Chapter 572. It Has Begun! The War That Will Change Underlayer!

The war cry lasted for thirty seconds before the first strike of what would become a different kind of chaos entirely.

Rex stood at the top of the spire, watching the chaos unfold from a vantage point that surpassed any tactical map, enjoying the elevated perspective of someone who had initiated a plan and was now witnessing its initial consequences.

The Underlayer’s population had heard the speech. They had heard the announcement about the eleven.

They had seen the marking appear on people they knew—those they had worked alongside, trusted as neighbors, and in some cases, considered friends—and the sight of that marking had done exactly what Rex had anticipated.

It had divided the room.

Most of the population had stepped back. The people who had genuinely made their homes in the Underlayer, including the demons, Shadeveil, Voidkin, and Fleshweavers, understood the marking and the speech and came to a shared decision quickly, like those who have been given a clear threat and a clear way to respond.

But not all of them.

Some of them had moved toward the marked rather than away, and the movement had not been accidental. These were the ones with relationships deep enough that the marking created a conflict between what they had been told and what they had experienced, between the speech from the spire and the fourteen months of daily contact with someone they had come to know.

Rex had anticipated the outcome.

"The first three are already in trouble," Lilith said, watching the street-level chaos beginning to coalesce below. "Raizen Hollow is in the eastern market quarter."

"Three militia units closed on him in the first forty seconds."

"You already know the name, huh?" Rex asked.

"Yes... I got the information about it." Lilith nodded.

"How is he responding?" Rex said.

"He’s not running," Lilith said. "He assessed the perimeter and decided running wasn’t the better option."

"He’s right that running isn’t the better option," Rex said. "But... He’s wrong about what the better option is."

"There’s another name, named Dante Verakis."

"He’s trying to move through the residential district toward the secondary shaft," she said. "He’s not going to make it."

’Pavellia sealed the access, and the residential district is dense."

"He’ll figure out the shaft is sealed in about four minutes," Rex said. "Watch what he does after."

Lilith looked at him. "You’ve already run the foresight on all three...?"

"The broad strokes," Rex said. "The specifics depend on what choices they make."

Rex’s system then starts to name another reincarnator from the Legion, where he forgot that his system could help him identify all reincarnators.

"Kaida Lunereth," Rex said.

"She’s the difficult one," Lilith said. "Her secondary skill set is concealment-class."

"She’s trying to mask the marking."

"Can she?" Rex said.

"She’s trying," Lilith said. "But the frequency you broadcast is external, not internal."

"She can suppress what she projects, but she can’t suppress what’s been applied to her from outside."

"People around her can still see it," Rex said.

"They’re already seeing it," Lilith said.

She watched the lower kingdom for a moment. "She’s going to head for the water processing infrastructure."

"She will," Rex said.

"You knew she would."

"Water processing has the densest ambient signature in the kingdom," Rex said. "It’s the correct tactical choice for a concealment-type trying to mask an external marking."

"The problem is that external markings don’t respond to ambient interference the way internal signatures do."

Lilith was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, "So she’s going to spend twelve minutes discovering a problem she can’t solve."

"Approximately twelve," Rex said. "She’s competent."

"She’ll try every variable she has before she accepts that the approach isn’t working."

Below, in the eastern market quarter, Raizen Hollow had made the decision Rex had anticipated: he was fighting.

Rex could see it from the spire in the way one saw things from above, as a pattern of motion rather than individual strikes, as the specific circling quality of someone holding ground against multiple opponents rather than attempting to retreat. Raizen was good enough that he was holding it.

Well...

For now.

"Walk me through the militia’s approach," Rex said.

Lilith looked at the engagement below with the focused attention of someone who had been in enough combat situations to read the tactical architecture of a fight from an aerial view. "Three units."

"First and second are anchoring his flanks, keeping him from lateral movement without committing to a direct push."

"The third is probing his fire management."

"Looking for the rotation gap," Rex said.

"He’s rotating intelligently," Lilith said. "Short bursts, coverage arcs that overlap by about thirty degrees."

"It’s defensive fire management, not offensive... I could see that he’s buying time."

"For what?" Rex said.

"He doesn’t know yet," Lilith said. "He’s buying it because the alternative is not buying it."

They watched the eastern market quarter below the spire had become a geometric slaughterhouse, once a lively center of commerce. Raizen Hollow was the heart of a tightening knot of steel, a single pillar of defiance against the incoming tide of the militia.

Rex watched the telemetry of the engagement, his eyes tracking the heat signatures and kinetic vectors as if the world were nothing more than a grand mathematical equation.

To the untrained eye it was a frantic melee, but to Rex it was a study in attrition.

Raizen’s fire erupted in staccato rhythms, sharp, controlled lances of energy that carved arcs through the air. He wasn’t just swinging a bat; he was handling a perimeter.

Each burst was a calculated exertion of force, a desperate attempt to keep the sanctity of his personal space. He used overlapping cover, his eyes darting back and forth between the advancing shadows of the first and second units, always ensuring that no single lunge could get through to his vitals.

But the militia was a machine of exquisite and terrifying efficiency.

The third unit did not charge. They grew apart.

They moved like a landslide in slow motion, sliding into the blind spots created by Raizen’s very attempts to defend. Raizen’s arc of fire blocked a lunge from the left, and for a moment a gap opened in front of him.

A heartbeat of vulnerability—a mere fraction of a second—but in the doctrine of the Underlayer, a heartbeat felt like an eternity.

The first and second units felt the pressure change. They didn’t merely step forward; they surged, compressing the space with a synchronized brutality that turned the narrow alleys of the market into a crushing vice.

Raizen’s reaction was instinctive, a frantic pivot to cover the widening gap, but the momentum of the three-unit push was already too overwhelming. A heavy kinetic shield struck his flank, and the blow shuddered through his whole frame.

A dull thud of metal and then the splintering of wooden market stalls; the collision’s sound rose to the spire.

"He’s losing the rhythm," said Rex, with no trace of sympathy.

He could see that Raizen’s fire was less about control, more about survival. The short, disciplined bursts were turning into desperate, wide-reaching volleys, losing precision for raw, frantic distance.

Raizen was a blur, a manic dance of self-preservation in the wreckage of overturned carts and shattered ceramics. He deflected a spear thrust, the friction of steel on energy sending a spray of blinding sparks, and countered immediately with a concussive blast that sent a militiaman reeling backward into a stone fountain.

There was a moment’s easing of the pressure, a momentary reprieve from the maelstrom.

But the militia did not hesitate. They just recalibrated.

They stepped over their downed comrade, their formation tightening, their motions more predatory, more rhythmic. They were not fighting an opponent anymore; they were springing a trap.

Rex watched the telemetry go red. Raizen was holding, yes, but he was holding a diminishing circle.

He was a man trying not to win but to delay the inevitable end of a much larger, much more indifferent machine.

"He’s running down his reserves to keep that arc," Rex whispered to the silence of the spire. "He’s fighting a war of seconds; they’re fighting a war of geometry."