Bimat Highlands, Marchin Family Castle.
Marchin sat alone on the throne.
At this moment, his gaze was hollow, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the gilded armrests.
"Tens of thousands of Stellar-rank warriors..."
This phrase echoed repeatedly in his mind, like a curse!
He couldn't understand why Aurek's foundation seemed like an endless abyss.
With such a vast number of Stellar-rank warriors, why did he still send so many Peak Master-rank warriors to subdue Blade City and Crimson Hills?
Was it just for fun?
The Libera Kingdom, the southern Akloroi Federation, the Frostborne Kingdom in the north, and the western territories had all fallen.
How could Bimat Highlands be any different?
The scales of this era had never tipped in his favor; they had never favored the Marchin family!
Ten thousand years ago, though the ancestor Veynar had humiliated the Marchin family, at least they had left a path to retreat.
