Ethan stared at the footage on his phone, his expression tightening as he thought.

Judging by how they fought, he could roughly pin the dwarves’ strength somewhere above Stage A but below Stage S.

That put them around the same level as the Stoneborn—still a step weaker than the Winged Clan. At the very least, Aeralon from the Winged Clan was already above Stage S.

The problem was their numbers.

There had to be over eight thousand of them. And Ethan couldn’t tell if that was their whole race... or just a slice of it.

But logically, no race only had that few.

Which meant this was probably just a vanguard.

That was how it always went. Nobody threw their entire population into an unfamiliar world on day one. You sent scouts first. A forward unit to test the waters.

If his guess was right, then the Void Realm creatures spilling out of the Void Realm so far... were only the advance force.

The thought made Ethan’s scalp prickle.

If a vanguard was already this big, then if the main force showed up... they’d pack Earth so tight it might as well burst at the seams.

And for what?

What was so great about Earth that everyone was fighting to pour into it?

Maybe it was just curiosity about a new world. Ethan could only hope that once that curiosity wore off, they’d go back where they came from—because Earth couldn’t handle that many, not for long.

He exhaled, shook his head, and looked back at the image of the dwarves, mind already spinning through options.

They were freakishly strong, but they didn’t seem to have elemental skills. They reminded him a little of Dopey.

A race like that was actually easier to deal with than the Winged Clan—assuming they didn’t have some hidden ability waiting to blindside him.

"Let’s go," Ethan said, rising to his feet. "Get the Fallen Star Guard. We’re meeting them ourselves."

"Yes, sir!"

Not long after, twenty thousand Flamebirds surged up from Fallen Star City and swept toward the horizon in a red tide.

Inside the city, every face was grim.

Everyone understood the same thing: the fighting had officially started.

Miles climbed onto the wall.

Below him, a hundred thousand soldiers of the Fallen Star Corps stood in tight formation. Behind them, the city’s million Enhanced waited—silent, tense, ready.

Fallen Star City was prepared. There was no retreat. And they had no intention of bowing their heads just to buy a few more days.

Someone had to be the first stronghold to stand its ground against the Void Realm’s creatures.

And Fallen Star City was the only one that realistically could.

After finishing off the zombies, a group of Mightkin warriors started walking in the direction the undead had come from.

Then—

A huge swath of red filled the sky.

A flock of enormous crimson birds came screaming in at terrifying speed, arrowing straight toward them.

"Huh. Another bunch here to die."

"Flamebirds," a burly Mightkin licked his lips. "Been a long time since I had one."

"There are people on their backs!" one of the Mightkin blurted, startled.

"There really are—hah!" The Mightkin’s eyes lit up, greedy and thrilled. "I knew this world had humans. Perfect. We’ll grab a batch and make them work for us."

Around him, the other Mightkin broke into excited grins, not taking the newcomers seriously in the slightest.

In moments, the Flamebirds swept in and halted in front of them.

Ethan stood on Ember’s back and activated True Sight, scanning their strength.

Just like he’d expected—most of them sat around Tier 25 to Tier 29.

And while he watched them...

They watched him right back.

"This human group has way more Stage A fighters than I expected," a Mightkin warrior muttered with a frown. "We underestimated them."

"Tch." The Mightkin at the front spoke coldly, dismissive. "It’s only a few dozen. They can’t make waves."

Then his gaze lifted, irritation flashing across his face.

"I hate it when someone’s over my head," he snapped. "Get down here."

The instant the words left his mouth, the Mightkin warriors activated their force fields in unison.

A crushing pressure slammed into every Flamebird at once.

Their bodies jerked—then dropped straight down, as if the sky had turned to stone beneath them.

After they hit the ground, the pressure vanished. Clearly, that crushing force only targeted anything in the air.

Everyone immediately jumped off the Flamebirds’ backs. With things like this in play, riding them was a non-starter.

The Mightkin leading the group lifted his chin, looking down his nose at them. "Humans. Answer a few questions for me. If I like your answers, I’ll let you become the first slaves of the Mightkin in this world. With the Mightkin backing you, no one else will dare touch you!"

"For someone that short," Ethan said, shaking his head, "you sure talk big."

"You’re courting death!" the Mightkin warriors erupted.

They hated—hated—people calling them short.

The leader’s face went cold. "Brakk. Tear his mouth off."

"Gladly."

A Mightkin with absurdly thick pectorals stepped out, sneering as he strode toward Ethan.

Ethan only glanced at him.

Just one look.

Brakk’s smug expression drained away like someone had pulled a plug. His face went ghost-white, eyes wide with raw terror. The next second, he dropped to his knees, shaking, and started begging.

"Don’t... don’t kill me!"

The other Mightkin froze, eyes bulging.

Brakk was the kind of guy who feared nothing. How the hell was he like this?

"Brakk! Get up!" the leader roared, furious. Brakk’s display was humiliating—like he’d dragged the Mightkin’s pride through the dirt.

But no matter how he shouted, Brakk just kept slamming his forehead into the ground in front of Ethan. Sweat poured off him in cold streams.

"What did you do to him?!" the leader demanded, glaring at Ethan.

"Nothing," Ethan said flatly. "Guess he’s just cowardly. Spooked himself."

"Cowardly?" The Mightkin exchanged looks, weirded out. If they were talking guts, there weren’t many Mightkin who could compare to Brakk.

Ethan’s voice turned colder. "Here’s some advice. This isn’t a place for you. Crawl back to wherever you came from. Otherwise, when you lose your lives, don’t say I didn’t warn you."

"And you think you can stop us?" The leader’s face darkened.

"Since you won’t take the hint," he said, teeth bared, "we’ll just find different slaves."

"Kill them all!"

The moment the order dropped, the Mightkin warriors lunged.

"You don’t have that kind of ability," Ethan said, voice like ice.

He raised a hand and released all three thralls at once.

At the same time, the Fallen Star Guard snapped into formation, spreading out in a practiced sweep and locking the Mightkin in a tight encirclement.

"Soulless thralls?" A few Mightkin frowned as Dopey, Aerisara, and Aeralon appeared.

Once a creature was made into a soulless thrall, it was harder for outsiders to judge its true strength.

But the Mightkin didn’t care. They surged forward again.

Dopey moved first.

He stepped in and threw a punch straight at the Mightkin charging at the front.

"Overestimating yourself," the Mightkin sneered.

A close-range brawl with the Mightkin? That was suicide. Everyone knew it.

He drove his own fist forward to meet Dopey’s.

Ethan’s mouth curved slightly.

Idiots.

"Boom!"

A dull, heavy impact rang out.

The Mightkin’s arm exploded on contact—bone, flesh, and blood bursting apart in a single brutal instant. Dopey didn’t even slow down. His fist kept going, smashing straight into the warrior’s head.

Another heavy thump.

The head shattered like a melon.

"!!!"

The sudden gore-streaked scene punched the breath out of the remaining Mightkin. They stumbled back half a step, staring at Dopey like they were seeing a monster.

Someone had just crushed a Mightkin’s arm in a direct physical clash.

How terrifying did your body have to be to do that?