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A single round of barrage from the magical machine army had torn a pretty ring of fire in the battlefield.

Numerous flesh and sand particles shot across the blazing field like bullets, along with a countless number of dismembered limbs and body parts.

This single round of attacks had caused over ten thousand deaths among the plane locals. The number of injured and maimed was even higher.

However, what stunned the dragon lord were the rows of magical machines that had emerged from the adept’s defensive perimeter. They cleaved the ranks of the local natives in half while the flames burned and swept away all the survivors in the ring of fire, like a gust of wind against fallen leaves.

So what if they were ogres and trolls with tough skin and resilient life forces? They were still riddled with holes by the rain of energy beams. While they struggled and lunged at the Archers, the machines spat out ten-meter long flame jets from their arms.

With energy beams for long-ranged combat, flamethrowers for melee engagements, and their impenetrable steel bodies, the Lance natives finally met their executioners in the magical machine army. They fell helplessly to the ground.

Even the ogres and trolls had fallen so easily, let alone those scrawny gnolls, goblins, and kobolds. Their wooden bats, sharpened spears, and stones were like scrap before the fully-armed machines.

If they struck with their wooden bats, they snapped in half.

Throw with their spear, and it would break into splinters.

When they tossed their stones, the only things they could leave on the metallic shells were small white dots.

Soon, the completely disarmed natives had only their bodies and their fearless spirits to rely on. Unfortunately, courage could not stop energy beams. Even tough skin could not endure the burn of hot flame jets. The plane natives were trapped in an awkward position on the battlefield.

Charge forward? Their weapons and defenses were inferior, and their only fate was to be crushed and destroyed like gnats.

Retreat? It was a blazing sea of fire behind them, and the towering magical machines were still pressing toward them.

For a moment, agonized howls and cries filled the inside of the ring of fire. Towering figures collapsed to the ground from the barrage of energy beams while the rest continued to fight with all they were worth.

The silhouettes of the human adepts could be faintly seen behind the rows of magical machines.

They would never personally set foot upon the dangerous frontline. Instead, they casually surveyed the battlefield behind the protection of layers of magical machines. If they found sturdy beasts like the hairy rhinos charging through the magical machines, they would approach with wicked smiles on their faces.

Magical scrolls, magical wands, and spells of every color hurled toward the enemy. These rampaging monsters would instantly feel their limbs turn weak and quickly be surrounded by a horde of magical machine.

No one knew how long the war would last. As such, most adepts had prepared a large number of magical items as a substitute for their own spells. Preserving one’s power in such a massive and brutal battlefield while using voodoo beasts and golems to wear away at the enemy’s forces was the way of war that the adepts were best at!

The battle in the fire ring raged on. Meanwhile, the army of natives outside the flames was so utterly terrorized by the blazing fires that they dared not step forward.

They did not have the exceptional magical resistance of the dragons and the dragonborn. They could not cross this sea of flames without suffering injuries. Some unfortunate individuals were even shoved by their ‘companions’ surging from behind, taking a nosedive into the sea of fire. Their faces were full of terror and turned into howling living torches.

For an instant, the momentum of the natives’ offensive stalled!

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

The dragons soaring in the blue skies above cursed in their low voices and used their deafening roars to give orders to the dragonborn beneath.

Tall dragonborn with muscular Physiques stepped forward. They picked up the scrawny natives and hurled them into the sea of fire.

A dozen dragonborn did the same, forcefully using the lives of the natives to pave a path through the flames.

“Charge! All of you, charge forward...”

As the dragonborn roared in unison, the more burly natives followed their example. They started picking up their weaker companions and throwing them into the flames. The sea of fire before them started showing signs of weakening from their bodies and blood.

More natives took this opportunity to surge into the ring of fire, enduring the pain of the burning flames.

The goblin chariots’ energy fireballs were still roaring in the distance, firing every five minutes. However, even the most ferocious of attacks and the most furious of flames could not stop the charge of the natives any longer.

At the barbaric urging of the dragons and dragonborn, the two hundred thousand local natives raised their wooden weapons and charged at the magical machines on the frontlines, fearless and savage.

A melee bloodbath broke out just like that!

However, as the masterminds of the war, neither Greem nor the dragons cared for the casualties on the battlefield.

