Chapter 725: The Overlord of Eastreach

“Mhm, yeah—I just got back not too long ago,” Ethan replied casually, not bothering to hide it.

Hammerhead’s eyes widened in disbelief. He actually went to Terran Reach—the human continent—and came back with a damn aircraft?

In his world, that was nothing short of insane.

None of the Zombie Kings he knew—or even heard of—had ever pulled something like that off. Right then and there, Hammerhead realized: the guy standing in front of him wasn’t just powerful—he was a walking miracle. A golden thigh to cling to, and he was gonna hold on for dear unlife.

As the aircraft cruised forward, the landscape below was a constant blur of chaos. Scenes of slaughter played out again and again—Xenobeasts tearing through zombies, and Zombie Kings leading counterattacks with their underlings. It was all-out war down there.

Ethan didn’t pay it much attention. Those low-tier Xenobeasts weren’t even worth his time.

Eventually, they crossed into territory that hadn’t yet been overrun. Below, scattered zombie nests came into view—some completely abandoned, others barely holding on with a skeleton crew.

“Looks like everyone’s converging at the Overlord of Eastreach’s nest,” Hammerhead muttered, peering out the window. “Makes sense—it’s probably the safest place left. Still… hard to imagine how many zombies must be gathering there.”

“Hmm…” Ethan nodded, curiosity piqued. He’d never seen a horde of this scale before. It might be the largest zombie congregation in Eastreach’s history.

One upside to being in Eastreach was that food wasn’t a problem—Xenobeasts made for decent prey. But the trade-off? You were just as likely to end up as prey.

After a long stretch of flight, the horizon finally shifted. A massive zombie nest came into view—so huge it looked like a mountain range, sprawling endlessly across the land like a slumbering beast.

Outside the nest, an ocean of zombies had already gathered. The sheer number was staggering—there was no end in sight.

The nest itself was packed to capacity. It couldn’t hold another body.

Nearly every zombie in Eastreach had made their way here.

“Holy hell… that’s a lot of zombies,” Ethan muttered.

As his aircraft soared over the nest, the air was filled with the sound of howling and snarling. Below, countless twisted faces turned upward, eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

A few elite zombies spotted the aircraft and pointed.

“Look! Another one’s coming in!”

“Whose King is that?”

“Heh, the horn of war’s about to sound. Time to feast!”

“…”

The crowd buzzed with excitement. The upcoming “hunt” had everyone fired up.

Xenobeasts were terrifying, sure—but zombies weren’t exactly pacifists. They craved blood just as much. In the end, both sides were monsters, driven by instinct and violence.

Whatever was coming… it was going to be a bloodbath.

Ethan guided the aircraft toward the heart of the nest, heading straight for the signal’s origin point.

Down below, a wide clearing had been turned into a makeshift landing zone. Dozens of aircraft were already parked there—some sleek and modern, others rusted relics from thirty years ago.

Zombie Kings milled about the area, their auras thick and oppressive.

Most were native to Eastreach, but quite a few had come from far-off regions, drawn here by the same signal Ethan had picked up.

The ones from outside? Their presence was even more intense.

After all, if they could receive and respond to a long-range signal, they weren’t your average undead.

Many of them hailed from the Heartland of Necroterra—a place known for producing monsters among monsters.

“Hey, another one’s coming in. Who do you think it is?” one of the Zombie Kings asked, glancing up.

“No idea. That aircraft looks pretty new, though. Maybe another big shot from Heartland?”

“Doesn’t look like it came from that direction…”

“Hmm…”

As the murmurs spread, Ethan’s aircraft descended smoothly, blue tail flames flickering out as the engines powered down with a deep, echoing whirrrr.

Click.

The aircraft’s hatch slid open with a mechanical hiss, parting to both sides.

Ethan stepped out first, calm and composed, with Hammerhead trailing behind him, eyes wide and darting nervously across the crowd.

On the surface, Hammerhead kept his mouth shut, but inside, his mind was racing. The pressure in the air was suffocating—everywhere he looked, there were terrifying auras radiating from the gathered Zombie Kings. Many of them were infamous across Eastreach, names whispered with fear and awe.

