Tales of the Endless Empire
Chapter 214: To Become Something Greater

Valeria reappeared just before the looming silhouette of the Black Fortress, the escape token having done its job. The backlash hit her like a crashing wave—the exhaustion from the teleportation and the abrupt end of her boosting skill overwhelmed her all at once. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, dark stone. Never in her life had she felt so utterly drained. Her limbs trembled as she tried to push herself upright, but her strength failed her.

Then the weight of reality sank in.

They had lost.

Over twenty thousand undead beasts and twenty-five hundred vampires, yet still, it hadn’t been enough. Many of her kin had likely held back, lurking in the rear ranks, unwilling to gamble their lives against the fortress's ferocious defenses and those cursed skyships. Still, how had they failed to break through? They had come so close. Without that human… the base would have fallen. It was that simple. The Sanguine Thorn beneath her heart still quivered, reacting in primal fear to the mere presence of the thorn the human had wielded.

That had never happened before.

The vampiric plant was usually insatiable, eager to feast on anything with blood coursing through its veins. But in that moment, it had cowered, refusing to act unless Valeria forced it to. What disturbed her even more, what twisted something sharp and cold in her chest, was that the human bore Serine’s eyes. Serine had once been the most gifted among them in evolving and mastering ocular abilities. And now she was gone, her legacy stolen, her power claimed by a mortal.

Valeria had seen the man’s soul—it shimmered with strength. Even with her mind shielded in preparation, his mental presence had left her vision flickering and fractured, dark motes dancing at the edges of her sight. She had turned her own gaze ability on him, and yet… it was as though he hadn’t noticed. He simply brushed it aside. That shouldn't have been possible.

She wondered how many vampires had perished. Six hundred? Maybe more. A staggering loss. There were still nearly four thousand of them at this stage—but that was a drop in the ocean compared to the human population. If the reports were accurate, even fewer elves remained. Looking back, perhaps the other vampires’ decision to hang back had been wise. She, however, had charged forward… and now she had failed. Her standing among the undead, especially within the council, would be fractured.

She should have returned as the most powerful undead in this war. Instead, she returned injured and humbled. Her strength would return soon enough, but her political capital? That would take much longer to recover—if ever. Her enemies within the undead ranks would celebrate her failure behind closed doors. Not openly, of course. She was still too strong for that. But their joy would be real.

And now, she had to report to the council. They needed to prepare. She doubted the humans would dare attack the Black Fortress—time was against them, and the catacombs remained their most pressing threat. The fortress was heavily fortified, a fortress-city built for siege, protected by enchanted walls and powerful artillery. Its greatest asset, however, was its massive teleportation circles—key structures that allowed rapid deployment of undead beasts to whichever catacomb needed them most.

The battle may have been lost. But the war? It was far from over. And things still looked grim for the humans. Once Ankhet awakened, she would return—and this time, that human leader would die. After all, he was just a man. No matter how much he had grown, there were only days left in this special quest. It wouldn’t be enough.

<--

Repairs were underway in full force, and most of the wounded fighters had already recovered over the last day. Maike observed the rapid progress with satisfaction. The only lingering uncertainty was Thalion. The last thing he’d told her was that he intended to clean up the battlefield before dealing with the vampires.

The vampires were still being held outside his tower—no one dared relocate them. The witches had set up a tent just in front of it, claiming it was to “interrogate” the prisoners without revealing the secrets of their magic. More likely, it had been their followers who erected the structure for them. The witches carried themselves with a haughty grace, as though the world itself owed them reverence and silence in their presence.

Maike and Kaldrek, along with a contingent of guards, always ensured they were present during the questioning. And it was unsettling—deeply unsettling—to witness what the witches could do. Still, they were finally getting results. Crucial information had surfaced.

The undead had located all four catacombs. Before each, they had already begun shaping the battlefield, preparing for what was to come. Even more alarming, they now had details on other major players in the undead forces besides the vampires. Among them was a powerful lich—an undead mage who matched the strongest vampires in raw magical might. He wasn’t the only lich among the enemy ranks, but he was by far the most dangerous. The liches, it seemed, were an elite caste within the undead—a hidden army of twisted intellect and death magic.

And then there was Nathaniel.

