Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

The enemy has infiltrated our ranks.

Shan's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled to control his emotions, preventing his inner turmoil from escalating. Hunting parties typically had fixed formations, with small groups of two or three usually consisting of close-knit friends. It was for this reason that, sitting around the campfire, his childhood friend Saree was on his left, and Michael, his wife's brother, was on his right. With their assistance, the hunt had always been successful. But now, he needed to re-examine his own family, or perhaps, the enemies disguised as his family.

The suspicious glances were mutual, and the silent exchange of glances appeared on the dancing flames. Everyone's weapons were confiscated by the black dragon to suppress the commotion caused by the undercover agent being exposed. Every berserker has the intention to find out the enemy and beat them up on his own, even if Alcalon is not optimistic about the barbarian's discernment ability.

Shan wished he had four more eyes. His eyes were bloodshot and he didn't blink once in the blowing ashes. This made Saree feel scared. This brute with bloodshot eyes looked like he wanted to eat people.

"My home is in..."

"The second tent on the third floor, the largest tent, with a leopard skin sewn onto the left door—that's compensation for my mistake..." Similar conversations had been repeated many times, and the lack of progress was making Shan frustrated. He was completely unaware that his mindset had changed. He no longer wanted to identify his friend; instead, he hoped Shan would quickly answer incorrectly and be confirmed as an undercover agent, so he could punch him hard in the face.

They couldn't find a solution; their lack of critical thinking was a fatal flaw of the berserkers. Alcalon thought to himself, toying with his weapon as he looked down at the noisy ancient humans. If the Heartflayers had truly infiltrated, the black dragon would surely applaud their parasitic skills; they had successfully evaded the dragon's senses. The scent of magic, the increase or decrease of life force—Alcalon's bloodlust sense could identify new life within the womb, but it couldn't detect these parasites. The black dragon sniffed the dust rising in the air, its golden dragon eyes focusing on a certain person; they were losing patience.

"How many spots were around the wound on that leopard I pierced with my spear during my first hunt when I was five?" Shan chuckled smugly, watching Saree's face slowly flush red. He was certain he'd stumped him. Though it was a distant childhood memory, the sense of accomplishment from that first hunt was still vivid. He remembered every detail of the prey, especially the hole left by the stone spear. Shan wasn't joking; he had indeed carefully counted the spots and had boasted about this "spoils of war" to his best friend countless times.

Sary must remember, if he really is Sary.

"...Twelve? Or eleven?" Sarre grabbed his hair, making himself look disheveled, rummaging through his mind, searching for memories of the past, trying to escape the torment inflicted by his friend. Like a spring stretched to its limit, the berserker's tone was somewhat reckless and defiant.

"Ha! The correct answer is eleven and a half! There's a lesion among them! You got it wrong!" Shan, supporting himself on his knees, excitedly prepared to stand up and launch a superior attack on Saree. He was determined to use all his strength, stretching his muscles to unleash all the exhaustion from racking his brains onto Saree's face. That was exactly what he was going to do, no doubt about it.

The crimson shadow was faster than him. Saree raised his fists high above his head, his arms bent like bows. His scalding blood was more conspicuous than the flames of the campfire. His hair and beard were long, and he was enraged.

The spot where Shan had been sitting looked as if it had been hit by artillery fire. Everyone felt the ground shake and turned to look. Sare was standing by the smoke and dust, the blood fading from his exposed skin.

"what happened?"

“I discovered the undercover agent, who was disguised as a mountain. I subdued him before he could riot.”

Emotions are an easily detectable scent, and the ancient humans, exceptionally sensitive to anger, did not confront the still-angry Sare. Like him, they were all under the scrutiny of those close to them, and they did not believe they could have done better than Sare, nor did they become the fuse that ignited the entire scene.

A horizontally swung fist sent Saree flying. Shan crawled out of the crater, his skin red and steaming, twisting his neck, a new streak of blood running down his hair. A sadistic smile played on his lips, and Shan, too, entered berserker mode.

“You’re the undercover agent. Saree’s fists aren’t as weak as yours.”

Whether someone is friend or foe is meaningless to the berserker; the two closest friends, already enraged, only want to smash each other's heads in. Who the mole is becomes a convenient excuse for a physical fight. In this life-or-death moment, the berserker abandons reason and chooses action, even without weapons, though weapons are unnecessary.

