High above the scarred plains of the Upper Ancient Battlefield, concealed within layers of overlapping illusion and spatial distortion, existed a place neither side, the Evernight Council and the Corpse Clan, publicly acknowledged, yet both relied upon.

It was called the Evernight Alliance Hub.

To ordinary eyes, the region appeared as nothing more than drifting black fog over fractured stone mesas. But hidden within a tightly interlocked concealment formation, a hollowed citadel of dark iron and corpse-marble hovered in still silence.

Its walls were etched with binding runes forged jointly by the Evernight Council and the Corpse Clan years ago when the former decided to end its conquest, and the latter became a subordinate power.

The Evernight Alliance Hub was declared a neutral ground and became the negotiation center, and also a place where the Corpse Clan delivered the so-called tribute demanded by the Evernight Council as the price for maintaining the current stalemate.

Normally, the atmosphere within the Hub was heavy and suffocating as the Corpse Cultivators assigned to this duty regarded it as humiliation carved into stone. To stand here, to hand over resources harvested through blood and decay, was a constant reminder that the Undead Boundary remained besieged from the outside. Resentment festered here like rot in a sealed coffin.

But today was different as within the central hall, beneath a vaulted ceiling of suspended bone chandeliers, the Corpse Clan’s stationed representative stood before a long obsidian table. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

He was a Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord, his corpse vessel tall and imposing, draped in layered bone armor veined with dull corpse-light. A faint halo of condensed Corpse Qi rotated behind him like a dark crown.

Around him stood several Abyssal Lords and elite Abyssal Guardians tasked with maintaining order at the Hub.

Yet instead of gloom, low murmurs filled the hall.

"By now, the Evernight brats should already be scattered across the battlefield."

"Let them taste despair."

"Heard the Third Legion sent their best this year. Hah. The council’s so-called talents won’t last three days."

Even the Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord allowed himself a thin, skeletal smile.

"They demanded tribute," He said coldly to the figure standing at his right, a trusted Abyssal Lord whose eyes flickered with malicious anticipation. "This time, we shall repay them in blood interest."

His subordinate gave a low chuckle. "The Great Corpse Carnival will remind them that we are not prey."

There was no music or cheers, but the air thrummed with vicious delight. For once, this chamber of humiliation felt almost festive. Every Corpse Cultivator stationed here imagined the Evernight youths bleeding across the Upper Ancient Battlefield, their despair fueling the Undead legions. It made their stagnant blood boil.

However, right at that moment, the concealment formation trembled before a distortion tore open at the center of the hall without warning. Before any guard could react, a figure stepped through.

It was none other than Midnight Duke! He had not sent notice or requested entry, and he didn’t even mask his arrival.

When the Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord snapped out of his shock and recognized who the intruder was, his expression darkened instantly.

"This is neutral ground, Midnight Duke," He began coldly. "Even you..."

But suddenly, his voice died as the words froze halfway between throat and lips because the pressure that filled the hall in that instant was suffocating.

The Midnight Duke’s aura was no longer composed and measured as it usually was during diplomatic appearances. It roared outward like a storm barely restrained. His demonic mask seemed darker than usual, and beneath it, his killing intent seeped into the air like poison.

Several Abyssal Lords staggered back instinctively, and the Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord felt the bloodlust even more clearly.

Furthermore, the bloodlust was not the cold kind that used to intimidate, but the violent, unstable kind of someone standing on the edge of catastrophe.

At that moment, without paying the agitated Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord, the Duke spoke, his voice low yet icy cold, "I need to see your Corpse Governor."

The Quasi-Abyssal Grand Lord could feel that no courtesy or pretense within the Midnight Duke’s voice but only urgency sharpened into threat.

---

At this moment, the Lower Grave Strata, within the core of the Undead Boundary, far beneath layers of fossilized earth and cavern kingdoms, beyond the Bone Legions’ districts and past the sealed sanctums of Half-Abyssal Kings, lay the true heart of the Corpse Clan.

It was the deepest core, not merely another cavern like an abyssal void carved into the foundation of the Lower Grave Strata itself.

Massive rings of ancient black stone floated in midair, each engraved with unknown corpse-runes that pulsed slowly like a heartbeat. Rivers of concentrated Corpse Qi descended from unseen fissures above, spiraling downward in vast currents before converging at the very center.

At that center stood a colossal formation array unlike any other in the Undead Cradle. Layers upon layers of interlocking circles, spatial anchors, and law-binding pillars formed a structure that radiated both concealment and dominance.

Faint streaks of pitch-black crystal were embedded within the innermost rings, subtly distorting the surrounding space.

It was the foundation of the Undead Boundary, and above it, upon a throne carved from pale bone fused with dark metal, sat the supreme authority of the Corpse Clan.

The Corpse Governor!

His figure was thin, almost skeletal, draped in layered robes that seemed woven from withered spirit threads. His skin clung tightly to sharp cheekbones, faint corpse-flames flickering within the hollow sockets of his eyes. A crown-like structure of bone fragments hovered above his head, rotating slowly.

Before him floated a massive mirror formed from blackened glass, and its surface rippled like still water. Within it, scenes of the Upper Ancient Battlefield shifted continuously as he observed everything in silence.

His bony fingers rested lightly upon the arm of his throne, unmoving, for the Great Corpse Carnival unfolded exactly as expected.

However, right at that moment, a streak of darkness flashed across the mirror’s surface, not a formation fluctuation but something else, as the image distorted.

The Corpse Governor’s fingers twitched, and the corpse flames within his hollow eyes intensified slightly for the first time since the Carnival began, his focus fractured!