Ethan was making his way toward Clearwater Lake, flanked by Bloodveil and Wraithshade—two members of the infamous "Backstabbing Alliance." They were curious to see one of the rare untouched sanctuaries left in Necroterra.

As they got closer, the air grew damp, and a cool breeze swept over them, carrying a crisp freshness that was almost... soothing.

Soon, a vast lake came into view. Its surface was so still it looked like glass, perfectly mirroring the sky above in a deep, endless blue.

The shoreline was a mix of scattered pebbles and lush, wild grass. The whole scene radiated peace and quiet—undeniably beautiful.

Clearwater Lake was sacred ground in Frostmere. Back when Abyssion ruled as the Overlord of Frostmere, he'd strictly forbidden regular zombies from approaching, afraid they'd mess it up with their grubby hands and ruin the purity of the place.

Only high-tier Zombie Kings or awakened undead with advanced intelligence were allowed anywhere near it.

"This place is amazing," Bloodveil said, taking in the view. "If I ever retire, I wouldn't mind settling down here."

"Uh..." Wraithshade, who had two heads, blinked in unison. That kind of talk coming from Bloodveil? It was... weird.

A Zombie King talking about retirement?

"Bloodveil, are you sure your evolution path didn't go off the rails?" Wraithshade asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," Bloodveil replied casually. "I've never been into killing, really. And ever since I became The Voidborn Undying, that urge has faded even more."

"Then hand over your crystal core," Wraithshade said, reaching for him.

Bloodveil dodged back quickly. "Knock it off! Quit talking nonsense."

Wraithshade was clearly in a good mood—probably still riding the high from taking down Abyssion—so he was in the mood to joke around.

As they walked along the lakeshore, a few buildings came into view, along with some tech gear—clearly used for catching fish and shrimp.

Nearby, a massive freighter sat parked, likely used to transport fresh meat and seafood to Heartland.

Back in the day, the Zombie Kings of Heartland had taken down a Dreadnought-class Starcruiser. Judging by the look of the equipment here, it was probably salvaged from that wreck.

"Big guy, huh?" Bloodveil muttered, eyeing the bulky freighter. It reminded him of something—last time he brought a small aircraft back to Eastreach, his underlings had scoffed at it, calling it a "toy."

That had been a blow to his authority.

So this time, he figured he'd bring back something... bigger.

"Ethan, you don't want that bulk freighter, do you?"

"Nah," Ethan said, glancing at it. The thing looked older than he was—rusted in spots from years of hauling seafood, and it reeked of fish.

Not that the smell bothered zombies—it was kind of like eating at a greasy seafood shack—but still, it was the kind of stink that clung to you.

"You actually want that thing?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just to impress the boys back home," Bloodveil said with a shrug. "As long as it's big, they won't know the difference."

"Fair enough," Ethan replied. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for his so-called ally.

The three Zombie Kings stood at the edge of the lake, gazing out over the still water. Their reflections shimmered on the surface.

They'd fought their way across the land, leaving a trail of blood and destruction.

But now, for just a moment, their cold, battle-hardened hearts found a sliver of peace.

"It's a shame..." Wraithshade said quietly. "A place like this—a piece of paradise—was never meant for us."

"Why not?" Bloodveil asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Because Nyssara's dying words weren't just empty threats," Wraithshade replied.

Bloodveil's eyes narrowed. Something clicked in his mind. "You mean... the Zombie Kings of Heartland are coming for revenge?"

"Oh, they're coming," Wraithshade said, dead serious.

He'd done his homework on Heartland. That place was ruled by five terrifying Overlords, known collectively as the Five Warlords of the Heartland.

Each one controlled their own territory, maintaining a delicate balance of power. They didn't fight among themselves—not because they were allies, but because they were just too damn strong. They'd already reached the pinnacle of power on this continent.

With resources at their fingertips and no real need to fight over scraps, they often cooperated, forming a tight alliance that kept them firmly in control.

"That Nyssara who died? She was one of the top lieutenants under the Five Warlords of the Heartland," Wraithshade said, his two heads turning toward Bloodveil. "In their zombie nest, her status was about the same as Laura under Ethan. Now think about it—just hypothetically—if someone killed Laura, what do you think would happen next?"

Bloodveil's brows furrowed even deeper. That comparison hit hard.

If Laura were killed by another zombie, Ethan would absolutely go berserk. He'd unleash hell, rally every last member of his horde, and sweep across Necroterra in a blood-soaked rampage that wouldn't stop for thousands of miles.

And the Five Warlords of the Heartland? They weren't just some random nobodies.

If one of their own—Nyssara—was taken out, they wouldn't just sit back. They'd retaliate. Hard.

No... Bloodveil realized "retaliation" wasn't even the right word.

This wasn't going to be a war.

It was going to be a cataclysm.

What happened today was just the beginning of something much, much bigger.

The gears of fate had already started to turn...

"So... with our current strength, do we even stand a chance against the Five Warlords of the Heartland?" Bloodveil muttered, doubt creeping into his voice.

If they could unite the Zombie Hordes from the South, North, and East Regions of Necroterra, maybe—just maybe—they could put up a fight.

But Ethan finally broke his silence, his voice low and steady. "Not yet."

Even if he could go toe-to-toe with one of the Warlords, the other four were still out there—and each one was a monster in their own right.

Bloodveil and Wraithshade? They wouldn't last. Hell, maybe no one on the entire continent could.

Those five were the ceiling of power in Necroterra. The absolute top.

Bloodveil thought it over and sighed. "Yeah... guess we really aren't in their league."

"Mm-hmm," Ethan said coolly. "And whoever's dragging us down knows exactly who they are."

"..." Bloodveil was speechless. That was clearly aimed at him—and it stung. He felt a twinge of panic.

"Okay, okay, forget that for now," he said quickly. "If the Overlords of Heartland really do come for us... what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Let them come," Ethan said, completely unfazed. "I've got a Dreadnought-class Starcruiser. Worst case, I'll pack up my core horde and relocate. I've been meaning to check out some new territory anyway."

"Uh..." Bloodveil blinked.

Well, he didn't have a Dreadnought-class anything.

His mind started racing. There was no way to cover up Nyssara's death. It was too big.

When Ragnar died in Eastreach, they'd managed to pin it on the Xenobeasts. And Ragnar hadn't been nearly as important in Heartland's hierarchy. His death was a shrug—no one really cared enough to dig deeper.

But Nyssara? That was different.

Then suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Bloodveil's head.

"Wait a sec—Nyssara died in Frostmere, right? And I barely even did anything. As long as you guys don't say anything, and I don't say anything, the Overlords might not even know I was involved. So... I just need to lay low in Eastreach and keep my mouth shut."

Wraithshade's two heads turned toward him, both wearing the same unreadable expression.

After a moment of silence, he said, "And what makes you think I won't say anything?"

...

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