You promised to wreak havoc on the dungeon, but instead you've got Dragon Slime!

A scene appeared in the sky: an elderly imperial commander with a rift valley being carved out in the wilderness behind him.

[...The underground reaction here is abnormal; further excavation is not recommended...]

[...Unknown law fluctuations have been detected, similar to the 'City of Shadows'...]

[...It is recommended to archive this and await authorization from someone with core privileges...]

Chapter 170 Ron's Prestige Shakes the Outer Realms

The image fades.

Claudia's expression changed when she saw the phrase "similar to the City of Shadows".

"Is this place also related to those 'special cities'?"

"It seems that as we fought our way up, we weren't just conquering territory, but gradually figuring out that 'core line'."

Ron stood up: "That's right."

"This line now connects from Black Whisper Caves, Phantom City, Snake Bone Valley, and Rift Rock Fortress all the way to Ironbone Wasteland."

"Something is buried somewhere."

"And we are pulling it out little by little along this line."

Claudia took a deep breath: "And what's next?"

Ron looked towards the far north of the map, his tone indifferent:

"Beyond the phantom, deep within the earth."

"There are still three points over there that haven't been breached."

"Once we've finished our repairs, we'll push north directly."

……

That night.

The main flag was planted again on the barren highlands.

Ron personally smashed the flagpole into the old stone platform on the ground.

With one blow, the entire wasteland fell silent.

Three days after the Battle of Ironbone Wasteland ended, the battle report spread throughout the entire outer realm.

The rumors are about the fastest flying eagle, the oldest ground network, and the most unreliable tavern gossip.

But what everyone said was remarkably consistent.

"Ron drove Bacchus away."

"The allied forces were defeated, losing two-thirds of their territory, and the wasteland was gone too."

—"Iron Bone Wasteland has changed its flag."

These three sentences alone are enough to make those who are holed up in the city, waiting for the storm to pass, feel uneasy.

Even the border merchants who had previously openly opposed Ron fell silent and sent messengers overnight, saying they were "willing to discuss new rules."

Claudia spread the letters out in the tent, flipping through them while laughing coldly: "These people are really shrewd."

"If you win, they will come to sue for peace."

"If you lose, these people will probably be chanting slogans along with Bacchus by now."

Ron didn't read the letter. He sat on a rock outside the camp, holding a small pebble in his hand, and casually drew circles on the ground.

"It's not surprising that they'll come."

“The strange thing is that now those old towns that never cared about us before are starting to send people over.”

Viser sat beside him, sharpening his knife. "You mean, those guys from 'Hidden City'?"

"Ah."

“Even the Abyss’s Maw has sent a probing letter, saying they want to open a trade port.”

Claudia frowned: "How could they possibly tolerate you conquering such a large territory?"

“They’re not afraid of you, they’re afraid—that you’ve really connected the land.”

“In the past, even though we fought, each side had its own city lord and king, and everyone managed their own affairs.”

“You’re different now. You’re taking them down one after another, and you’re keeping them all connected.”

“These places are not just cities now, they are ‘a map’.”

"And you are the ruler on the map."

Viser smashed a rock and grinned: "That was pretty fun."

"When we came out of the Black Language Cave, who would have thought we'd be where we are today?"

"Even we ourselves didn't expect this."

night.

A fire was lit outside the camp.

Ron sat by the fire, unfolded a map, placed it on his knees, and stared at the lines in the middle.

Black Language Cave → Phantom City → Snake Bone Valley → Rock Rift Fortress → Ironbone Wasteland.

The line has been pulled out.

Now is the time—to plant a flag on this line.

It is not a military flag from "a certain place".

It is the banner of a complete system.

Ron looked up at Claudia: "Do you think anyone would believe me if I said I wanted to build an 'Outland Alliance' right now?"

Claudia stared at him for two seconds: "Those who do not believe—are already dead in the wasteland."

"The rest is up to you to believe."

"But they won't recognize you as king."

"Because you are not a king in the traditional sense."

"You are the one who 'brought down' them."

"They are the 'owners' they have to admit."

"Therefore you cannot establish a royal court, nor can you establish an imperial system."

"You can only form an alliance."

"On the surface, everyone says they have rights, but in reality, you hold the core power."

"That way, they can stubbornly submit."

Ron nodded. "That's what I think too."

He reached out, folded the map, and put it in his pocket.

"Then do it."

"Starting tomorrow, send out letters, deliver people, and raise flags."

"We need to convene a 'Union Parliament'."

"The Iron-Boned Wasteland is the site of the meeting."

Two days later.

A huge blue stone was lifted down from the mountainside, shaved into a flat surface, and stood in the center of the wasteland.

There are only five words on the stone:

—Outer Realms Alliance Council

This is a declaration.

It is also a signal.

From this moment on, Ron transformed from a city lord and commander into the "central figure" of the entire Outer Realm.

They are no longer just fighters, but rule-makers.

On the very day the Outer Realms Alliance officially raised its flag, Bakus's figure reappeared in the northern part of the Deep Wasteland.

It was a dead valley that no one dared to go to. The wind carried the smell of decay, and the ground was covered with withered bones. If you stepped on it, you could sink halfway down to your calf.

He led fewer than three hundred remaining soldiers into an old stone house at the bottom of the valley.

No one followed.

But someone was waiting for him.

"You lost." A voice rang out in the darkness.

The sound was as soft as a cold breeze brushing past the ear, yet it penetrated straight to the bone.

Bacchus stood in the shadows, his right hand still gripping the broken scepter tightly. His lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

The voice rang out again: "You shouldn't have fought that battle. You were too hasty."

"He hadn't even gotten his footing yet, and you went and bumped into him. What happened? He turned the tables on you and devoured three cities."

"He's the leader of the alliance now, and what about you? You don't even have a proper camp."

Bacchus narrowed his eyes: "You came here to be sarcastic?"

"No." The voice carried a hint of amusement. "I'm here to give you a chance."

In the darkness, a withered finger emerged, with a small, grayish-black fragment spread out in the palm, shaped like a bone, yet gleaming faintly.

Bacchus's eyelids twitched: "This is..."

“The remains of an ancient god,” the other party said calmly. “True power does not rely on soldiers, nor on territory.”

"It relies on the 'roots of the world'."

"Once this thing is fully revived, the entire wasteland will have to change its owner."