Sovereign of the Ashes

The Magus Civilization and the Immortal Realm had always maintained friendly relations.

In particular, a number of sages from both sides kept in regular contact throughout the year.

But in the end, this was still a relationship between two civilizations.

It was not something that could be swayed lightly by the personal preferences of a few powerful individuals, especially when it came to intervening in a Clash of Civilizations led by the other side.

They were allies, yes—but even allies had to talk in terms of interests.

On top of that, the turmoil and internal strife within the Immortal Realm in recent years had further reduced contact between the two sides.

The Magus Civilization’s upper echelon had no desire to take sides.

Until the Immortal Realm could once again speak with a unified voice, the Magus Civilization was reluctant to become too deeply involved with them.

Choosing a side meant gaining some allies, but also making enemies of others.

And right now, the situation within the Immortal Realm was far too complicated.

However, the current war was forcing the Magus Civilization to look for allies sooner rather than later.

The Clash of Civilizations against the Gallant Federation could not be allowed to drag on into a stalemate.

If their overwhelming momentum faltered for any reason, they would have to find another way to break through, even if that meant sharing part of the eventual spoils of war with the Immortal Realm.

Klopp naturally understood what Bev was implying.

The three overlords she mentioned were all powerhouses in the Immortal Realm with close ties to the Magus Civilization, and each commanded significant influence.

Of course, the Magus Civilization also had strong relationships with several other overlords in the Immortal Realm.

But sometimes, ties that were too close came with their own complications.

The hardest debts to repay were debts of gratitude.

At times like this, Bev, as a leader of a civilization, felt that speaking in terms of tangible gains was the best approach.

Besides, given the Magus Civilization’s long-standing ties with those particular overlords, once the Immortal Emperor of the South Pole and his allies made a move, other factions would likely step in on their own without even needing to be asked.

As Bev’s right-hand man, Klopp had a deep understanding of many of the civilization’s major decisions.

He could not help but ask again, “Should we contact the Myriad Springs Worlds and the Martial Civilization?”

He had raised this question before.

This time, Bev answered, “The Myriad Springs Worlds has not truly cut ties with us. Once the descendants of the Spring Ancestor hear about our situation, those who are meant to come will come on their own.”

“As for the Martial Civilization...” She paused briefly before continuing, “Send someone to make contact. We need every ally we can get right now.”

At her order, Klopp bowed and took his leave.

The days ahead would keep him busier than ever.

He already had a few candidates in mind for the envoy to that alien civilization.

After Klopp departed, Bev looked out over the ravaged battlefield and let out another quiet sigh.

***

The fierce battle at the border of the Andarco Star Domain was also drawing to a close.

The Seventh Pharaoh was clearly stronger than the Eighth Pharaoh, and he had proved it.

In addition to an overlord-level monster acting as his lackey, his true trump card was a beam of light shot from his chest after he broke his seal.

Aforgomon had three eyes. The one embedded in his chest had been cultivated later in life, and it channeled his unique law power—the Light of Consciousness, a beam capable of threatening even overlords.

With this trump card, along with the desperate rearguard provided by Fram, the horned, black-scaled monster king, the Seventh Pharaoh ultimately managed to escape the battlefield of the Andarco Star Domain, though it cost him an arm.

The pitch-black black hole intertwined with the white lawful beam from the Sacred Scriptures of Amenkha.

As Aforgomon retreated, all three of his eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the overlords present.

“I will return, and I won’t spare a single one of you!” the badly wounded Pharaoh swore.

Even with space itself acting as a barrier, his venomous voice still sent a chill through many of the overlords.

With a sharp cry, the Holy King of Drifting Clouds unleashed a roaring white energy storm toward him. Unfortunately, it failed to stop his escape.

The Seventh Pharaoh’s parting threat unsettled the late-stage Rank Seven Holy King of Drifting Clouds more than anyone else.

Unfortunately, during the earlier fight, it had held back out of caution and focused mainly on support. By the time it decided to act, it was already too late to stop Aforgomon from escaping.

Instead of wasting his energy like the Holy King of Drifting Clouds, Nergal merely clutched a severed arm tightly.

It was a “parting gift” from Aforgomon. No—more precisely, there were two gifts.

Clutched in the severed palm was a gray-black law orb, a mid-to-high-grade world-class secret treasure.

It was precisely this treasure that had given the Seventh Pharaoh such a noticeable boost in power during the battle.

Faced with Aforgomon’s final threat, Nergal let out a cold snort.

“Heh... I will be looking forward to your next visit. Next time, make sure your arm has grown back.”

“And if you have more to spare, bring plenty of world-class treasures—or overlord-level monster king specimens. I can never have too many,” he added arrogantly.

His gaze then drifted toward Fram, the horned, black-scaled monster king, who lay crushed beneath the Fanged Evil Dragon’s foot, barely clinging to life.

At the same time, Valter, standing atop the dragon’s back, raised his lance.

His armor was torn and battered, riddled with deep gashes.

Yet beneath his visor, his blood-red eyes were as sharp as ever.

There was a hint of madness in his gaze as he stared in the direction the Seventh Pharaoh had fled.

The Fanged Evil Dragon roared continuously beneath him.

Even as blood poured from its wounds and strips of decaying flesh sloughed off its body, neither rider nor mount showed the slightest sign of slowing.

Their hunger for battle had only grown stronger.

“Damn you, lunatics from Magus World!” Aforgomon’s final curse echoed faintly as his figure vanished completely.

With the Seventh Pharaoh gone, it was time for the summoned overlords to withdraw as well.

At that moment, the Iron Armor Overlord sat on one of Fram’s massive hind legs, quietly meditating to recover his strength.

Despite being the weakest among them, he had fought with the most determination during the earlier clash.

Nergal handed over the remaining payment he had promised him.

In a rare show of generosity, he even gifted the Iron Armor Overlord a special potion that bubbled with eerie black foam.