armed with whatever they could find. Spikes, tech-clubs, even improvised bombs stitched from old cores.

But it wasn’t enough.

The mercs were running thermal scans, target locking, using kinetic barriers and phase dodgers. A few even had cloaking systems. The beasts fought like warriors—but the pirates fought like machines.

Xavier was frozen in place, surrounded by the others. Kilop stood tall with a rusted axe in hand. Lyra had drawn her short blade and was snarling at anything that moved wrong. Small children crouched behind them, eyes wide, bodies shaking.

"Don’t let them come near!" one beast yelled.

"Protect the king!" shouted another.

Two hours.

That’s how long it had gone on.

In two hours, more than half of Beast Land’s warriors were down. Burnt corpses, severed limbs, blood smeared across shattered walls. The air smelled like scorched fur and metal. Smoke mixed with red mist.

Xavier couldn’t believe it. He’d seen death before. But not like this.

This was a massacre.

And the worst part? Piolet had only lost twenty men. Just twenty out of eighty. And there were still more in the spaceship.

Still, the beasts of Beast Land held their ground. Despite outdated weapons. Despite no armor. Despite the pain.

They fought like they had nothing left to lose.

Because they didn’t.

The battlefield was a war zone now—flames flickered from broken huts, the sky darkened with smoke, and the shrill cries of the wounded mixed with the sharp hiss of plasma rounds. Blood, both red and blue, painted the ground.

Then—without warning—a tremor swept through the crater.

Xavier steadied himself. The beasts near him paused, looking around. Even the mercs glanced at one another.

Out from the northern cliffside, a massive gate split open with a deep grinding noise, and ten figures emerged. Clad in dark silver combat suits fused with ancient tribal armor, they moved as a unit. Not rushed, not panicked, but measured. Deadly.

The Prime Ten.

Beasts among beasts.

Each of them had cybernetic implants fused into their bones, glowing marks running along their arms and chests. Their eyes pulsed with a soft crimson hue, and their weapons weren’t primitive—they were forged by old tech, refined by time, and upgraded to match merc-level warfare. Twin plasma blades, retractable shields, shoulder cannons, bioelectric whips, anti-kinetic cloaks—they had it all.

Xavier watched in awe.

Piolet’s smile faded just slightly.

"Well, well..." he muttered. "Now this is interesting."

The Prime Ten didn’t speak.

"They are here..." Someone whispered.

"The prime ten! They will save us!"

The beast who shouted was immediately shot by the mercs.