Chapter 181: The Path to Dominion (1)

"I could have died, and no one helped me!" Chloe screeched at the group, who stood there, staring at her, dumbfounded.

"Oh, and don’t tell me it was for my own good," she continued, her anger rising like steam from a boiling kettle.

"In fact, it

was

for your own good. Look, I even made notes on what you could improve," Josh said, holding up his notepad with an awkward smile.

"Ah, really? Let’s see what the

great sage

has written for me." Chloe snatched the notepad, her eyes scanning the scribbled notes.

'Breathe fire, don’t roll around so much.'

Her face twisted with fury. "Thank you so much for this life-changing advice!" she yelled, tearing the notepad into tiny pieces and letting them flutter to the ground like confetti.

Josh sighed, undeterred. "But the fight could’ve been so much easier. Why is that so hard to understand? Just fly up and breathe fire on them."

"Of course, I could have done things differently! That’s not the point. The point is that no one helped me at all out there. What if I’d been seriously wounded?" Chloe snapped, her tirade showing no signs of slowing down.

"Calm down," Josh replied, raising his hands defensively. "It’s just a few scratches and a little bit of your tail missing. Okay, maybe some bite marks too. But it wasn’t for nothing—you learned something important today."

Chloe crossed her arms, her expression darkening further. "Oh, really? Please, enlighten me. It better be

very

good."

Josh nodded, as if delivering ancient wisdom. "That even small beasts can be

very

dangerous."

Before Chloe could explode, Jack chimed in with a chuckle. "You should definitely listen to Josh. Remember the last time I underestimated those little beasts? I ended up with crabs stuck in my tentacles. Not a fun experience, I can assure you. Honestly, I think you’ve made good progress. You should get back out there and try again. Now you know: fly up, breathe fire. Strike while the iron’s hot, or something like that."

Chloe stared, momentarily stunned, and surprisingly, so was Josh.

"So, you’re finally admitting that

I’m

the better teacher," Josh said triumphantly, puffing out his chest. "I’ll admit, you were a strong rival."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh no, you’re still the worst teacher I’ve ever seen. I’m just trying to save your student and spark the fire that fuels her desire for strength."

Chloe, now back in her human form, looked like she might actually burst into flames. Her face had flushed so deeply it was almost purple.

Evelyn, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. "I think we should stick together for a while and do some group hunts. It’ll give us a chance to teach Eddie and Chloe a few things without constantly risking their lives."

"Oh yes! Another glorious hunt! This’ll be great!" Kargul roared, pumping his fist in the air.

"No," Chloe snapped, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I’m done. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve regenerated."

"Don’t worry, Chloe," Kargul said, grinning ear to ear. "Vorlok will carry you. His shell’s a bit hard, but Eve likes it. Plus, he’s a smooth flyer." Without waiting for her consent, he hoisted Chloe up and plopped her onto Vorlok’s back, where Evelyn was already seated, ready for takeoff.

Vorlok didn’t look particularly thrilled, but he held back his complaints—for now.

Jack, clearly eager to escape the brewing tension, muttered, "I don’t know… I really think we should just teleport already. Eddie’s definitely ready after my training."

"Just transform into that stupid squid and find something big," Josh shot back instantly.

"I want to reach the fifth stage soon, too," Evelyn added. "So, at least two more hunts."

Vorlok, unwilling to wait any longer, launched into the sky with such force that Chloe nearly fell off, clinging for dear life as they soared in search of their next meal.

<--

Nathaniel stood in the heart of the desert, arms outstretched, laughter echoing across the dunes. "Haha! Rise, rise, rise!" he roared as the sands spiraled around him, moving in perfect unison with the swirling energies.

Since discovering the last catacomb, hunting had quickly grown dull. Few beasts could offer a challenge anymore. His newly undead body, blessed by the ancient mummy, made him far too powerful for most enemies to handle. But strength wasn't his only gain. He had discovered an art that filled his heart with joy: the creation of sand elementals.

Before him, towering figures of sand shimmered under the scorching sun. They weren’t just mindless constructs; these were E-grade elementals, capable of drawing upon the natural mana in the air. In the desert, they were nearly invincible. Any damage they sustained was effortlessly repaired, the sand reforming as though injury only made them stronger. Their sole weakness was the elemental core. A fact Nathaniel guarded closely. Elementals were rare, and he hadn’t encountered a single one in the entire tutorial except for those he’d created himself.

