Chapter 731: Razorback Ridge...

Chapter 731: Razorback Ridge…

“Too much, right?” Ragnar growled through clenched, razor-sharp teeth.

“Too much?” Bloodveil’s voice dropped, his expression darkening. “This isn’t just ‘too much’—this is straight-up corpse robbery…”

He was fuming. The Xenobeasts he had killed? Gone. Scooped up by Umbradrake like they were freebies at a buffet.

Now it wasn’t just Ragnar who wanted to deck Ethan—Bloodveil was itching to land a couple punches himself.

But Ethan, still disguised as Umbradrake, was out there slaughtering Xenobeasts like a machine, and the zombie horde was eating it up. They trusted him. Worshipped him, even. Starting a fight now would just make them look petty.

Bloodveil took a deep breath, swallowing the fire in his gut. “Forget it. Let’s just keep hunting Xenobeasts.”

Ragnar didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said it all—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He’d get his payback eventually. Besides, the crystal cores they were collecting now might not even matter in the end. What counted was who walked away with the highest-tier cores.

This isn’t the final score.

…

With the three Voidborn Undying leading the charge, the Carrion Reavers were getting absolutely wrecked. They couldn’t hold the line—they were being butchered.

And the zombies fighting alongside Ethan? Their numbers kept growing. Why? Because it was safe. The Reavers couldn’t even get close to him.

Meanwhile, the area behind Bloodveil and Ragnar was… well, let’s just say it was a little lonely.

Bloodveil watched the horde surge forward, eyes gleaming with excitement, roaring as they tore through the enemy. He couldn’t help but feel a little bitter.

“Remind me again… who’s supposed to be the Overlord of Eastreach?”

…

Eventually, the massive zombie horde reached the top of a steep ridge. The Carrion Reavers, realizing they were hopelessly outmatched, suddenly began to retreat. It was like they’d received some kind of signal—they all pulled back in eerie unison.

But by then, most of their main force had already been wiped out.

Ethan didn’t bother chasing them. No point in wasting energy on stragglers.

The once-ferocious Carrion Reavers scattered into the darkness, fleeing like whipped dogs.

“ROOOAAARRR—!”

The zombie horde erupted in a thunderous cheer, their voices shaking the night.

Another battle, won.

And most of the crystal cores? Ethan had them. Thousands of them. All ranks, all types—stuffed neatly into his inventory.

The zombies were in awe. Some were even starting to idolize him.

“Boss Umbradrake, I didn’t know you were this strong!” A chubby, pig-nosed Zombie King with floppy ears and a snout like a warthog waddled up, trying to cozy up to him.

Ethan gave him a once-over. The guy looked like a walking ham with tusks. “You’re not weak yourself.”

“Hehehehe!” The Snout Zombie King beamed, practically wagging his nonexistent tail.

“You really mean that?”

“Mhm.” Ethan nodded casually. Truth be told, he hadn’t paid any attention to the guy’s strength—he was just being polite.

But Snout Zombie King was over the moon. “Boss Umbradrake, I heard you’re the new Overlord of Southvale, right? Our zombie nest is right on the edge of Eastreach, super close to Southvale. What if… I joined up with you?”

“Snout, what the hell are you saying?” Bloodveil’s voice cut in, cold and sharp as a blade.

Snout Zombie King flinched. “Uh—I, uh…” He shrank back, eyes darting to the ground, suddenly very interested in his own feet. He hadn’t realized Bloodveil was that close.

Ethan, on the other hand, was intrigued. If he could pull Snout into Southvale’s fold, that’d mean expanding his territory. One more piece of the map under his control.

“You’re welcome anytime. Plenty of meat and blood to go around.”

“F-For real?!” Snout Zombie King’s head shot up, eyes wide with excitement. But then he felt it—that burning stare drilling into the back of his skull.

He’d gotten so hyped, he’d completely forgotten about Bloodveil.

Realizing his mistake, he immediately ducked his head again, trying to disappear into the ground.

Bloodveil’s eye twitched. He was clearly holding back a full-on explosion. First Ethan steals all the crystal cores, and now he’s poaching his people—right in front of him.

