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While the empire thrived, the same couldn't be said for the Revolutionary Army and its alliance with the Southern Tribes. Their momentum had been shattered after Night Raid's betrayal, leaving the revolutionaries with a gaping wound.

In this world, Teigu were undeniably the most potent strategic resource. For over a millennium, the empire had proven this again and again. Even with its central location, fertile lands, and abundant resources, it had never fallen, thanks to the power of the Teigu.

On the battlefield, a single Teigu user could shift the tide of war. This dominance was especially true in the empire's early years when all Teigu remained under its control, unchallenged and undiminished. During that era, the empire stood as an undisputed hegemon, initiating wars at will while foreign nations and tribes dared not resist.

Now, however, the Revolutionary Army's misfortune emboldened their allies' doubts.

"What now? Your Night Raid defected, and every one of those Teigu users is working for the empire now!" the Southern Tribal leader bellowed, his voice thick with anger. "Ten, no, more than a dozen Teigu users—gone! How do you expect us to win this war?"

His frustration was palpable. The tribes had allied with the revolutionaries because of their supposed strength, bolstered by their Teigu users. Now, with such a significant loss, even the slightest hope of victory seemed to dwindle.

Though the Revolutionary Army still possessed a few Teigu, they were unusable for now. A Teigu would only choose a master it deemed compatible; forcing the bond often led to fatal rejection. Many had tried—and many had perished.

The Revolutionary leader met the tribal chief's outburst with an icy gaze. In truth, he held little regard for the so-called "allies" of the Southern Tribes. They were mere tools in his eyes, pawns to be discarded once their usefulness ended. If the empire hadn't become so powerful, he wouldn't have even entertained an alliance with these barbarians.

"No need to worry," he said with measured confidence. "I've found replacements. Enter."

At his command, several figures strode into the room. Leading them was a man with a bold 'X' scar etched across his face, his presence dominating the space. Behind him trailed a group of equally imposing individuals.

"Who are they?" the tribal chief asked warily.

"They're Teigu users," the Revolutionary leader replied smoothly. "Our reinforcements for this war."

"Teigu users?" The chief's eyes widened with shock, tinged with fear. Just moments ago, he'd lamented the loss of Night Raid, and now here were more Teigu users, apparently recruited with ease. How could the revolutionaries have so many, even outnumbering the empire?

The scarred man smirked, clearly enjoying the chief's reaction. "I'm not part of the Revolutionary Army. My name is Syura, and I'm the son of former Prime Minister Honest."

"Honest?" the chief echoed, his voice faltering. "The same Honest you were trying to kill not long ago?"

"Correct," Syura replied without hesitation. "The very same. My father was the empire's Prime Minister."

Syura's reputation preceded him: the sadistic son of the notorious Honest, who had once wielded absolute power in the empire. Unlike most revolutionaries, Syura's ambitions stemmed not from a desire for justice but from a cruel lust for power and chaos.

He carried the Teigu Shambhala, a dimensional portal capable of transporting himself and others across vast distances. After fleeing the empire, Syura had traveled far and wide, from the Western Kingdoms to the Southern Isles and even the frozen Northern Wastes. Only the mystical lands of the Eastern Islands had eluded him.

During his journey, Syura had gathered a following—a team of ruthless, remorseless individuals, each wielding a Teigu. His group was less an army and more a coalition of criminals, united by their insatiable hunger for destruction and violence.

The tribal chief's eyes widened further as he processed the revelation. Syura, the son of the man the revolutionaries once sought to destroy, now stood as their ally. It was a stark reminder of an old truth: there were no permanent enemies, only enduring interests.

"Son of the former Prime Minister, Syura."

"That's right. And my Teigu, Shambhala, is a spatial-type Teigu. Especially on the battlefield, it will be incredibly effective."

"A spatial-type Teigu? The legend is true? There really is a spatial-type Teigu?"

"Of course. Mine is one of them."

"If it's a spatial Teigu, then on the battlefield..."

"We don't even need to directly engage the Teigu users of the empire. A surprise attack on the imperial capital will be enough. Although I greatly respect General Esdeath, she herself believes in the law of the strong, doesn't she?"

At these words, the Southern Tribal leader's eyes gleamed with fiery ambition, while the Revolutionary Army leader's expression twisted into one of scorn.

This fool doesn't understand the true horror of Esdeath. When the battle begins, let these tribes act as cannon fodder, depleting the empire's forces. Then, when the time comes, the final blow will be struck by them.

It was the perfect strategy. Having the Southern Tribes wear down the empire's Teigu users first was the best approach. After all, while Teigu users were powerful, they were still human. The Revolutionary leader had seen many Teigu users firsthand, and in the face of a full-scale army, they were nothing more than a mere nuisance.

You can kill one hundred, a thousand, even ten thousand. But what if it's a hundred thousand? A million?

Can you still kill them all?

While the Teigu itself was undeniably powerful, the users were not invincible.

But, as the Revolutionary leader looked down on the Southern Tribes' chief, Syura, too, looked down on the Revolutionary Army.

There was no way he was truly going to cooperate with them. His goal was to take the empire for himself, to surpass his father's legacy.

His father had been powerful—despite being a civilian official, he had once controlled the entire empire. But he lacked strength. Without power, one was doomed.

Syura was different. He was strong. And, compared to his father's Ruthless Four Demons, Syura's followers were even stronger.

Eventually, he would wait for the empire, the Revolutionary Army, and the Southern Tribes to engage in a brutal, life-or-death struggle. And once both sides were exhausted, he would step in to claim victory. With Shambhala on his side, he had the advantage.

All he needed was to leave a spatial anchor, and he could traverse space at will. When both sides were drained of strength, he would sweep in and claim the spoils.

Now that his father was dead, it was time for him to take his place and seize control of the empire.

It could be said that everyone in the room had their own secret agenda.

This so-called 'alliance' was nothing more than a gathering of conspiracies and self-interest. The moment even the slightest external force entered the mix, it would collapse.

Because each of them was motivated by personal gain, acting only to fulfill their own ambitions.

Meanwhile, the empire continued to rise, its forces growing ever stronger. At the top, Esdeath and August, two formidable figures, presided over it all. Even if anyone harbored their own ulterior motives, they had learned to hide them for now. There was no room for error.

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