A message came of an incoming enemy.

A horde lot of them.

Soldiers and workers moved with speed and a sense of urgency, climbing mechanical ladders, fixing precious stones into the ancient machine, and engraving runes near the brilliant blue core inside. Chilling coldness filled the cave, but these people are used to it.

Living in a cold and harsh terrain for all their lives, the cold became mundane.

Against their thick and hairy skin, the temperature didn’t bother them.

"Move it!" A figure riding a mutated war bear—with a thick dwarven accent instructed, observing the other dwarves working on the machine. "Finish this baby, and make it perfect. Have pride in your craft. Don’t let any flaw remain, as this would be the first time for the world to see it!"!

"Ayee—!"

"Horra—!"

Across the spacious chamber, another figure on a war bear watched with hawk eyes.

He observes every minute detail as the dwarves worked, making sure it was exactly as the blueprint.

No mistakes.

At this moment, they cannot afford to make a mistake.

"This is our time to shine. The empire is under attack. Enemies are heading to the capital city—wanting to soil the sacred city with their dirty claws. Wanting to soil the sacred land that birthed the first peace. We will not let that happen."

"Ayee—!"

Hundreds of dwarves pounded their fists against their chests in a collective yell.

"We dwarves say no!"

"Ayee—!"

Another collective pounding.

"We dwarves will stop their rush and make this snow land their graves!"

"Ayee—!"

A rumbling cheer of hundreds echoed across the entire chamber—whistling upward to an opening where a blizzard was happening. Even through the sweep of coldness, their cheers spread across, reaching all the way to the dwarven people outside.

Every single person knew what was going on.

Knew that the Clarentium Empire was under attack.

And all of them made a collective decision that they would make a barricade.

One that is strong enough to hold the line and repel the enemies.

It was because of the Clarentium Empire that the Dwarven Kingdom still stands to this moment. Had the empire not helped, their kingdom would’ve been turned to rubble by the lethal hands of Demons. Now, the opportunity to pay that debt has come.

And the Dwarven Kingdom would no doubt seize it.

"Your Highness," A dwarf in full-plate armor that emanated energy surpassing his own rank, halted at the cliff’s edge and saluted an imposing figure—a dwarf gripping a massive ice hammer. "The envoys have returned. The Elves and Dark Elves have each sent a thousand workers to aid the mine. They are already on-site and have improved efficiency greatly. Osmalt ore extraction should increase significantly."

Ever since the world began to return to its original form, the material from the ancient era has returned.

One being the Osmalt Ore.

It was an energy-dense ore used as fuel in the ancient era.

Dwarves were never renowned for their combat prowess, even among the mid-rank Supernatural races.

Their true genius lay elsewhere—in machines, in engineering, in runes, capable of manufacturing war weapons that could tilt the balance of kingdoms. Now, as if the heavens themselves had intervened, vast clusters of Osmalt Ore had been discovered beneath the tallest mountain of the Dwarven Kingdom.

A blessing buried in stone.

And ever since the discovery, the Dwarven Kingdom had been focusing on mining it.

To improve their society.

But they also expected trouble in the future, such as this, and already made arrangements.

The Rastrikan Demons would’ve annihilated them had the Clarentium Empire not intervened. Had the emperor not come personally to repel them, their race would’ve cease to exist. That near-extinction left a scar. Never again. And so, the dwarves began their great work.

They constructed their own annihilation weapon.

Driven by survival, the entire Dwarven Kingdom was pushed to solely focus on that for months.

And it had been ready for almost a month.

Trouble came searching for them at the right time.

"How many rounds? How many times can we fire it?" King Huvuki asked.

Just not too long ago, he had come out of seclusion and emerged as a ninth-rank realm powerhouse. Many are still stronger than him, but his rule over the snow land rose with his breakthrough. He’s not only as strong as a normal ninth-rank realm entity.

"Ten. Ten cannonballs. Only two of them are Eternity-frost Cannonballs."

"And our current production? How many more can we make in an hour?"

"Either two more cannonballs, but it could be dangerous with the rush. Or one Eternity-frost Cannonball."

"Make the latter," King Huvuki lifted his ice hammer—and placed it against his shoulder, watching the horizon closely. "Prepare to wake up the Sleet Blizzard Bear. And also, take the Amuerus Katana replica and have someone deliver it to the Tigermen."

"Your Highness, that replica is a gift for Lord Kyran! Giving it away is already a problem, but giving it to the Tigermen...? That’s to—"

"Just give it to them. It’s not the time for that."

King Huvuki gave the dwarf a sharp glance, warning him not to question his decision.

He, out of all people, doesn’t want to give it to the Tigermen the most.

But this is not the time for that.

"Give it to them and tell them to utilize it properly," He faced forward again. "Besides, if we can stop this trouble, we can ask the emperor for compensation. Of course, we’d be taking a share from what the Tigermen get for giving them the katana."

Dozens of miles away from the Dwarven Kingdom.

A mile-long formation was being held with one hundred totems placed across the edge.

At the center, the heart of the formation stood a Tigerman. Broad and solid, yet utterly unremarkable at the same time. Bigger than the others, perhaps, but nothing about him stood out. The same black stripes. The same clothes. The same energy. He was a copy among copies.