Having endured mental torment under Mr. Brandy's leadership, every single one of the ancient humans in the hunting party was mentally unstable. This wasn't apparent while they mingled in the bloodthirsty and savage tribes, but the slightest pressure would trigger a violent backlash, sending them into a frenzy. Omhead still had some conscience and tried to restrain his subordinates; as for the thoughts of the black dragon Alcaron…

"With abundant strength and a fragile life force, my race will forever stand at the top of the food chain." Alcalon guided the ancient humans into numerical monsters that constantly stacked the Enrage buff.

The brawl continued. After an hour, the berserkers had pounded the ground to a crisp. After two hours, they were covered in bruises and fist marks, barely holding on thanks to the berserkers' rapid regeneration. After three hours, someone vomited.

Michael knelt on the ground and vomited a black, strip-shaped mass of rotten flesh about five meters long. Shan, who was beating him, loosened his fist and carefully examined which organ his brother-in-law had vomited.

With its last breath, the Heart-Stealing Worm stirred slightly before dying from internal injuries.

A little tired from the fight, the berserkers gathered around, staring intently at the thing with puzzled expressions. They had almost forgotten the original purpose of the brawl.

"What is this, Mountain? Did you make Michael vomit his guts?"

“Michael’s intestines don’t look like that; he must have eaten something unclean…”

"Could it be... that this is the enemy Lord Black Dragon was talking about?"

"Absolutely impossible! How could there be such an ugly enemy? There must be a traitor among us! This is just simple food poisoning!"

"Keep hitting him!! Beat him up!!!"

The berserkers twisted into a ball again.

……

In the darkness deep underground.

The chieftain of the Heartflayers is holding a war council, and news of warrior deaths keeps pouring in from the Zerg network, throwing the Zerg into chaos.

"It's not time to start a riot yet! Our goal is to pollute the Earth's nodes! What are you doing?!"

"...It was a riot started by the Black Dragon Clan themselves! They're attacking their own people!"

We've been exposed?

"No, they attacked everything in their field of vision; we were caught in the crossfire."

"How can this be considered accidental injury? We were lurking deep within their flesh and blood, close to their vital organs. You're telling me this is accidental injury? Aren't they afraid of killing their own people?"

Uneasy sounds echoed through the insect network.

"Yes, Queen Insect, our warriors were killed by the shockwave from the impact of the fist. The physical strength of the Black Dragon Clan has become inconceivable compared to the last divine war; they have become flesh and blood monsters that are almost on par with the great gods."

"Evolution will enhance the physical resilience of our race, weaving new genes, at least enough to withstand aftershocks..."

“We can’t do it, Queen. Continuing to increase the hardness of our bodies will hinder the parasitic ability of our species, and we will lose our best battlefield.”

The dense gnawing sounds represent the queen insect's anger. She is furious at the incompetence of her colony, fighting the worst battle on the best battlefield, and inflicting the most profound insult on her own people.

"Useless trash. They can even be killed inside their bodies. It's better to just fight them head-on!"

The swarm network fell silent for a moment.

A head-on collision? Seriously? Going head-on against a monster that can kill with a punch? Didn't the great creator give you a brain?

The Heartflint swarm was at its wits' end, but another piece of bad news completely eroded the swarm's network.

We found you!

The sinister whispers, like iron molten metal clinging to an exoskeleton, made the swarm sense a terrifying presence closing in, pressing down from both the material and spiritual worlds.

"How could this be? This is underground. Even the tunnels used by my people shouldn't be like this..."

Amidst the churning blood energy, the black serpent reshaped itself before the queen and the ovaries beneath her. A black dragon, drawn by the scent, burrowed in. Alcalon, highly sensitive to unusual mental fluctuations, ensnared a dragon in the swarm's web.

"Hahahaha, I promised Omhead I'd treat you well! Come on! Let the revelry begin!" The black dragon, now transformed into a demon god, unfurled its body, and the blackish-red pus dripping from its pores melted the Heartflayers. Now, it was the black dragon's side that wanted to merge with it.

Before the Zerg network was crushed by the Warslings, the Queen delivered her final message.

"The heart thief is destroyed, and the god of betrayal resides in the Black Dragon tribe."

Mistaking the black dragon, who possessed the power of an evil god, for his old father, Yemotar, was the last piece of erroneous information provided by the Heartflayer.

Chapter 805 Super Double

"The God of Betrayal descends upon the Black Dragon tribe; the Heart Stealer is destroyed."

General Malsim repeated the intelligence report, standing on the collapsed steel gate, gazing at the lava firelight reflected in Mackenbert. His bladed feet left shallow marks on the steel, and his folded, scythe-like forelimbs seemed to be praying for his unfortunate ally. The battle between the Fireburst beetle swarm and the Molten Dwarves had reached a fever pitch. General Malsim led his people in a surprise attack on the gate, establishing a foothold atop the Great Furnace.

