The stalemate was only temporary. The Allied Legion's overwhelming resources and reserves were beginning to prove decisive.
The Indigenous Coalition had fewer soldiers with every battle. Its Awakened grew more exhausted, its monsters were nearly wiped out, and its weapons and energy supplies were running short.
Meanwhile, fresh forces kept arriving from Ironrock City to reinforce the wizard-led Allied Legion, including new Golem units.
The Indigenous Coalition's defenses were tough, but endless attrition and mounting pressure were beginning to wear them down.
The lines in less critical sectors had grown noticeably thinner, and their counterattacks were weaker and less frequent.
They were like a rubber band stretched ever tighter, inching toward the point where it would snap.
Duke sensed the change. He noticed that the defenders' furious resolve to fight to the death was slowly giving way to a heavy, hopeless exhaustion.
The Allied Legion's advance was slow, but it carried a cold, merciless sense of inevitability.
That was one purpose of the Slave Creature Legion. Bound by their Slave Marks, the creatures had to obey orders and charge into battle, no matter how frightened or exhausted they were.
Whatever they thought, their bodies had to obey. They would keep charging until they finally fell.
Down.
And the Allied Legion's slave creatures seemed inexhaustible. More kept arriving.
The Indigenous Coalition's numbers dwindled with every battle, while the Allied Legion's kept growing.
Seven days later.
The fires of war had raged across the Weeping Blood Plain for seven days and nights without pause.
Time had lost its meaning there. Only sunrise and sunset still marked the cycles of slaughter.
Seven days of relentless fighting had turned the ancient plain into a living hell.
From above, the once dark-red earth had vanished beneath countless layers of corpses and shattered war machines—a horrifying