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

"No matter how good Ron is at fighting, he can't beat the 'will of the old era'."

Bacchus did not answer immediately.

He stared at the wreckage for a long time, then whispered, "Is it still alive?"

"It's not dead." The voice held a hint of excitement. "It's just asleep."

"If you just lower your head once, it will wake up."

Bacchus didn't move.

After a long while, he raised his hand and took the fragment.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said in a low voice.

“I want you to let 'him' see this…”

"His real enemy is not people."

"It's 'the system he thought he controlled'."

The voice chuckled softly in the darkness.

"can."

"But you have to be prepared for the price."

"No one can escape unscathed from this counterattack."

Chapter 166

The laughter in the darkness faded, and the sky over the outer realms gradually brightened.

Dust pressed down on the camp, and the soldiers were busy at work, the sounds of hammering, repairing, and low chanting mingling together.

Several days have passed since the battle in Ironbone Wasteland. Half of the dead bodies have been burned, and the rest have been thrown into the ash pit.

No one cared about counting the exact number of deaths; they only knew the losses were enormous.

Ron stood in the center of the camp, staring at the direction of the bone tower in the distance.

The tower, built of bones, pierced the sky and sent chills down one's spine when viewed from afar.

Its existence weighs heavily on everyone's heart, as if it could crush the entire wasteland at any moment.

The alliance's council convened on this day.

Representatives from the old city arrived at the camp one after another, accompanied by their entourages and guards, riding skinny horses or pushing dilapidated carts.

Along the way, these people complained a lot, but as soon as they entered the camp and saw the black-armored troops still dripping blood, they immediately shut up.

The council was held in a makeshift tent. Thick animal hides blocked out the light, and the ground was covered with charred wooden planks.

Ron sat in the main seat, with Viser and Claudia beside him.

Viser was clad in iron armor, and the greatsword at her waist was chipped. Claudia wore a black robe, and Shadowscale lay quietly on her shoulder, as if ready to pounce at any moment.

Inside the tent, dozens of delegates stood in two rows, some with their heads bowed and silent, others coughing frequently. The air was heavy and oppressive.

Without exchanging pleasantries, Ron went straight to the point: "From today onwards, supplies to the outer regions must be consolidated, and all transport lines must be brought under unified control. The Black River, the Dark River, and the underground tunnels will all be under my jurisdiction."

These words immediately drew dissent. A representative wearing a leather hat coldly said, "Ron, aren't you meddling too much? How the people in our city live depends entirely on your word? If you want grain, iron, or soldiers, we'll give you whatever you want, then what kind of city are we?"

Viser kicked over the iron bucket next to him, the sound of metal clanging echoing in the tent, startling the man who was speaking.

Claudia didn't look at anyone, but simply extended her finger. Shadow scales crawled across the ground, making a scraping sound like a knife cutting through stone.

The atmosphere suddenly turned cold.

Ron looked at the man, his voice low and deep: "You're right. What kind of city are you? If your city could hold out, you wouldn't be here. If your people could withstand the monster tide, they wouldn't be kneeling outside the Ironbone Wasteland waiting for me to rescue them. Supply is under my control. From now on, this is not negotiable."

No one dared to utter a sound.

The parliament's rhythm was thus crushed at the very beginning.

Ron turned his head and looked at the bone tower in the distance.

The voice came through the large tent, heavy and suppressed: "Next step, northward advance. Target—Abyss Bone Tower."

The wind and sand blew outside, and the tower's shadow flickered on the horizon.

Everyone in the camp knew that from this day forward, they had been thrust into an even bigger gamble.

……

The war drums sounded in the camp, the order was given, and the supply convoy began to form up.

The fire burned bright red at night, illuminating the busy figures of the soldiers.

Some were sharpening knives, while others were mending their torn armor.

No one mentions the names of the fallen comrades anymore; only their weapons remain stuck in the ashes.

Claudia whispered to Ron, "The food and weapons for each city have been gathered according to your orders. The representatives in the Old City haven't said anything, but they're still making moves behind the scenes."

Viser snorted: "Let them make a scene. If they dare to lay a hand on me, I'll kill them. This is the front line, not their hometown."

Ron didn't reply, only staring at the bone tower in the distance.

He could hear a low whisper coming from the tower, each sound striking his mind like a call.

The drumming continued all night. The people in the camp couldn't sleep well, and many soldiers simply sat by the fire with their shields and dozed off.