Firebursts are massive beetles with spherical exoskeletons as hard as steel; blunt force strikes can only leave dents, making further penetration difficult. Due to the needs of their swarms, Firebursts have evolved dual resistance to fire and rock. They can absorb geothermal heat to grow rapidly, thus becoming an army against the Red Dragon tribe. Unlike the Mindflayer swarm, Firebursts are purely frontal forces.

When the war drums sound, there is no silence.

The sounds of flapping wings, shouts, and the clash of metal—the cleaved or flattened corpses were pushed off the lava, igniting a brighter light in the flames.

A day and a night later, the Fireburst swarm entered the city, only to be driven back by the steel chariots pouring out from the workshops. A tug-of-war ensued in Mackenbert, where there was no night. Both sides fought like tireless machines, and at least Marsim's troop deployment and the command of the dwarf king Viserg Firehammer did not create any major loopholes.

The Firebursts had employed flanking maneuvers, death-drop tactics, and even clumsy digging, but all were repelled by the tenacious dwarves. The attacking directions where humanoids couldn't stand were protected by fire elementals, and flying units included city cannons and flying fire hammers. As for digging, Marsim had to admit it was a blunder, a suicidal order given in a moment of mental instability.

Mackenbert was made of steel, including its floor. The soldiers who had been strictly following the digging tactics were killed by the Red Dragon Overseer when they were exhausted after digging through the steel plates. The molten metal flowing back in the tunnels instantly wiped out their trenches, along with the insect legs that hadn't had time to escape.

Marsim was waiting for an opportunity, and he was certain that the opposing commander was as well.

"General, the queen has laid the last three thousand eggs. Nourished by Mackenbert's heat, our larvae will mature quickly in an hour." The messenger's voice was dry and monotonous, with only a faint trace of humanity in his opening and closing mouthparts—a taste of sorrow.

Marsim lowered his head, his closed scythe legs slightly opened, and his elytra vibrated, the rapid noise acting as a stimulant for the swarm.

"Has the mother insect been dealt with?"

"As ordered, the mother body has been torn apart, and the ritual is complete."

General Malsim soared into the air, his scythes fully extended, his massive body glowing golden in the firelight, as he swooped down towards the dwarven army's engineer corps. Cannonballs bounced off his armor, hurtling against the flames, while the Queen's dying words echoed in his mind through the swarm's network.

[General Marsim, you are the insectoid being catalyzed by the previous failure. Your defeated race has been abandoned by the great god; it is up to you, with the extraordinary abilities bestowed upon you by the god, to reclaim the god's mercy.]

The bombardment crashed against the cumbersome tanks, General Marshem spun his scythe, sending shrapnel and metal fragments flying across its body. He roared, like an embodiment of rage bringing the sealed suffering of the slumbering to reality, along with the humiliation of the fire-diggers.

Without the gaze of the divine, we have no future! But this does not prevent us from erecting tombstones upon your bones! The destiny of the fire-diggers will be fulfilled here.

"Soldiers, charge!"

Encouraged by their leader, the Fireburs lowered their heads and thrust their hard ramming horns at the dwarven warriors locked in combat. The agile dwarves dodged with quick movements or leaps. But it didn't matter. Following their instinct to charge, the Fireburs' horns hooked onto the dwarven armor and weapons, and like gladiators, they gathered their strength to send their enemies flying. Before the lowly figures could even land, the swarm of multi-legged chariots surged through the gaps created by the fighting. The collective charge of the swarm was unstoppable. No dwarf could withstand the horde's onslaught. Even the scrap metal machinery lying in the road was smashed aside by the beetles' immense force. They had only one target in their eyes: General Malshim, who had penetrated deep behind enemy lines and was wreaking havoc. Like a sharp cone piercing through the dwarven defenses, the Red Dragon Overseer, whose armor had been trampled by the swarm and was almost a pancake, got up and could only watch the receding wall of insects.

His once-meticulous beard was now a mess from the fight, a mixture of coal dust and scabbed scars. He was in pain all over, spitting and cursing, and the way he held his hammer made him look like he was using a cane.

"Firehammer above, damn it, plan failed, activate backup plan." The Red Dragon Overseer kicked the messenger lying beside him like a dead pig. The fallen dwarf's chainmail was split in two, and red flesh was growing from the burning wound. Not long ago, his chest was concave, and if the Red Dragon Overseer hadn't hit him with a hammer, he would be having trouble speaking now.

