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No one knew the exact reason why those old men had positioned themselves so close to the Zharun lines during the descent from the ridges.

Perhaps their wrinkled minds were still completely blinded by the ancient traditions of the Sacred Pact, or perhaps the sheer, massive numbers of the Zharun gave their terrified hearts a false sense of security after the mountain exploded.

They had crowded their old bodies near the front of the Zharun infantry, completely turning their backs on their supposed allies to watch the horizon.

But ironically that false sense of security currently pierced their hearts with a wide, mocking smirk.

Without a single shout or warning cry, the Zharun captains let out wide, cruel grins.

Their long, sharp spear blades cut forward in a single, synchronized thrust, driving straight through the thick mammoth furs and heavy leather vests of the unsuspecting old men.

SHUCK. SHUCK. CRUNCH.

The horrific sound of blades and bone piercing flesh and shattering ribs filled the rear line.

Three of the senior bloodline elders didn’t even get a chance to turn their heads before two spears erupted cleanly out of their chests, coughing up a wide spray of dark blood onto the white limestone gravel.

A dozen innocent Veynar veterans who were standing near the boundary line were also caught completely off guard, their throats sliced open or their kidneys ruptured by the very weapons they thought were there to protect them.

....

Suddenly there was uproar in the Veynar lines, everyone shocked by the sudden betrayal of Zharun, maybe not everyone.

Because a bit distance away, Sol watched the sudden eruption of red blood at the rear line, his silver-crimson eyes narrowing into two dangerous slits.

Honestly, even with his calculating mind and modern tactical processing, he hadn’t expected the Zharun to execute their betrayal quite so soon.

According to his basic strategic calculations, it would have been a hell of a lot more beneficial for Vane to wait until the war was finished.

If the Zharun had fought alongside the Veynar to defeat and lessen the Coalition horde first, they could have easily turned around afterward to kill the tired, wounded Veynar survivors.

That way, they could have taken total control of the Veynar Spire, also claiming the massive, empty territory of the defeated Coalition without risking their own lives much.

But well, Sol thought, his jaw clenching as his inner Golden Silver pool gave a sharp, angry thrum. It seems my calculations were wrong.

These marsh rats are far more impatient and stupid than I gave them credit for. Or maybe the prize of Veylara’s secret is making them too horny to wait.

Because it was obvious that Chief Vane had cut a deal with the Gray Marauder Chieftain before they ever left the marsh.

They didn’t want a long, complicated war; they wanted a quick, total slaughterhouse where the Veynar would be chopped from both sides before they could even understand who was holding the knife.

On the other side of the clearing, the dying Veynar elders were learning the true cost of their superstitious traditions.

Because they were high-layer spirit warriors with fully developed internal cores, they possessed an incredibly strong, dense physical vitality.

Their hearts were thick, and their primary channels were tough.

Under normal circumstances, such a high baseline vitality was a legendary blessing that allowed a warrior to survive deep wounds and keep fighting.

But in this specific situation, Sol didn’t know if that strong vitality was a blessing or a permanent curse.

Because their old bodies refused to shut down instantly, the elders were forced to stay wide awake, experiencing every single drop of the massive physical pain and the burning, humiliating sting of the betrayal.

They hung from the shafts of the Zharun spears, their blood bubbling out of their lips as they stared back at Chief Vane’s smiling face with wide, uncomprehending eyes, their minds completely breaking as the illusion of their precious Sacred Pact was ground into the dirt.

The white-haired elder with the scarred face choked out a red spray, his fingers clawing weakly at the wood of the spear that had just shattered his chest. "Vane... the... the ancestors... the Pact... you swore..."

Chief Vane walked slowly through his front ranks, his rugged beast-leather armor entirely clean, his hand resting casually on his hip.

He looked down at the squirming old man with a lazy expression, his lips curling into a wide, mocking line.

"The ancestors are dead, old man," Vane said softly, his voice carrying over the groans of the wounded. "And the dead don’t hunt. Your Warchief’s secret power is going to buy my tribe a new home in the deep regions.

Why would I waste my men fighting enemies for you bunch? Isn’t it much better to collaborate with them to kill you all without a single casualty?"

With a casual flick of his wrist, Vane signaled his captains. The Zharun warriors violently yanked their spear blades out of the elders’ chests, letting the old bodies drop sideways into the white limestone dust like empty hide-sacs.

...

The Veynar vanguard was instantly thrown into absolute chaos. The four hundred remaining veterans found themselves caught in a horrific, double-sided pincer.

In front of them, the three thousand roaring Marauders and Zerith were finally breaking through the dust, their giant stone clubs raised to trample their shield wall.

Behind them, a thousand Zharun spears were already red with the blood of their elders, ready to drive into their unprotected backs.

"Form the ring! Turn the rear shields!" a Veynar sub-commander roared, his voice cracking with pure desperation as he tried to pull his men into a defensive circle.

But it was too late for clean maneuvering.

Up on the gravel flats, the three hundred ash-painted kids watched the sudden slaughter of their elders from the rear line.

The girl with the bubbly face went completely rigid, her small hands shaking against her bone shield as the reality of Sol’s warning hit her brain like an arrow. He was right, her mind screamed through the horror. The world is really cold. The pact was a lie.

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