Food Poisoning-What the Hell Are You Here For?!

The warriors who had kept watch since ancient times prostrated themselves on the ground, welcoming the return of the gods they had awaited for hundreds of thousands of years.

They were so imposing, so powerful. Their precisely engineered genes had brought these Ancients nearly to the perfect state of Carbon-Based Lifeforms. Every cell in their bodies contained miraculous energy that could erupt at any moment, and every inch of muscle possessed the force of steel. But now they were covered in wounds. Eighty percent of them bore injuries, and some were drenched head to toe in blood. Aside from "gods" like Ares who had undergone a complete "Promotion Ceremony," every Atlantean's weapons and armor were severely worn—the ancient recycling factories of Atlantis had begun suffering from declining efficiency many years ago. Those factories had only continued operating through the clumsy patchwork repairs of Atlantis technicians, and without their assistance, the Atlanteans could never create the super Interstellar Alloy needed to make equipment out of thin air. To maintain the highest possible overall combat strength, brand-new weapons and armor had become a privilege reserved for elite warriors.

But despite their wounds and outdated equipment, these ancient warriors still possessed astonishing willpower and stamina. The latter could be credited to bodies that had undergone who knew how many modifications, while the former could only be explained by the inspiration born from their faith in the "return of the gods." After all, they had already fought for more than ten days and nights. Even if their physical strength were limitless, their minds should have given out by now.

"Can you keep fighting?"

Sandora looked at the ancient warriors before her and asked calmly.

"As long as an Atlantean still lives, he can fight!" Ares answered in a voice like a great bell.

"Then