They would roar wherever the offensive had stalled and bolstered their soldiers further. They gave an order whenever the defense seemed to have loosened and assigned even more reinforcements. It seemed like they paid a lot of attention to the battlefield, but in their hearts, these were no more than pawns that could be sacrificed at any time.

As long as their sacrifice had value and could whittle away at a sufficient number of the enemy, none of the higher-ups cared who lived!

Greem had already released the Spirit of Pestilence onto this massive battlefield. The Spirit had already cast a Poison Halo outside of the magical machine army. However, in a brutal battlefield like this, where life and death were determined in a single instant, it was hard for poison attacks to demonstrate any obvious effects.

However, things quickly accumulated, and even sand could make a tower. Every native that died to poison on the battlefield promptly rotted and exploded into clouds of green and yellow poison mists that infected even more creatures. Part of the souls of the dead would turn into faint white light and gather around the Spirit of Pestilence, causing its aura to grow ever stronger.

It had been so long since the Spirit of Pestilence had started following Greem, but it had never truly had a full meal. Greem was already a Second Grade adept, yet it was still an advanced Second Grade. It was indeed an insult to its title as Soul Equipment.

Today, upon this bloody battlefield, Greem had finally released all its limitations and gave it the right to kill and slaughter as it pleased.

Bug Adept Billis and a slew of Crimson adepts were also among the number active on the battlefield.

Billis’ direction of evolution fated him to be unsuited to battles between powerhouses. Instead, chaotic battlefields like these were his true calling.

The black beetles beat their two pairs of wings, forming a black flood that thrashed across the battlefield, tearing and devouring every native they ran across. Meanwhile, the five Void Reavers led the eleven magical mantises, turning into living whirlwinds as they swept wildly across the battleground.

The plane natives boldly charging at the forefront of the smoking chaos of the battlefield found their heads suddenly fling into the sky as they sprinted forward, a fountain of blood spurting from the stumps that were their necks.

The Void Reavers that were capable of hiding between the interspatial layers were invisible demons to the plane natives. Their lives were harvested without even figuring out the location or shapes of the enemies.

Meanwhile, the magical mantises with their inferior stealth would appear all over the battlefield, using their extreme speed to go uncontested amongst the enemies. They wildly slaughtered one enemy after another.

They consciously avoided the tougher and hardier opponents, choosing the weaker plane natives as their targets. In this way, they dominated the battlefield without any contest.

Dana and Charon also stepped onto the battlefield with their tribe members, slaughtering those who had slipped through the cracks of the magical machines. It didn’t matter whether it was Dana’s snake arrows or Charon’s aerial dives. Every one of their attacks was lethal to the unarmored plane natives.

Even when they ran into the occasional tough guy, Medusa would only need to exhaust her power to fire a Petrifying Gaze at close range, and the enemy would turn into a helpless target.

With the increasing expansion of the Crimson Clan, their chances of performing on the battlefield were quickly decreasing. Thus, they valued such an opportunity even more and were both battling with all they had.

Meanwhile, Second Grade Gru stood tall upon the back of the golem dragon, thousands of winding, serpent-like energy chains extending from his body. The magical golem dragon beneath him was not participating in the battle. Instead, it radiated similar energy chains as Gru, only in more significant numbers and denser concentration.

These energy chains swam and extended into the air, occasionally connecting with individual goblin chariots or skyships. Whenever the energy chains made a connection, plenty of magical energy would flow into the machine through the white chains.

It was through Gru and the golem dragon’s constant provision of energy that these one hundred chariots and one thousand magical machines could slaughter and attack without stopping. Otherwise, a battle of such intensity should have drained them of all their magical energy.

Meryl sat within the command center of the Mothership, acting as the highest command on the entire battlefield. Meanwhile, the Second Grade Crimson adepts that excelled at combat and slaughter were standing upon the deck of the Mothership, looking at the dragonflight circling in the skies.

Standing before all of them was Greem, Mary, Alice, and the elementium magical machine.

Greem had placed his fire clone within the elementium magical machine, serving as a copy of the Chip.

Meanwhile, he personally stood at the edge of the deck, coldly surveying the dragon lords.

Trading fodder? In all seriousness, the Crimson Clan had never lost the edge in a contest of fodder since obtaining the Goblin Plane.

Once most of their cannon fodder had been whittled away, these dragons would probably not be able to resist the urge to step onto the battlefield.

That was when today’s battle would truly start!

Greem waited in cold silence.