He had received a high ranked blessing from a mummy god. One of the most powerful undead gods. Nathaniel had been the one to discover the catacombs buried deep in the desert, and now he was raising formidable sand elementals to defend them. Elementals so strong that even the skyships might not be enough to break through.

Then there was an orc known as Grommash, and a blood witch once called Cathrin. Though neither rivaled the sheer power of the vampire lords, they were far from insignificant. At least, that was the vampires’ belief. Maike, however, had her doubts—especially after witnessing the ritual that had empowered the undead forces and birthed the blood wyvern. Something darker stirred beneath the surface, something deeper than the vampires themselves understood.

The silver lining was that the locations of the four catacombs were no longer a mystery. But what she and Kaldrek truly disliked—what made their stomachs twist—were the fortresses the undead had erected around each site. Massive encampments fortified like miniature strongholds, each one connected to the Black Fortress through arcane teleportation circles. Reinforcements could arrive in a heartbeat, attacking from behind or surrounding any advancing force. Fortunately, the magic flowed only one way. If they could destroy the Black Fortress, they might sever the undead's logistical power entirely—collapsing the surrounding defenses like dominos.

That, however, was a monumental if. They hadn’t even been able to approach the fortress walls. It remained a bastion of night, where the rest of the undead beasts—those not already unleashed—waited in silence. It was now clear that only half of their monstrous army had been deployed.

Maike and Kaldrek both agreed: they needed to strike soon, perhaps even immediately. The plan was to deploy Jim’s light formation to thin the undead ranks. But this time, the delay didn’t stem from Jim or any of the other blessed. No—this time, it was Thalion.

Noone knew what, exactly was going on. Even more troubling, he hadn’t responded to any messages since.

“We can’t wait much longer,” Kaldrek muttered anxiously as he stepped out of the tent beside Maike. “Only two days left until the catacombs open. What’s he even doing up there? You think the plant turned on him? Maybe we should just cut it down before it’s too late.”

Maike’s brow furrowed. “We shouldn’t act without him. We’re too exposed. No one else in this base can take on those high-level vampires.”

She had spoken to most of the elite warriors over the last day. They were kind—earnest, and far more grounded than the witches had been. Despite the tension, they were all in agreement: wait for Thalion. Whatever he was doing, it mattered.

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Maike’s eyes drifted upward, locking on the crimson blossom towering over the tower's roof—the last place they'd seen Thalion. A gargantuan red flower now bloomed there, its massive, pulsing petals like bleeding silk. Vines stretched skyward, twisting and unfurling over fifty meters into the air, as though seeking to entwine the clouds themselves. They didn’t strike unless someone came too close, but their aura was suffocating—far stronger than anything else in the base.

Once, someone had ignored the warnings. The flower’s vines had lashed out with blinding speed. The unfortunate fire mage had tried to defend himself, hurling flames in desperation—but it was as if the plant didn’t even register the fire. Whether immune or simply too powerful to care, the result was the same. Within seconds, the man was nothing but a shriveled husk, tumbling lifelessly from the sky.

Under normal circumstances, Maike wouldn’t worry about Thalion. He had always been something of an enigma, driven by a hunger for power that was difficult to grasp—but undeniably purposeful. These past days had proven that his obsession was necessary. Yet now, after more than a full day sealed inside the crimson flower with no visible progress, unease was starting to creep in. The flower’s aura kept intensifying, and whispers had begun to spread—some feared the plant would eventually consume them all.

Everyone in the base now knew that only the strongest vampires wielded such living weapons. Thalion was the exception. But even then, his plant was different—so alien, so monstrous in size and aura that most refused to compare it to the vampires’ own. One look at it, and all comparisons collapsed into silence.

Maike and Kaldrek had used the downtime well. They’d restored the troops, secured the perimeter, and—acting in Thalion’s name—dismissed most of the former council. The new leadership was composed of seasoned warriors who genuinely cared for the people here. Thanks to countless battle recordings, they had clear proof of their capabilities. The previous council had frustrated Maike endlessly, especially with how much sway Amalia had managed to exert over certain members. But with those strings cut, things finally seemed manageable.

If only Thalion would wake.

“Oh—look!” Kaldrek’s voice broke the tension, laced with relief and curiosity. He pointed upward. “I think it’s moving again.”

Maike followed his gaze. The enormous petals were slowly drawing inward, folding in like some colossal, breathing organism responding to a heartbeat within. Something was stirring.

