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"This time, our mission takes place in the mid-region of the Abyssal Battlefield, specifically the rubble-filled hills on the eastern shore of the Viscous Lake. Since we have some newcomers joining us, I'll explain things a bit more clearly—veterans, bear with me."
Uncle Tian, now clad in a brand-new, full-body exosuit, spoke in a booming, confident voice. By his side was an enormous armored creature with a black-and-white coat and a gentle, adorable appearance—it was a panda-like magical beast.
Pandas, Pandaren, and Iron-Eaters share a close biological relationship, though the three are distinct species. Cute, docile pandas are ordinary animals, not magical beings, and they live under the care and protection of the Pandaren. Iron-Eaters, on the other hand, are born with magical abilities. They occasionally emerge from ordinary pandas, much like how some humans are born as wizards. As innate magical creatures, Iron-Eaters possess power, lifespans, and body sizes far beyond their mundane counterparts.
They are among the rare apex predators capable of going toe-to-toe with dragons and giants, sharing the same combat tier as the Frost Tyrant Bears of the Arctic Icefields.
However, Iron-Eaters maintain extremely close bonds with the Pandaren. The two often form cavalry units together, a signature of the Pandaren forces. These partners are able to share magic, strength, and even vitality—making their synergy far greater than the sum of their parts.
Uncle Tian's squad included two full teams of Pandaren cavalry—childhood friends he trusted more than anyone else on the battlefield. When Harry received his portion of the special alloy, he couldn't help but share some with his own superior, but the remaining 70% went entirely to equipping these two squads. The enhanced anti-magic metal plating finally allowed them to unleash their true potential.
"Why wouldn't we help?"
"No problem at all!"
The round-faced Pandaren beamed as they chimed in cheerfully, looking toward the battle regiment with warm, friendly eyes.
"It's been nine months since the last demonic tide," Uncle Tian continued. "Based on previous patterns, the next one should arrive in roughly two and a half to three months. During this interim period, our top priority is to reduce the number of centurion- and myriarch-level demons. The low-tier cannon fodder aren't much of a threat, but once a myriarch appears, it can grant those fodder demons various troublesome enhancements."
"Our target area spans approximately 120 square kilometers. Within it, at least three demon raiding parties are roaming, each led by three centurions. If we don't eliminate them before the tide hits, they'll likely merge—and once they do, a new myriarch-level demon will emerge. Our mission is to swiftly eliminate these three demon squads. We don't have to wipe them out entirely, but we must retrieve all demon corpses of centurion rank or higher. Leaving behind too many remnants would be dangerous."
"Each of the three demon squads numbers between 2,500 and 3,300. As the tide approaches, their ranks will gradually swell to full strength. These groups will continue absorbing smaller, weaker squads and may even start turning on each other to fill internal gaps. Don't let their stone-brained appearance fool you—these demons may not be geniuses, but they're far from stupid."
"I know you've already dealt with a few small-scale raiding parties that included centurions, but let me be clear: destroying scattered remnants like those is no cause for pride. What you'll be facing now is a fully structured, organized demon military force."
"Everyone, check your equipment and supplies. We move out in three minutes."
"Roger that!"
The group responded in unison, then immediately set about final checks at their squad's supply station. This mission would take them over six hundred kilometers away from the Fortress City, meaning they had to carry everything themselves. The harsh, unpredictable terrain of the Abyss made logistics incredibly difficult, so they needed to be fully prepared before departure.
"Feeling nervous, Harry?"
Uncle Tian walked over and gave Harry a firm pat on the shoulder. "This isn't some minor skirmish anymore. From here on, follow my lead. Don't go doing anything reckless."
"I know, Uncle Tian. We won't cause any trouble," Harry nodded with a small grin. "But no, I'm not nervous. If anything, I'm a little excited."
"You've got some nerve, kid," Uncle Tian chuckled. "But that's not a bad thing. Better than those softies who freeze up the moment they hit the battlefield. Make sure your team understands—centurions aren't scary in and of themselves, but the ones nearing a breakthrough? Those are the real threats. If you see a centurion targeting one of ours, forget everything else. If you can't take it down immediately, pull out and regroup with the main force. Myriarchs and centurions are two entirely different beasts, and they're nasty pieces of work."
"I ran into one before that could teleport its entire squad in an instant. One second they were gone, the next they were in our faces. Damn mutts almost wiped out my whole team."
"Well, that's not a problem anymore," Harry said, patting the heavy exosuit covering Uncle Tian. The thick, anti-magic plating was more than enough to let them fully unleash their close-quarters combat abilities.
"If I had this back then, I'd have smashed that stone-brained bastard into rubble!"
Uncle Tian pulled a massive segmented steel rod from his back—easily as thick as an average person's thigh and weighing at least two to three tons. He swung it effortlessly like it was a toy. "This club was made just for them. I've had enough of being pushed around."
"We still have a little time. Double-check your gear—everything on the list is essential. We'll be out there for seven or eight days, and there's no resupply run waiting for us."
A few minutes later, the two Pandaren cavalry teams and the battle regiment completed their final checks and passed through the gates of Fortress City, entering the bleak, lifeless expanse of the Abyss.
They leapt across rivers of rainbow-sheened toxic oil, then followed a winding trail laid with red sandstone. As they left the relative safety of the hundred-kilometer zone around Fortress City, the sky above grew increasingly gray and lifeless. The air began to reek of something foul—an unsettling mix of sulfur and rotting fermentation.
As they advanced, the source of the odor soon revealed itself. Though life was not supposed to exist in the Abyssal battlefield, a bizarre "flower field" suddenly appeared at the roadside. The blossoms were gray-red and bloomed with a sinister flourish. Each flower resembled a mouth filled with jagged teeth, its petals forming twisted, grotesque patterns. Flat, bluish-green leaves hugged the ground tightly, carpeting the terrain like some ancient and alien tapestry.
(End of Chapter)