This wasn’t just crashing the party and raiding the buffet.

This was trying to walk out with the damn dining table.

“My friend Umbradrake,” Bloodveil said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “you’ve made quite the haul, haven’t you?”

Ethan gave a casual shrug. “Not bad. I figured you wouldn’t care for the low-tier crystal cores anyway, so I just scooped them all up.”

“…” Bloodveil’s face twitched, a vein pulsing at his temple. He’d never met a zombie so shameless in his un-dead life.

Before he could respond, Ragnar’s massive frame stomped over, his presence like a thundercloud rolling in. Unlike Bloodveil’s passive-aggressive diplomacy, Ragnar didn’t bother with subtlety. His hostility was loud and clear.

He leaned in, voice low and threatening. “Don’t play dumb, Umbradrake. I let it slide twice. There won’t be a third time.”

“Oh…” Ethan nodded, all innocent on the outside. But in his head? Third time, huh? Perfect. That’s when I’ll rip your crystal core out myself.

The zombie horde swept across Eastreach like a plague of death, carving a bloody path for thousands of miles. Wherever they passed, the land was soaked in gore, the air thick with the stench of rot and carnage.

As the long night wore on, the sky began to pale. A faint silver light crept over the horizon—dawn was coming.

The slaughter had lasted all night.

Aside from the Carrion Reavers, the horde hadn’t encountered any serious resistance. They were unstoppable, tearing through everything in their path, conquering territory like a tidal wave of death.

Now, they were holed up in a zombie nest, taking a much-needed breather.

“Vulturea, scout ahead. I want eyes on the Xenobeasts,” Bloodveil ordered.

“Yes, sir!”

A female Zombie King stepped forward. Her bones cracked and shifted as skeletal wings burst from her back. With a powerful leap, she shot into the sky, wings slicing through the air.

“Damn…” Ethan muttered, watching her take off. She was clearly a mutated skeletal type—one of the rare flying Zombie Kings.

Bloodveil was using the downtime wisely, sending her to recon the Xenobeasts’ movements.

Vulturea quickly became a speck in the sky, then vanished into the distance.

At the same time, the hum of drones filled the air. Several small flying machines zipped overhead, scattering in all directions.

Bloodveil wasn’t charging in blind—he wanted intel. He needed to know what the Xenobeasts were planning.

The rest of the zombies stayed put, resting in place, digesting the flesh and blood they’d consumed, slowly restoring their strength to peak condition.

With nothing urgent going on, Ethan wandered off with Hammerhead in tow, casually strolling through the nest. He used the time to observe the other Zombie Kings of Eastreach, tossing out greetings here and there.

To his surprise, they were all incredibly friendly—eager, even. Every one of them responded with respect and enthusiasm.

“Psssh…” Bloodveil caught the scene out of the corner of his eye, and his expression darkened.

What the hell is this guy up to now?

By afternoon, the sun was blazing overhead—three scorching suns, to be exact. The heat was brutal, warping the air and baking the land beneath it.

Most of the zombies had retreated into the shadows, hiding from the oppressive heat.

Then, high in the sky, a small black dot appeared, rapidly approaching.

It was Vulturea, returning from her mission.

She landed swiftly, folding her wings as she dropped to one knee before Bloodveil.

“Boss, the Xenobeasts are pulling back. They’re all regrouping at Razorback Ridge. I couldn’t get too close, so I’m not sure what they’re planning.”

“Razorback Ridge…” Bloodveil murmured, eyes narrowing.

That region was still part of Eastreach—an endless stretch of jagged mountains and treacherous terrain.

The Xenobeasts weren’t stupid. They knew that if they stayed scattered, the zombie horde would pick them off one by one. So they were consolidating their forces.

And Razorback Ridge? It was the perfect place to make a stand. The terrain was a nightmare—tight passes, steep cliffs, natural chokepoints. It would slow the horde down, split them up, and give the Xenobeasts a fighting chance.

Bloodveil’s mind raced, piecing it together.

“These bastards… are they planning to make their last stand there?”

…