And the absence of distinction was somehow made him even more remarkable.

Perhaps that’s the reason he was standing at the center.

Because he was the one who embodied the perfect constitution of a Tigerman.

Scattered across the formation are a thousand Tigermen.

Each one was far stronger and far more distinctive in appearance than the center Tigerman.

"Like the Dark Elves, our kingdom stands on the back foot." The new King placed a hand on the ordinary Tigerman’s shoulder—not as a casual gesture, but as a mantle settling into place. "This is our chance to climb the ladder. To prove our worth to the empire. To the emperor." His grip tightened, just slightly. "This is the price we are willing to pay. And our fate is now in your hands, Maraka."

Just an hour ago, the kingdom received a message from Lord Flunra.

And without wasting a second, the entire kingdom prepared this forgotten ritual from the ancient era.

One that would birth a champion.

Maraka looked around.

He stared at each one of his kin who was willing to sacrifice their lives for the kingdom.

Sacrifice their lives to make him the champion of the Tigerman Race.

"After this ritual, you will become one with nature. After this ritual, you will be reborn. After this ritual," The King paused, letting the silence carry his words deeper. "You will be the Champion of the Beast—the one with the will and potential of one thousand. Do us proud, Maraka."

"I accept this burden with open arms," Maraka nodded. "I will fight until the last drop of my blood."

"Rraarghk!"

Heavily, the King cut the palm of his hand and punched the earth with an open palm.

Every rune that made up the formation glowed bright, devouring the entire area of the ritual.

He leaped clear—and landed on the edge, watching as the other Tigermen were unmade. The formation drank them in, souls and flesh alike, breaking them down into nutrients that streamed toward Maraka. One by one, screams of agony rose and fell.

It layered into a melody so haunting that Maraka flinched with every note.

All of them are willing sacrifices.

Elites who had lived for hundreds of years in battles. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

But even then, the pain from having their entire being extracted by the formation was too much.

Surpassing anything their pain tolerance by a big margin.

It was an agonizing death; however, for the kingdom, they would gladly experience this again and again.

Maraka could feel his body had changed. Enhanced to be better. And with each twitch and surge of power, he could feel the weight of responsibility growing heavier on his shoulders. Each soul his body took in carried the fierce fervor of serving the kingdom.

And through that, his will to serve and secure the kingdom’s future grows one thousand times.

ROAR—!

A powerful roar tore through his throat as the excess of power exploded outward.

Its shockwave spread far, but fortunately, there’s nothing in the area.

Just a vast path of earth perfect for this ritual.

The King shielded his face with a hand as the shockwave erupted. And when he lowered his hand and looked upon the formation’s center, only a crater remained. Marak awa s gone, or so it seemed. He had been chosen because he has the perfect body for a Tigerman—and has a power level low enough to fall beneath the ritual’s threshold.

Specifically, below the seventh-rank realm.

After the ritual was successfully completed, the targeted Tigerman would have immense potential.

One that could make him abnormally strong for a Tigerman standard.

However, the Tigerman Kingdom decided to use this ritual because of its initial effect.

For the first full day after the ritual was completed, the targeted Tigerman would wield the combined power of all one thousand sacrificed Tigermen. It was enough to launch Maraka clean beyond the ninth-rank realm.

Or perhaps even to brush the edges of the pseudo-tenth rank realm.

A single day of boundless power bought with a thousand souls.

But there’s a problem.

In the ancient era, this ritual was done when the Tigerman was still young.

So that he could grow up into a powerhouse.

It was never done on someone as old as Maraka, so the King was worried that the ritual had failed.

However, that worry didn’t last long.

Maraka’s hand clamped onto the crater’s edge.

A seething reddish aura bled from his grip—and even that light hold split the earth beneath his fingers. He hauled himself upward under the King’s wide-eyed stare, then straightened his spine, which feels longer than normal.

His frame unfolded into something taller, the peak constitution of a Tigerman.

As he stood straight, he blinked his eyes and looked down at the King.

Yes, look down.

Maraka now towered at an astonishing ten feet. His limbs had lengthened into predatory proportions, and his muscles—thicker, denser—rippled with every breath as if already anticipating violence. Energy seethed across his entire frame, but it converged most fiercely at his hands.

They had grown semi-translucent, revealing the orange, destructive power swirling within.

It looked like a storm trapped in glass.

And red vapor hue sizzles from his entire body as the ritual pushes him to unlock Red Force.

A deep rumbling growl slipped from his teeth as he tried to feel his new strength.

Just as he tried controlling the Red Force, the ground underneath him cracked.

Like he had suddenly grown ten times heavier.

"Champion of the Beast," the King spread his arms with a snarling smile. "You’ll lead our people into battle. Show them that the Tigerman Race is not to be underestimated. That we are strong and could do more than what is expected."

"I will..." Maraka replied. His voice was now unnaturally deep and echoing.

Another Tigerman approached from a distance.

He carried a long, intricate wooden box and stopped when he was near the King and Maraka.

"Your Highness." He dropped to one knee and opened the rectangular box, presenting its contents. "The Dwarves have sent this. King Huvuki left a message: we’re to make full use of this weapon and aid them in nullifying the horde."

The King looked at the katana inside and smirked.