Apocalypse Gachapon

King Meibuning gazed at the Collapsed Canyon amidst the snowstorm, his mood sinking to its lowest point.

The agreed assembly time had arrived, yet of the promised fifty thousand warriors, only slightly over twenty thousand had come—more than half were missing.

Though messengers had delivered word that the absent forces would arrive within a day or two, even with their addition, the total would barely reach thirty thousand.

So, where were the remaining twenty thousand?

Days earlier, he had sensed something amiss when several groups that were supposed to rendezvous with them along the way had failed to appear.

King Meibuning was waiting for answers.

Though his scouts had yet to return, he already harbored a grim suspicion—those who hadn’t arrived were likely dead.

What baffled him was this: Who could oppose him so fiercely? Who possessed the strength to slaughter so many of his allies in such a short time?

His first thought was Black Dragon City.

Yet King Meibuning hesitated to believe that those from the country were responsible.

He didn’t deny that Black Dragon City’s evolved were formidable in strength and numbers.

But like many of his warriors, he had always regarded them as complacent, content to shelter within their walls and exploit the rich hunting grounds outside, squandering their advantages in comfort.

Meanwhile, his own people, the great warriors of the North, struggled against the elements and mutated creatures in the frozen wastelands.

It wasn’t fair.

He couldn’t deny that Black Dragon City’s fighters had spines—they hadn’t cowered, agreeing to face them in battle at the Collapsed Canyon.

But while they might dare a decisive battle, would they truly venture deep into the northern wastes to ambush his forces?

King Meibuning doubted it.

More likely, they had agreed to fight only because they believed their numbers guaranteed victory. Marching into the ice plains to strike at his warriors? That required a boldness he didn’t credit them with.

To kill twenty thousand of his men, Black Dragon City would need to send at least a hundred thousand warriors—such was his confidence in his forces.

Yet a hundred thousand troops crossing the tundra? He would have detected them.

If not Black Dragon City, then who?

“My King!”

A voice called from behind—his subordinate, bearing the news he awaited. Without turning, Meibuning gave a slight nod.

“Our scouts have returned from Black Dragon City. There’s no sign of mobilization, not even troop gatherings.”

Meibuning scoffed. Were these cowards so fearful that they hadn’t begun preparations even as battle loomed? Were they planning to flee?

If so, then the disappearance of his warriors had to be someone else’s doing.

But who? The tribes further north? Or perhaps a large-scale attack by mutated creatures?

The possibilities made his head throb.

“Some of our scouts tracking our missing forces have returned. They’ve found the Ural, Rosduv, and Anjie squad…”

He listed over a dozen squad names in one breath.

“All annihilated. No survivors. Confirmed deaths exceed three thousand. The wounds suggest evolved, mostly ambushes. No enemy corpses were found; they must have taken them all.”

Meibuning’s face twitched. Among the fallen were several elite squads he had valued highly, led mostly by seven-star evolved with great potential. Now, they were all dead.

This meant his expeditionary force’s strength had been crippled.

“The Snow Mountain Locomotive squad, the Peter’s Sovereignty squad, the Arctic Fox squad…” He listed more names before Meibuning whirled around, eyes blazing.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “These squads were also attacked, but there were survivors. They’ve been brought back. Their accounts vary—some say mutated creatures, dragons, assaulted them. Others blame evolved in full blue gear. A few claim it was just a handful of attackers… with Eastern features.”

“How many survivors?”

Meibuning forced calm, clinging to a thread of hope.

“A… a fair number, but…” He hesitated. “Most are four- or five-star evolved humans. Those above six stars were all killed.”

Meibuning shut his eyes in anguish.

These squads had been the backbone of his forces, either vast in numbers or led by elite evolved humans. Among them were three eight-star warriors, over fifty at seven-star, and countless six-star.

Now, all were gone.

Silently, he tallied the losses. Even if the rest arrived, his seven-star elites would number fewer than a hundred. Eight-stars? Including himself, only three remained.

Though confident in his own strength, capable of facing two opponents of equal rank, his forces couldn’t match that. Against Black Dragon City’s eight-star fighters, they would be outmatched at the highest level.

Already outnumbered, how could they fight if even their elite strength fell short?

Whoever had struck his forces aimed to cripple them before the battle, ensuring their defeat at the Collapsed Canyon without a fight.

Who?

Meibuning burned with the urge to slaughter them all.

“My King… what do we…?”

He ventured cautiously.

The situation was dire.

“We… retreat.”

Though rage simmered, Meibuning hadn’t lost reason. A year to rebuild, and they could return with strength enough to crush Black Dragon City.

Orders spread swiftly. The northern warriors packed their gear, cursing as they prepared to withdraw, the camp descending into chaos.

Then, the thunder of countless footsteps came from the rear of their camp—enough to make their scalps crawl.

“Meibuning, to come all this way and flee without a fight? This isn’t like you. Or have you decided to be a faithless coward?”

A voice rang out in a fluent foreign tongue.

An army of over fifty thousand had appeared a kilometer behind the northern forces. At its forefront stood five figures: Hai Dayu, Old Long, Ah Kai, Yan Shuangfei, and White Skin.