Beneath some nameless mountain range in the underground world, the haggard Yin Qingyue struggled to swallow a coarse flatbread made from moss and the starch of certain unknown roots. The rough food scraped her tender throat raw, filling her with a painful urge to vomit.
Leon sat beside her, wolfing down the tail of an abyssal lizard. The fresh, untreated lizard tail was still twitching and writhing at the corner of his mouth, blood continuously streaming down his cheeks. Leon gulped down great mouthfuls of raw meat, occasionally making satisfied gurgling sounds deep in his throat, like an old cat that had eaten its fill.
An army of orcs, barbarians, and titans stood gathered in chaotic disorder across this tiny plain. This was all that remained of Leon's forces now—less than a hundred thousand men. Ying Zheng had played them for fools, sending the main force of the allied foreign races into this fatal underground world. After a period of indiscriminate slaughter and frantic wandering, only this many remained under Leon's command.
Leon had originally controlled the elite troops of more than a dozen legions. But a Fallen God called the Screeching Lord had suddenly come to his door some days ago and ordered Leon to surrender command of his army. Furious, Leon had swung his great battle-axe at the Screeching Lord without the slightest courtesy. The result was that, had a certain Beast God who admired Leon not intervened out of thin air, Leon would already have become a fine meal in the Screeching Lord's belly.
The Screeching Lord had seized control of the vast army, leaving Leon no choice but to flee here with Yin Qingyue and a portion of his trusted inner circle. Without enough troops, and facing the Church's knightly orders pursuing and blocking him at