The blood from the Ironbone Wasteland hadn't even dried yet, and everyone knew in their hearts that what they were about to face was even more terrifying.

Ron did not rest; he stood on the high platform outside the large tent, staring north.

The wind carried the smell of ash and blood, and beyond layers of black soil, the shadow of the bone tower could be seen.

The tower was unnaturally tall, as if a gap had been forcibly torn open in the sky.

Parliament continued in the early morning.

The representatives from the old city sat down one by one, their faces grim.

They knew Ron had the supplies in his grasp, but some still probed.

A gaunt old man from the old city of Black River spoke up: "Ron, you said you wanted unified supplies, fine. But this tower... can it really hold up? So many people have already died in Ironbone Wasteland, if we push it up again, how many of us will be left alive?"

Ron didn't answer, but simply placed his hand on the map on the table, his finger pointing to one side of the bone tower.

That area was marked with red ink, and next to it were written three words—Danger Zone.

His voice was low and deep: "Whether we can fight or not is not up to you. Whether we can live or die is not up to you. You just need to follow along. Those who don't want to leave can go back now. Remember one thing—taking a step back will only lead to a faster death."

After he finished speaking, the entire room fell silent. No one dared to object.

Claudia unfurled the scroll in his hand, listing the tasks that each city needed to undertake.

Some offered to provide grain transport teams, others offered to send craftsmen to repair weapons, and still others offered to bring out the sorcerers they had trained.

The allocation was so detailed that there was no room for maneuver.

Viser was decisive, slamming his iron sword on the table with a deafening clang: "Anyone who dares to cut corners, anyone who dares to hoard, I'll chop off their head first."

The representatives from the old city all lowered their heads, not daring to speak.

……

In the afternoon, the council adjourned, and the legion began its operations.

The supply convoy lined up on the wasteland, a dozen plumes of black smoke rising straight into the sky. Soldiers, carrying spears, marched in silence.

Ron stood at the front of the group, his gaze fixed on the north.

He knew very well that this was no ordinary battle.

The Bone Tower itself is a dungeon, a ruined altar left behind by the ancient gods. To proceed, it must be destroyed.

The march lasted three days. The further north they went, the more desolate the wilderness became, with large patches of scorched earth on the ground, as if burned by invisible flames.

There were no insects chirping at night, only the sound of the wind whispering.

The soldiers whispered, "This is the soul wind of the Bone Tower."

On the fourth day, the legion finally approached the outer perimeter of the Bone Tower.

From a distance, the bone tower was shrouded in a layer of gray-white mist, within which one could see blurry figures, sometimes human, sometimes beast, flickering erratically.

The air was filled with restlessness, and every breath made my chest feel tight.

Ron ordered an advance team to probe the area.

Thirty elite infantrymen, clad in black iron armor and carrying runic shields, advanced towards the bone tower. Each step they took was heavy, and the black earth beneath their feet cracked and sputtered.

Just as I reached the outer edge, the fog swirled, and a sudden commotion filled my ears. Someone shouted, "Watch out!"

But the next moment, the infantry's formation was thrown into chaos.

They started attacking each other, as if they had completely gone mad.

Some swung their swords at their comrades, while others slammed their heads against their shields. In just ten breaths, half of the thirty men had fallen.

The soldiers at the rear of the camp felt a chill run down their spines.

A cold glint flashed in Ron's eyes. He suddenly raised his hand, and a blood-red ripple spread from his palm.

That was the [Law Wave], a system skill unique to him. The ripples spread out, covering the thirty people and instantly suppressing the chaos within them.

The surviving soldiers collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, their eyes bloodshot, as if they had just crawled back from hell.

Claudia stepped forward and whispered, "This is spiritual erosion. The Bone Tower is devouring their souls. Without the Law Waves, this army simply cannot withstand it."

Viser frowned and gripped his sword tighter: "Fighting this kind of battle, you die too quickly."

Ron said in a deep voice, "Death is certain, but the tower must be destroyed."

He looked up at the towering bone tower.

A voice seemed to whisper within the mist, constantly assaulting one's consciousness. Ron could feel the system's notifications appearing in his mind:

[Mental Erosion Value +1]

[WARNING: This area is the outer ring of the instance. Staying here will cause the entire army to lose mental control.]

Ron gritted his teeth, suppressing his frustration.