Chapter 512: The Defensive Line
Inside the Imperial Senate, a tense military council was underway, its central topic: how to respond to the full-scale invasion of Demons.
Kai Xiusu sat solemnly upon his throne, his expression grave. Lanpu, Dolo, Meizhuolashi, Alje, Anthony, and other elder statesmen occupied their respective seats in silence. As representatives of the Empire’s Internal Stellarfallers Group, leaders from several elite guilds had been granted seats. Even Empire allies—such as Jennyhis and Christina—had been invited to this crucial gathering, united in discussing the war against the Demons.
Christina glanced at the Silver Dragon seated nearby, then muttered under her breath:
“These silver-skinned crawlers really deserve to stand before King Kai Xiusu? Their elders haven’t even grown wings yet.”
Jennyhis and Adroville instantly glared at the Blue Dragon, their eyes burning with indignation.
“Enough.”
A soft thud echoed as Kai Xiusu lightly tapped the table with his finger. The chamber fell instantly silent. All eyes turned to him.
He swept his gaze across the room, then spoke calmly:
“Gentlemen, this gathering is not for squabbling. Our only common enemy is the Deep Abyss Demon.”
Under the sheer weight of Kai Xiusu’s presence, the air itself seemed to thicken. No one dared speak.
After a long silence, Lanpu finally broke the stillness:
“Adroville, as a warrior who has long fought on the frontlines against the Demons, you must have valuable intelligence to share?”
Adroville nodded, his expression softening slightly. Rising to his feet, he said:
“King Kai Xiusu, honored members of the Empire—over the past few centuries, I have repelled Demon invasions countless times. I’ve gathered some… experience.”
He raised a hand, and a magical image materialized in midair: a haunting, grotesque vision of Demons, their shrieks echoing like jagged glass.
Pushing up his glasses, Adroville continued:
“Everyone knows that all life in the Prime Material Plane shares certain traits. Humans, dragons, griffons, mind flayers, gnomes—all eat, reproduce through basic biological means. But Demons? They do not. They don’t need food. They derive perverse pleasure from swallowing living sacrifices. Their lungs are extraordinarily resilient—capable of withstanding even the Bottomless Abyss’s lethal miasma, a gas that kills most Prime Material Plane beings.
As for their life force cycle? They don’t age. They don’t die from natural causes. When slain, they return to the formless depths of the Bottomless Abyss, their essence merging with the raw chaos and evil of that plane.”
Tinia tilted her head, puzzled:
“Those guys are so dumb. Don’t they like cold meat? Or shiny gold coins?”
A heavy silence followed. This time, it was not from anger—but utter disbelief.
Adroville paused, then said carefully:
“Do not treat Demons as ordinary creatures. Do not assume they think like us. Their existence is less like life, and more like… a sentient catastrophe.”
According to scholars within his kind, the Bottomless Abyss seeks to pull the universe back toward its original, primordial state. Demons are its instruments.
More importantly, their entire purpose is to spread chaos and evil—the very essence of the Abyss.
Lanpu paused, reflecting. Then he asked:
“How many Demons typically invade at once?”
Adroville’s voice grew low:
“Infinite. The Abyss is far deeper than the six hundred and sixty-six layers we know. The number of Demons may outnumber all life in the Prime Material Plane. So they can never be fully eradicated—only contained. They will keep coming. But we can block them. By shutting down the portals and destroying those who cross over, we can halt their advance.”
For this absolute necessity—defending against the Demons—the Prime Silver Dragon laid bare everything he knew: their habits, weaknesses, powers, and patterns.
The chamber erupted into murmurs.
“Truly a nightmare existence.”
“We’ve never faced such an enemy.”
“Wait… no fear of death? Chaos, madness… doesn’t that sound familiar?”
“You’re right… I’ve felt it too. Could it be—?”
Dozens of eyes—curious, suspicious—turned toward the seated players, making them shift uncomfortably in their seats.
Steel Tide scratched his head, forced a nervous grin, and quickly pledged:
“I swear, all of us Stellarfallen are utterly loyal to King Kai Xiusu! Not a single copper coin of connection to the Abyss!”
The debate intensified. Tactics were discussed—strengthening border patrols, deploying new weapons, mobilizing civilians for defense, even sending players as cannon fodder. Dolo, the military faction’s representative, slammed his fist on the table, roaring with fury:
“We’ll march straight to the heart of the Demon nest! We’ll cut them down before they even touch our soil!”
Suddenly, Lanpu asked, his tone almost amused:
“Adroville, what do you consider the most difficult aspect of fighting Demons?”
“Their numbers,” Adroville replied. “They’re endless. Infiltration is inevitable. Once they breach our borders, the damage will be catastrophic.”
“And what is our advantage?” Lanpu pressed.
Adroville shook his head.
“I’ve only just arrived. I don’t yet understand the Empire’s military strength.”
Lanpu rose, surveyed the room, then declared aloud:
“Firepower. Demons bring fear. But His Majesty once told me—”
He paused, turned to Kai Xiusu, and his twisted face split into a fawning smile.
“Fear comes from weakness.”
With a sweeping gesture, he summoned a magical image into the air—artillery fire erupting across the landscape, the wasteland lit up by endless explosions.
Smoke cleared, revealing a shattered battlefield—craters everywhere, hills leveled, the ground a ruin.
“Individually, our soldiers may not be unmatched,” Lanpu said. “But in mass combat? We will not lose. When Demons gather in force, we can unleash saturation bombardment—artillery sweeps—to give them a surprise.”
Thud.
He struck the ground with his scepter. A massive, detailed map of the Empire of Ashen appeared in the air.
Across the vast expanse of Empire territory, a single crimson line flared—stretching hundreds of miles, encircling nearly the entire southern border.
