The young man still sat upon the throne, not because it gave him more dignity. The moment he stood there, he was destined to become the focus of countless eyes.
He could no longer leave the throne. More precisely, when the entire Black Fire World was his existence, what need was there for him to leave?
"...Kill."
The calm words were the most merciless declaration.
When the black army swept in, the checkpoints and fortresses that had thought they were welcoming allied forces had no time to prepare.
The First Batch of vanguards were the "Undying."
Those who had once died had returned to the mortal world at their master's summons. What was there for them to fear?
They charged madly, either joyfully or crazily throwing themselves at their enemies.
Defense? Staying alive? What were those?
This was not a simple, reckless charge, but the most efficient and cost-effective method of slaughter.
They treated their lives as currency, exchanging them for vital points on the battlefield, great numbers of enemy soldiers, and the lives of enemy commanders. As long as they contributed enough, their master would revive them.
And that meant that if they did not take several times as many lives with them, if they did not bring their master a "surplus" of life, their master would ignore them without hesitation.
"I'm Lv. 3!" Similar cries rang out constantly. No transcendent could resist such direct growth in power.
"Lv. 4! My strength—I'm overflowing with power!"
The battlefield's "leveling system" gave them the most direct reward for military merit: real power, immortal life, and the pleasure of constantly drawing life. How could they possibly stop?
From the moment they were tainted by Black Fire, they were destined to burn everything away.
Wildfire began to spread. Before them lay an endless