"What's the point of giving orders? His Majesty isn't blind. He's already started." Before the words were even finished, the entire iron bridge began to shake. The only passage connecting Mackenbert to the outside world, a steel bridge capable of carrying four chariots side by side, suddenly teetered on the brink of collapse. This affected not only the dwarven defenses in the middle section that had been breached, but also the charging Zerg swarm. The moment the Zerg swarm broke through the defenses, Vissell changed his orders.

"This is our land, you insects." The Dwarf King gave General Malshim, who was leading the charge, a deep look before mounting his goat. "Lower the suspension cables of the Freyfa Bridge, or cut them if necessary. Charge? Mackenbert only allows the hoofprints of goats. Warriors of the molten lava furnace, once again, fight for the red dragon!" Leaping from the plaza's stands, the Dwarf goat riders traversed the intricate streets with ease. They eventually converged on the street, accelerating towards the held-down General Malshim, seemingly intending to use him as a point of intersection to collide with the insect swarm.

The bridge slid down rapidly, the separated steel plates falling straight into the lava. The dwarves cut the suspension cables, and just as the swarm of insects was about to charge into the city, the height difference between them and the city road reached five meters. Their jumping ability was certainly enough to leap up, and with their acceleration, it would be even easier; moreover, they had wings and could fly. But the dwarves had timed their charge perfectly, lowering the suspension bridge at this crucial moment, essentially creating a deadly roadblock on the highway. Jumping up meant losing their acceleration and facing the dwarves' fully charged goat-like cavalry; flying would make them easy targets. Worse still, due to the bridge's descent, General Malshim's rear line had become a precipice. If the swarm didn't provide support, their general would have to fight a desperate battle against an entire goat-riding cavalry.

In extremely unwell condition, the swarm of insects that had stormed the beach clashed with the elite dwarven cavalry. The veterans, their molten lava from the furnaces, greatly increased Malshim's fighting pressure. With his forelimbs, he cleaved through the dwarven king's fire hammer, the horned beast's hooves sparking against its own carapace. General Malshim then unleashed a slashing kick, sweeping away a red dragon overlord, along with his sheep.

"To abandon the lives of one's men—I once thought this was a uniquely human quality," the general said admiringly. A considerable number of dwarven warriors remained on the suspension bridge that had sunk into the lava; they, however, did not have wings. Clearly, the dwarven king's decisive abandonment for victory suited his taste perfectly.

"To lump the warriors of Firehammer in with you is an insult to them." Visselg retaliated with his heavy hammer, his armor gleaming, the gold-embroidered wool royal robe already worn out in the first round of the hooded tactic. "Flying creatures aren't just insects." The goat cavalry fought and retreated, giving the forced-to-drop Fireburs enough space to withstand the aerial attacks.

"Fire!!!" A blazing dwarf descended from the sky with a scream, riding a fire elemental and crashing into the swarm of insects while carrying a ball of lava. The dwarf warriors who had fallen from the bridge didn't give up; instead, they coordinated with the fire elementals to catch them, becoming bombardment troops. The fearless dwarves disrupted the swarm's formation, and the fire elementals' lava projectiles exploded everywhere. The Fireburs endured it all, witnessed by the dwarf king and the red dragon priest.

“The warriors are at their last gasp.” The red dragon priest Freheimer knew the Firebursts’ formidable resistance. Although they were in a sorry state, such an attack could not possibly decide the outcome. The dwarves needed greater strength and higher morale, but fortunately, everything was prepared.

The fiery portal connecting to the distant dragon's lair is finally complete.

The Dragon King's rituals brought diverse trends to the various dragonkin: the black dragons' mass "carnivals," the green dragons' virtual games, and the red dragons' idol fanaticism. Without their idols, the dwarves couldn't muster any excitement. The dwarves would achieve victory, but they needed encouragement; their weary souls needed nourishment. All the Molten Dwarves longed for their Valkyrie.

"Although Immelt should be tending to the white dragon's injuries, now that we've entered a critical moment, she will surely answer the call of her people."

The red dragon priest chanted incantations, and the red light surrounding the portal overwhelmed everything.

"Molten blood, a body forged a hundredfold, descend, guardian of the dwarves, descend, life and flames!"

The portal responded with an overwhelming pressure that stunned everyone.

The red dragon priest had a strange expression; if he could, he would even want to break out in a sweat.

"The Red Dragon Queen has not responded to us..."

"Our response came from the Father of Ten Thousand Dragons, the Devourer Yemotar!"

The grumpy old father stepped through the portal, and at his daughter's pleading, prepared to meet the scoundrel who had been flirting with his precious daughter.

"Damn bugs, here I come!"