Dracotitán

The immense power fluctuations caused by the ancient dragons besieging Berlain attracted more and more legendary undead as time passed. Nearly forty legends joined the battle, creating a disturbance of such scale and level that it was like a second sun appearing in the sky, impossible to ignore for nearby powerhouses.

Each time a legendary undead arrived, an ancient dragon was forced to leave the battlefield to intercept. Even though these legendary undead seemed to be slacking off, their mere presence already restrained the fighting strength of the ancient dragons.

Fortunately for the dragons, they too received reinforcements. More ancient dragons tore through space from other continents, crossing vast distances to join the fray, guided by the messages left by the first group of ancient dragons. However, due to time and distance constraints, only three more ancient dragons had arrived to aid the first batch.

Luckily, because they continuously overpowered Berlain, the once fearsome great lich was in a pitiful state. Four of his ten legendary undead dragons, painstakingly crafted by him, had already been destroyed by the ancient dragons.

This filled Berlain with anger and sorrow, shaking his very soul. He had invested nearly all his assets into his undead dragon army, so when his fellow council members demanded payment, he had nothing to offer.

The other option, using undead dragons to repay his debts, was out of the question. Even if it meant death, he refused to give up the undead dragons he had so painstakingly created. His obsession with dragons, or more precisely, undead dragons, had reached an extremely unhealthy and twisted extent. He was enduring tremendous physical torture and mental agony as he helplessly watched his creations being destroyed.

Adding to his fury was the realization that the legendary undead he had hoped would rescue him were blatantly slacking off. The first legendary undead who arrived with a tide of vengeful spirits had swallowed up the ancient silver dragon and then went completely silent, showing no signs of battle.

The second, a legendary dark knight, hadn't landed a single blow on the yellow jade ancient dragon and was clearly faking the fight. Were they treating him like a fool? And the third, a stitched corpse, did the same...

Although such lack of effort infuriated Berlain, they did at least occupy an ancient dragon each, slightly easing the pressure on him, allowing him a breather.

But when the ninth legendary lich arrived, something infuriating happened — Berlain swore that if he still had flesh and blood, he would have vomited blood in anger.

The ninth legendary undead, drawn by the battle's fluctuations, was a traditional lich, unlike Berlain or Barbosa, commanding a typical undead army with skeletons, vengeful spirits, ghouls, abominations, dark knights, gargoyles, and all other varieties of undead.

As this traditional great lich arrived, an ancient dragon was preparing to leave the battlefield to intercept him. That's when the first legendary undead who arrived with the vengeful spirits called out for help.

"Yarman, this ancient silver dragon is too strong, I can't hold on, come help me!" A shameless plea echoed across the battlefield, accompanied by overly dramatic screams.

Even the lesser intelligent undead on the battlefield knew these screams were fake. But the newly arrived legendary lich believed it.

"Goodrian, hold on, I'm coming to support you," the great lich cackled, leading his army of undead into the still, green-glowing tide of vengeful spirits, disappearing from view.

And then... nothing. The ancient gold dragon, Yarvis, seeing this, turned to join the fray in the tide of vengeful spirits to aid the ancient silver dragon.

But halfway there, Yarvis seemed to receive a message from the ancient silver dragon and returned to the main battlefield, continuing to pound a legendary skeletal dragon — almost to the point of breaking it.

As more legendary undead arrived, a pattern formed. Whenever a new legendary undead reached the battlefield, one of the slacking ones would cry for help, claiming they were about to be defeated by an ancient dragon and needed urgent assistance.

And every legendary undead who came to help would immediately understand the situation upon seeing Berlain being pummeled by a group of ancient dragons and join the others in "supporting" their struggling comrades, openly slacking off.

The sentiment was clear: why risk your life for someone who offers nothing in return?

Berlain, under the relentless assault of the ancient dragons, understood that the legendary undead of the Council would not help him.

Even the Sovereign of Ghosts, Basalom, who had shown interest in him, proved unreliable. The fleeting, intimidating presences he felt in the sky made him realize that the kings of the dragon race were involved, and he should no longer expect any rescue.

"Do I have to rely on self-destruction again?" Berlain pondered, his soul fire flickering within his cracked, crystal-clear skull.

Just then, at the edge of the battlefield, space tore open, and a kilometer-long ghostly ironclad ship led the way. It was followed by hundreds of variously sized ghost ships, all shrouded in a gray-black fog of undead essence, with thick, snake-like black energies coursing between them.

At the forefront of the leading ironclad, a great lich wearing a tricornered captain's hat stood, exuding the aura of a pirate king who had conquered the seas.

"Barbosa, save me!" Berlain saw the millennia-old lich and saw a glimmer of hope. He sent a desperate message, "Just hold off these ancient dragons for a moment to let me escape, and I'll give you half of my undead dragon army."

Barbosa looked up, not at Berlain, but at a higher position in the sky.

Then, his gaze shifted downward, briefly glancing at the pitiful six legendary undead dragons near Berlain.

Finally, he looked towards the largest battlefield in the region and saw Muria dominating and slaying freely.

"I've found a powerful ancient dragon hiding its presence. I'll hold it off for you first. I'm too busy to help you now, hold on by yourself!" Without hesitation, the undead ship captain Barbosa refused.

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