“It’s about time,” she murmured. “We need to move, and soon.”

“I’ll alert the others. Just in case he wants to strike the moment he steps out.” Kaldrek gave her a sharp nod, then dashed off, a smile creeping across his face.

<--

Thalion had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but when he finally stirred, everything around him was soaked in red. The world swam in shades of crimson. As he slowly sat up, he realized he was lying in a bed of blood-drenched flowers, cradled within a shallow pool of glimmering, dark red liquid. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something sweeter—floral, yet otherworldly.

Though disoriented, one truth settled heavily in his bones: he was stronger. Much stronger. The Crimson Virethorn had transformed him during his slumber, reshaping his body with terrifying precision. Power pulsed through his limbs like a second heartbeat. The process wasn’t yet complete—vines still crawled back into his skin, their energy flooding him with every passing moment. He felt it with crystal clarity: new networks of crimson-veined channels forming beneath his muscles, weaving just below the surface of his skin.

Had his skin darkened? He blinked, lifting one hand to the filtered red light above. It looked darker—almost a deep, blood-washed burgundy—but maybe it was just the light reflecting off the fluid and petals around him. Still, the way the tendrils melted into his body, absorbed like threads returning to a loom, left no doubt: this was a rebirth.

Thalion closed his eyes and focused, allowing himself to ride the current of energy swelling within. The Virethorn's power lifted him to a new plane, and he embraced it fully. For over an hour, the tendrils coiled back into him like serpents returning home. He felt each one, a surge of strength with every heartbeat. While they withdrew, he honed his blood, channeling his will and preparing his essence for what came next.

When he finally opened his eyes again, beams of daylight broke through the translucent red leaves above. The transformation had ended. When the curtain of vines finally parted, he could see his base clearly for the first time—intact, spotless, bathed in sunlight. Not a single undead creature wandered its grounds.

And everyone was staring at him.

A sea of eyes locked onto his form, faces etched with awe, confusion, and perhaps a little fear. Thalion winced internally. Right… he probably should have checked his messages. As expected, a flood of missed communications greeted him. One glance confirmed it: only a single day remained until the special quest began. The catacombs would open at dawn tomorrow. Time—his most precious resource—was slipping through his fingers.

Panic flickered briefly across his mind. What had happened while he was inside? Had Kael or the others reached the base? Had they made their move while he was sealed away? But then a wicked grin crept onto his lips. If they had… then he could kill them now, face to face. No more games. The thought didn’t disturb him—it thrilled him.

He scrolled through the flood of messages, ignoring most until he found the ones from Maike and Kaldrek. Their reports confirmed what Serine had told him: detailed intel about the vampire elites, their capabilities, their ranks, and the scale of the enemy forces. It was all real. A small huff of amusement escaped him. Guess that talk hadn’t been for nothing.

Before anything else, he needed to deal with the captured vampires. He would store them in the black pillar, where they couldn’t cause trouble, then prepare for a direct strike on the Black Fortress. But first—he had to see what he had become.

Thalion summoned a mirror from his spatial ring, his expression unreadable. His reflection greeted him: skin now a deep, shadowed red, faintly glowing with a molten crimson hue beneath the surface. His black tunic contrasted sharply with the new tone of his body, giving him a grim, commanding presence. His eyes burned like rubies. He wasted no time donning his armor and cloak, concealing his altered form once more.

“Damn… I really have outdone myself,” he muttered with a smirk, adjusting the robe over his shoulder. There was elegance in this monstrous new form, and he reveled in it.

Then he opened his status screen—and nearly staggered.

His Vitality stat had exploded, now sitting at 1,210. That was absurd. An increase of nearly 400 points—equivalent to almost twenty level-ups in F-rank cultivation. He likely had more raw endurance now than most tank classes at this stage. And with Vitality being the most important attribute for a blood cultivator, his abilities had become significantly more potent.

Some rare blood cultivators relied on Intelligence, especially necromancers who bound souls within their blood. But Thalion was no necromancer. His path was physical, primal—his strength drawn from living force and crimson tides.

As his eyes swept across the status screen, he noticed two new skills had appeared.

The moment he registered them, something electric raced down his spine, setting his blood alight. A grin crept across his lips, slow and dangerous.

If the vampires had feared him before…

They had no idea what was coming next.