Sector 3 was divided into four major cities. The Ravensteins were in charge of the capital city, Ravenspire, while the other cities were overseen by tier two families.
Among them, Dusktown was well known, particularly due to the Vermore family’s presence.
At the edge of Dusktown, a large open space housed the Vermore estate, a fortress of sharp stone and steel gleaming under the harsh sun. The walls were thick and sturdy, with numerous defensive measures, but it wasn’t the fortress that caught everyone’s attention.
High in the sky above the estate, a swarm of massive airships hovered, casting large shadows over the grounds. While not as massive as the airships Lyanna had used in battle, they were still imposing.
In the human domain, only tier one families were typically allowed such airships; the lower tiers had to make do with smaller, less advanced models.
Each airship bore the insignia of the Vermore family—a symbol of multiple figures standing in a circle.
Below, on the ground, warriors clad in silver armor stood in perfect formation, their helmets gleaming and weapons clutched tightly in their hands. All of them had the characteristic silver hair of the Vermore bloodline—a mark of their lineage.
The atmosphere was thick with tension and power.
The entire Vermore force was assembled outside the estate, ready for battle.
Rows of soldiers, ranging from Expert to grandmaster rank, gathered in formation. Their eyes were cold and focused, but fear was clear in their demeanor. Many clutched their weapons tightly, trembling slightly.
Why were they afraid? The reason was simple. Most of them had woken up expecting just another ordinary day, only to be informed of news that nearly made their hearts stop.
They would be battling the Ravensteins.
At first, many thought it was a mistake. But it quickly became clear that this was no misunderstanding.
At the forefront of the army stood Darius, his expression calm. Behind him, the family elders lined up, their silver hair gleaming under the sunlight, but the tension in the air was palpable.
Only one tier separated tier one families from tier two, but the difference between them was vast.
Aside from being able to birth paragons, tier one families produced individuals with significantly higher talent compared to lower tiers. The number of grandmasters in a tier one family was overwhelming.
Where tier one might have a thousand grandmasters, tier two would have barely a hundred. The gap was immense.
The elders of the Vermore family wore deep frowns.
“Darius, this is a huge mistake,” one of the elders said, his voice filled with concern.
Darius’s brows furrowed. He despised when his orders were questioned. It was the ultimate sign of disrespect in his eyes.
Just as Darius was about to respond, an aged man interrupted.
“Calm yourself. He’s right about that, son,” the elder spoke with a firm but calm tone.
Darius turned towards the man who had just spoken, the frown on his face loosening slightly. He could act sternly toward the others, but his father was different.
“But it’s too late to turn back now. We’re one family, and we’ll see this through no matter what,” the elder continued.
The remaining elders who had wanted to voice their dissatisfaction sighed heavily. He was right—it was too late to back down now. By now, they were sure of it: the Ravensteins were already aware of their betrayal.
Darius nodded with a serious expression and turned back to his troops, his demeanor hardening.
He was Darius Vermore: tall, broad-shouldered, with his silver hair tied back and sharp, calculating eyes. His armor gleamed, made of heavy blackened steel plates. Darius wasn’t just strong; he commanded respect.
His very presence made the air feel heavier. He looked over his gathered forces, his eyes scanning the soldiers and the airships hovering overhead.
This was his family’s strength. Betraying the Ravensteins was his move, and he would lead them to victory.
With a single nod from Darius, the airships began to descend, their doors opening to reveal more armored warriors ready to deploy.
As they moved, each warrior seemed to split into multiple identical figures.
Clones flickered into existence, tripling the already thousands of soldiers. There was no chaos, no hesitation—only discipline, as though they had practiced this countless times.
The Vermores were ready to march.
The power of the Vermore family came from their bloodline, a unique gift passed down through generations. They could create clones—each one an exact copy of the original.
Of course, there were limitations. These clones shared the original’s skills and movements but were only half as strong and had less endurance.
But the original body retained its full power.
In battle, the Vermores were known for one thing: their overwhelming numbers. They could fight freely, using their clones to spread confusion and overwhelm the enemy with sheer force.
Their clones created chaos, and their sheer numbers were often enough to secure victory.
However, the clones had limits—they couldn’t take as many hits as the original, and once the original was defeated, the clones disappeared. Additionally, since their bloodline ability was limited to cloning, they each had to master mana-related arts to supplement their fighting skills.
As the signal to move went out, blood pumped through every Vermore warrior. This was war. There were no speeches, no hesitation.
But just as the army began to advance, three figures loomed over them. Darius and the elders turned their gazes upward, their bodies tensing.
The three figures descended slowly, stopping just above the main airship where Darius and the elders stood.
Their appearance sent a ripple of tension through the already strained atmosphere.
Every Vermore soldier instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, their hearts pounding.
However, Darius, with his eyes cold, unleashed the full force of his aura, blanketing his troops and giving them a morale boost.
The Vermore family had gathered their entire remaining fighting force—thousands of warriors—to launch an attack on the Ravensteins.
But the Ravensteins had responded in a way that made the blood of every Vermore boil.
In response to this massive force, the Ravensteins had sent only three individuals.