Of course, his ability to summon sand elementals wasn’t his only advancement. He had worked tirelessly to refine his skills and equipment. The red bandages wrapping his arm now extended up to his shoulder, brimming with even greater power. This binding was by far his most valuable equipment, pushing his body to new heights. Crafting it alone would have been impossible, but with his patron’s help, it had been almost laughably easy.

The desert wind brushed over his bare skin—skin that had withered since his transformation. Being undead hadn’t done his hairline any favors, either; not a single strand remained. His muscles had long since decayed, leaving him lean and skeletal, though appearance mattered little in this world.

Nathaniel was no strength-based cultivator, but he was confident he could overpower most vampires. His control over sand and wind had sharpened to the point where few could stand against him, especially here, in his domain. The thought made him grin.

Not that he was alone in his strength. The Sanguine Thorn vampires, the undead ice orc who had joined just days prior, and the enigmatic lich—each was terrifying in their own right. Yet Nathaniel still considered himself one of the strongest among them. It was an achievement he took great pride in.

Here, in the desert, he was a king. The shifting sands bent to his will, and the elementals were his unstoppable army. No human, he believed, could challenge him here. His power was nearly absolute.

Well, almost absolute. There was one minor problem: the elementals had a tendency to cannibalize each other whenever he wasn’t watching. One particularly massive elemental, towering over fifteen meters tall, had already consumed more than ten of its smaller kin.

This feeding frenzy made them absurdly powerful in record time. These evolved elementals could unleash devastating area attacks, tearing apart anything without a high affinity for sand or wind. For Nathaniel, they were the perfect support. His personal army, strengthening his domain while crippling his enemies.

He craved battle, thirsted for slaughter. Soon, he knew, his wish would be granted. And when the time came, he would rain death upon the living without mercy.

<--

Groomash walked through the tall grass of the savanna on the fifth stage, his hulking figure bathed in the white light of the full moon. The soft glow highlighted the scars crisscrossing his iron-like skin—marks of countless battles fought and won. In the past few weeks, many orcs had rallied to his banner, and he now commanded a tribe of roughly three hundred warriors. It wasn’t an overwhelming force, but it was large enough to play a significant role in the events soon to unfold.

Among those who had joined him was his former adviser, Tarkul. Once a mere strategist, Tarkul had reached level 80 and, after receiving a blessing, had rapidly grown in power. The knowledge granted by the gods could truly make an astounding difference, sharpening both mind and body in ways unimaginable. Yet, despite his newfound strength, Tarkul still harbored fear and respect for Groomash. No orc could stand against him. Not even the blessed ones who had progressed significantly. Groomash’s skin had grown as tough as iron, and his blood-related skills had advanced to terrifying levels.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

If not for the presence of so many vampires, who constantly drained the available blood resources, Groomash would have been even stronger. This was precisely why he was out hunting again. The blood of slain beasts belonged solely to him, not shared with any undead allies. His patron had advised him not to evolve until the end of the tutorial, explaining that the power boost from advancing to E-grade was insignificant compared to the potential of obtaining a legendary class later. Groomash always listened to his patron. The blockade at the human base might have failed, but he had emerged from the ordeal stronger than ever.

Now, with powerful undead allies, Groomash no longer feared Ankthet’s arrival. The vampires and other undead were even mightier than he was, and the humans stood no chance of victory. Still, Groomash remained wary of the elves. He had once seen them hunt, moving with such lethal grace that they might rival even the undead. Fortunately, they seemed inclined to stay out of the conflict.

The undead had fortified their positions with multiple layers of defenses around every catacomb. Once the catacombs opened, they would begin laying traps inside, ensuring the humans couldn’t destroy the pillars. And that was the crux of the matter: the humans had to destroy

all

the pillars. If even one remained standing, Ankthet would be reborn. According to Groomash’s patron, the reborn god would be unstoppable within the tutorial, capable of annihilating any foe who stood against him.

Groomash’s reward was already substantial, but it would grow even greater once the humans inevitably failed and the undead emerged victorious. Orcs blessed as highly as he was were treated like emperors in the domain of his patron. It would take a few years after arriving on the new planet for him to ascend to such status, but it was worth the wait.

His first quest upon reaching the new planet was already set. He would need to construct an

Incursion Portal

, allowing his patron to send reinforcements. The system would block higher-stage cultivators and gods from interfering, but through these portals, their younger followers could participate in system events across the universe. These reinforcements would aid Groomash in conquering new territories.