“Many of you have helped build this,” Lanpu said. “You just didn’t know its purpose. These fortifications are made of reinforced steel-concrete—extremely durable. Inside, they house cannons, trenches, forts, kitchens, hospitals, factories. The passages are interconnected, and larger strongholds even have steam train tunnels.
This is His Majesty’s visionary leadership—from the moment we conquered the Northern Regions, we began constructing this line. I call it—”
“Maginot Line?” Steel Tide blurted.
He froze the instant he saw Lanpu’s glare—and felt the chilling prompt: Favor Level Decreased.
He clapped a hand over his mouth, wishing he could slap himself senseless. Why did I open my mouth?!
Lanpu’s eyes narrowed, then slowly relaxed. He continued:
“The Imperial Wall.”
The chamber erupted again—some in support, others skeptical.
“This is the Prime Minister’s plan?”
“Can it really hold?”
“Ohhh, that’s why they dragged people into the mine shafts for secret executions—turns out it was for wall repairs!”
Dolo spoke with biting sarcasm:
“Lanpu, you’d rather build a wall than face the enemy head-on? How much of the Empire’s resources will this cost?”
“Are we to hide behind walls like some weak human nation, trembling in fear?”
Lanpu remained calm. “The land before the Imperial Wall is the smooth, open Savidra Great Plain. It will be the final battlefield for every Demon.”
His voice hardened, his words sharp as knives. The wounded ear twitched slightly, and his gaze—filled with cold, primal fury—made even Dolo flinch.
Dolo suddenly remembered: the Chief Minister was not just an Ogre. He was a Dragonline Ogre—a being of terrifying brutality. The Empire’s duties had long masked his innate nature, but now, the mask slipped.
Lanpu’s gaze softened. “But, Marshal Dolo. The invasion hasn’t begun yet. The Imperial Wall is not needed—yet. Let these Demons first witness the might of two million Stellarfallen.”
He turned back to the throne. With another thud of his scepter, a detailed tactical plan appeared in midair.
Two million Stellarfallen—this force was immense, difficult to control.
Simple. Just send them south.
“Excellent,” Kai Xiusu said.
He tilted his head slightly. His pale golden irises glowed faintly, like embers in the dark.
The Emperor’s gaze seemed to pierce through thousands of kilometers, reaching into the heart of the Anstica Wastes—into the endless darkness and chaos beyond. A flicker of anticipation gleamed in his eyes.
Savidra Great Plain, Blackstone Fortress Suburbs, Leo Village.
Once bustling with life, the village now stood eerily empty.
“Old White, you really aren’t leaving? The Empire’s special task force came to evacuate civilians. There weren’t many of us to begin with.”
“Don’t bother. You can go if you want. But this is my home. I’m not going anywhere.”
The man called “Old White” exhaled a thick plume of smoke. He looked over fifty, his face etched with deep lines. His skin was dark, his hands rough and calloused, fingers stained with age and labor.
Whitney was a native of Leo Village—born, raised, and never left. He’d been the village’s hunter for decades.
His farthest journey? Twenty miles to the distant Light Village. A journey he’d rather forget.
Under the Northern Kingdom’s rule, he was a hunter. Under the Empire of Ashen’s rule, he remained a hunter—only now, his bow had been replaced with a civilian-grade “Firebreaker.”
In recent years, most of the village’s youth had fled to the cities—Whitney’s own son among them.
Now, the remaining elders were being evacuated by Empire troops, told that the Deep Abyss Demons were coming.
But Whitney wasn’t afraid.
He was already dying. Fifty-three was old for anyone in the Northern Regions.
He wanted to spend his final days in the homeland he’d lived in for nearly fifty years. And he still had his trusty hunting rifle.
“Huff…”
He blew out another smoke ring, staring at the empty village. Slowly, he closed the door behind him.
He had no deep loyalty to the Empire—after all, it had only been a few years. But he didn’t hate it either.
In fact, he was grateful. Taxes had dropped. People no longer had to kneel before dukes’ knights. No more fear of being dragged off by some noble lord to become the lowest of peasant laborers.
On that point, Whitney was truly thankful.
But he disliked the silence. The emptiness. He suspected the Empire had cast some kind of spell—some charm that made the young rush to the city like moths to flame.
What Whitney did love were two new things the Empire brought: cigarettes and firearms.
Cigarettes eased his melancholy, giving him brief moments of pleasure in a life otherwise dull and uneventful.
But they were expensive—two packs cost a fine deer hide, a rare commodity. So he smoked slowly, savoring each puff. Even the butts were saved in a small tin.
The firearm, however, was his true weapon. Once too old to draw a bow, now he could hunt again.
With trembling hands, Old White pulled out his rifle—wrapped in layers of cloth—and began carefully polishing the barrel.
“The Empire says the ‘Stellarfallen’—those undead—will be stationed here. I’ve never seen a living dead man before.”
Creak.
The window creaked open.
Whitney’s sharp ears twitched. He heard movement outside.
He rubbed his eyes, blinking hard.
At the far end of the village road, a dust cloud rose. Hundreds of figures—running in full sprint—were approaching.
Most wore ragged cloth. Some ran naked, bare bodies glistening in the sun.
“I’m here!”
“Oooohhh!”
“Take Off!”
“It’s the village! Finally, we can loot! This is the essence of an RPG!”
“Dude, put some clothes on! Holy Light, you’re blinding me!”
“Where are the NPCs?”
“Don’t forget the Demon-killing quest—this is our frontline!”
These were the undead warriors? The Empire’s vanguard?
Old White rubbed his eyes again.
Either he’d gone mad… or his eyes were failing.
Because these Stellarfallen looked exactly like the village’s madman from the east end.
(End of Chapter)
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