But there were others he didn’t recognize at all—clearly not local. They had to be from other Regions.

“Wait a sec… is that Umbradrake?”

A few Zombie Kings narrowed their eyes, recognizing Ethan’s illusion-disguised form.

“Why the hell is he here?”

“I heard he took out Gravestone not long ago!”

“Already finished absorbing Gravestone’s crystal core, huh? And now he’s in Eastreach? Damn, doesn’t waste a second.”

“Shhh, keep it down. He’s the Overlord of Southvale now.”

“…”

The lower-tier local Zombie Kings didn’t dare speak too loudly. No one wanted to draw the attention of someone who’d just killed a fellow Overlord.

Ethan scanned the crowd with a casual glance. The Zombie Kings here were a bizarre mix—tall, short, grotesque, skeletal, bloated—every kind of mutation imaginable. There were strength-types, speed-types, body-part mutants, even a few fusion-types.

One guy had a massive round face and literal pig ears.

What the hell… someone’s been hitting the pork buffet a little too hard, Ethan thought, barely suppressing a smirk.

Just then, a booming laugh rang out from the crowd.

“HAHAHAHA! Umbradrake!”

Ethan turned his head and saw a tall, broad-shouldered Zombie King striding toward him with open arms and a grin that was just a little too sharp.

The guy was surprisingly clean—his clothes were neat, his short, bristle-like hair stood up like steel needles, and his whole vibe was sharp, efficient… but there was something off in his eyes. A flicker of madness, a hint of bloodlust that slipped through when he wasn’t paying attention.

This wasn’t your average zombie. This was someone who’d evolved far beyond the usual rot and hunger.

This was an SSS-class monster.

This was Bloodveil, the Overlord of Eastreach.

Ethan had heard plenty about him from PhD—smart, deadly, and not someone to underestimate.

And now that they were face to face, Ethan could tell: Bloodveil wasn’t leaking any aura, but his instincts screamed that this guy was stronger than Gravestone. No question.

Living in Eastreach meant constant war with Xenobeasts. Only the strongest survived.

To become the Overlord here? You had to be a beast among beasts.

“My friend Umbradrake!” Bloodveil greeted warmly, stepping forward with open arms. “I never thought you’d actually come!”

After all, Umbradrake—Ethan’s current disguise—was also a Voidborn Undying, just like him. That made him a rare and valuable ally in the fight against the Xenobeasts.

Ethan gave a polite nod, playing along. “I had some free time lately.”

“Oh?” Bloodveil smiled, but behind that grin, his mind was spinning.

He’d heard of Umbradrake before—Southvale’s mysterious Voidborn Undying. Always lurking on the fringes of the Exile Zone, never expanding, never making waves. A ghost. A recluse.

And now, out of nowhere, he’d wiped out Gravestone and showed up in Eastreach?

What the hell happened to this guy? Did he suddenly decide to rise up?

Bloodveil didn’t trust it, but he wasn’t about to turn away help—especially not from someone who could kill another Overlord.

“My friend Umbradrake,” Bloodveil said, voice dropping slightly, “this Xenobeast invasion… it’s bigger than anything we’ve seen. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to push them back. But now that you’re here, I’m sure we’ll be able to hunt them down.”

Ethan gave a small smile. “Of course. That’s the plan.”

Bloodveil raised an eyebrow. Confident, huh?

He figured Umbradrake couldn’t be that strong—he’d just taken down Gravestone, after all. That didn’t mean he could handle a full-scale Xenobeast invasion.

But before he could say anything else, a deep rumble echoed through the sky.

Another aircraft was approaching—fast.

Everyone turned to look.

It was old—really old. The kind of model that hadn’t been seen in decades. But unmistakably, it was one of the dropships salvaged from a Dreadnought-class human starcruiser that had been shot down thirty years ago.

Bloodveil’s eyes narrowed.

“A strong one from Heartland… has arrived.”

…