Competition would be fierce. Groomash had to find the individual blessed by his god as quickly as possible. The chosen one would undoubtedly be immensely powerful, tasked with conquering the planet and eliminating rivals blessed by other gods. Groomash could already hear the war cries echoing in his mind. It would be glorious.

And, of course, there were always more humans to crush. Killing them was almost laughably easy. They pathetically fragile and inferior in every regard. If not for the traitor during the last blockade, Groomash would have slaughtered the entire attacking force. He had waited patiently for that traitorous orc to reach the fifth stage, but so far, nothing had happened.

When the time came, Groomash would relish the kill. Not only would it be satisfying, but his god had promised a great reward. It turned out the traitor bore a high blessing from a rival orc god. One of Groomash’s patron’s greatest enemies.

Groomash was no longer alone in his pursuit of power. Before the integration, he had fought alongside a powerful warbeast, a mighty wolf that had been his trusted companion in countless battles. Throughout the tutorial, he had searched for a replacement but found nothing suitable until the blood witch Cathrin intervened.

With her dark magic, they had transmuted one of the dinosaurs into something far more fearsome. An undead flying beast cloaked in a mist of blood. This new warbeast, a Bloodred Wyvern, was over ten meters long, walking on four powerful legs with two massive, leathery wings and a whip-like tail. Its teeth were jagged and sharp enough to tear through even the toughest defenses.

Unlike traditional wyverns, it didn’t breathe fire. Instead, it unleashed a corrosive red mist that rotted everything it touched, dissolving flesh and armor alike. Together, Groomash and his wyvern had already slain countless beasts, and Groomash could hardly wait for the moment the traitorous orc laid eyes on his new warbeast. Then he would end the traitor's life once and for all.

<--

"No, please stop! Please!" the elf bound to the stone altar pleaded, his voice hoarse from hours of desperation. His once-pristine skin was now marred with runes, meticulously carved into his flesh, each one glowing faintly with dark energy. Most of his long, silken hair had been ripped out, leaving his head patchy and bloodied. Tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face as he struggled against the enchanted chains binding him, but the effort was futile.

Looming over the altar, the lich Elias observed his experiment with a curious, almost clinical detachment. His current goal was to prepare the elf’s body as a new vessel for his soul. The body Elias inhabited now was not his original one. His real body long since decayed and discarded at the start of the tutorial. For a lich, bodies were nothing more than temporary vessels, tools to be swapped out when they wore down or when a better one presented itself. And this elf’s body was indeed better. Youthful, agile, and brimming with latent power.

Elias could have ripped out the elf’s soul at any moment during the past few days and claimed the body for himself. Yet he had refrained. He wasn’t satisfied with merely possessing the vessel. He wanted to refine it, to enhance it, ensuring it could withstand the strain of his ever-growing power. The elf’s suffering was irrelevant, an insignificant footnote in Elias’s pursuit of perfection.

The fact that killing an elf violated the agreement with their faction didn’t concern Elias in the slightest. What could they possibly do about it now? The undead had seized control of every catacomb and fortified the surrounding areas. The elves, while undeniably formidable, were powerless to reclaim the lost ground. Even if they did attempt retaliation, why should Elias care if a few vampires fell? The undead alliance was one of convenience, not loyalty. As long as a single pillar remained active, Ankhet would be reborn, and Elias’s mission would be fulfilled.

The future held no certainties, and weakening potential rivals like the vampires was hardly a drawback. It would take time for the elves to even realize one of their hunting parties had gone missing, let alone identify the culprit. Capturing

this

particular elf had been an arduous task, but worth every moment of effort. He was a descendant of a powerful elven bloodline of extraordinary rarity. True bloodlines, especially strong ones, were almost impossible to find, making this elf’s value immeasurable.

While the elf’s bloodline wasn’t at the peak of power, it was still potent enough to enhance the body significantly. That alone made the vessel invaluable, capable of carrying Elias with ease through E-grade and perhaps even beyond. The intricate runes carved into the elf’s skin served to funnel vast amounts of energy into the body. The process was agonizing for the elf, but Elias remained unmoved. Soon, the elf’s soul would be torn from its shell, leaving behind a perfected vessel for the lich.

And the elf's soul? It would join the ever-growing collection Elias kept, each one empowering him further, pushing him closer to heights few could ever hope to reach. With a satisfied smile, Elias leaned closer, whispering coldly, "Soon, you'll serve a greater purpose than you ever imagined."