The warm, heavy humidity of the southern ocean was nothing more than a fading memory in the biting, high-altitude winds.
Antares tore through the sky at supersonic speed, his obsidian armor reassembled and locked into place against the freezing air. His midnight cloak snapped violently behind him, cutting a black path through the grey cloud layer.
Below him, the vast, empty land shifted like a massive tapestry—the dense emerald jungles of the south gave way to the rolling central plains, which gradually melted into the temperate pine canopies of the Stagfall Forest, before finally yielding to the jagged, ice-crusted tundras of the North.
Flanking him in a flawless formation was Adam. The firstborn Red Son flew silently, his polarized visor reflecting the pale sunlight, his crimson mana aura humming smoothly as he matched his Sovereign's blistering pace.
As the air grew colder and the towering, white-capped peaks of the Godwall Mountains rose like monolithic sentinels against the northern horizon, Antares allowed his mind to drift back over the grueling, transformative events of the past month.
A full month had passed since the meeting in the white command tent. Thirty days of endless labor, blood, sweat and sometimes tears.
The first major milestone had come from the men themselves. When discussing what to name the newly claimed coastal territory, Yajin, Lady Sira, and the Ashfang captains had presented a unanimous petition.
They wanted to name the emerging stronghold Antisport—a homage to the Antis royal bloodline and the long lineage of Ant Kings who had bled to preserve and defend their people.
Antares had accepted the name with a quiet, solemn nod. For now, Antisport was far from a sprawling, golden metropolis. It was a fortified forward outpost—a perimeter of thick basalt palisades, reinforced timber barracks, a secured deep-water beachhead, and temporary stables holding the newly acquired Sand Steeds. But it was a stake driven firmly into the earth. The Hive officially held the ocean.
The jungle, however, had not surrendered its ground without a fight.
Three weeks into the construction, the wild southern wilderness tested the new trespassers. Under the cover of a pitch-black tropical thunderstorm, a massive pack of over two hundred high-tier jungle raptors—led by a monstrous, scale-armored Alpha Raptor the size of a bus ambushed the southern camp.
The assault would have obliterated a lousy camp, but the beasts had run directly into a meat grinder. The Ashfang warriors, itching for a fight after weeks of chopping down trees and hauling stone, met the pack with savage delight painting the mud crimson.
The nine Red Sons together with Adam stationed on the line moved like silent blurs of absolute execution, turning the raptor pack's flanking maneuvers into a slaughter.
Antares himself had stepped into the battle to face the Alpha Raptor. The duel had lasted less than ten seconds. Channeling his aura into Eos, Antares cleanly sidestepped the beast's lunging bite and delivered a single, decapitating slash that cleanly severed the Alpha's head and shattered the surrounding trees with the resulting shockwave.
The remaining raptors fled back into the jungle, leaving the corpse of their alpha behind, It was a warning to the rest of the jungle.
Following the raptor attack, Prince Tayron's cargo fleet had made its final scheduled deliveries off the coast of Antisport.
The Redbeard ships had unloaded cargo that went far beyond mere grains. Massive wooden crates of live cargo were ferried to the beach—hardy mountain goats, sturdy cattle,swines, and flocks of fowls.
Alongside the livestock came tons of high-yield root crops specifically requested by Antares himself, potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, and resilient legumes capable of thriving in varied soil conditions.
Antares's vision was absolute self-sustainability.
The Ant Tribe could no longer rely solely on underground celcanes, mushrooms and wild hunting. To feed a population that would soon number in the hundreds of thousands, surface agriculture had to be established across the central plains.
When the last crate was unloaded, Prince Tayron stood on the wooden dock of his flagship, looking at the Ant King one last time.
There were no false promises of friendship between them, but a deep, pragmatic respect had been forged.
The Redbeards weighed anchor and sailed back out to the deep waters of the Great Southern Ocean, leaving behind a lucrative trade route and an alliance bound by coin, blood, and mutual interest.
Before departing the South, a fierce debate had taken place regarding troop disposition.
They had one thousand Ashfang warriors, ten Red Sons, eight hundred Sand Steeds, and thousands of tons of supplies that needed to be moved across an entire territory.
Ultimately, Antares had made the final tactical decree.
Three hundred veteran Ashfang warriors were ordered to remain behind at Antisport. Their sole objective was to maintain perimeter security, tend to the livestock, and continuously harvest stone and ironwood, stockpiling construction materials for the future city walls and other constructions that would take place in the near future.
The remaining seven hundred Ashfang warriors, along with nine of the Red Sons, were assigned to escort the massive supply caravan North. Led by Lord Yajin and Lady Sira, this procession was a moving fortress—hundreds of Sand Steeds hauling grain, seeds, and livestock across the central wilderness.
Because of the sheer volume of cargo, the caravan's march would take nearly three weeks or a month to reach the Northern stronghold.
Antares, however, could not afford to wait three weeks.
The North required his immediate oversight.
The excavation of the discovered clay pits needed to be examined by him since the whole operation was still quite risky because of the lack of men.
Lord Velas's mage program needed to show results, and General Yanrid needed to be prepared for the massive influx of supplies and for it's direct transfer to the underground settlement.
Leaving Yajin and Sira to command the grand march, Antares took only Adam as his guard and took to the skies, flying ahead at supersonic speeds to prepare the surface camp for the arrival of the southern wealth they had acquired.
The memories dissipated like mist as the freezing air of the North slammed against Antares's visor.
The barren, snow-covered landscape stretched out below, a bleak contrast to the vibrant green jungle he had left behind just hours ago. Up ahead, the crude wooden palisades which was already as good as new, watchtowers, pined tents and fires of the Northern Surface Camp came into view.
Antares could see tiny figures moving along the snow-draped perimeter—Vanguard sentries on high alert, scanning the white expanse for monster incursions and foragers all around.
Antares turned his head slightly toward the silent commander flying beside him.
"We have arrived!" Antares shouted, his voice cutting cleanly through the howling northern gale.
Adam nodded once, his crimson aura flaring in response.
Antares angled his body downward, his core igniting with a deep, thunderous hum.
A massive, radiant halo of crimson and black aura erupted around his form, completely enveloping him and Adam as they went into a steep, nose-first dive. They pierced through the low-hanging snow clouds like two falling meteors, trailing plumes of superheated air behind them.
BOOM.
The air above the northern camp shattered with a deafening sonic boom.
The Arcanis mages on the wooden watchtowers and wall scrambled, shouting in alarm as they raised started chanting incantations to prepare their spells, believing an aerial monster attack was underway.
Lieutenant Xeras snapped his head toward the heavens from the central courtyard, his amber eyes narrowing beneath his visor as he recognized the distinct, terrifying mana signature.
"Hold your fire!" Xeras's voice roared across the camp. "It is the King!, He has returned."
A split second later, Antares and Adam slammed into the frozen earth directly in front of the camp's massive wooden gates.
KABOOM!
The impact detonated the permafrost, throwing a thirty-foot wall of snow, shattered ice, and loose gravel high into the freezing air.
The shockwave rattled the massive timber gates and sent a violent tremor through the palisade walls.
As the blinding cloud of snow slowly settled, the light around the crater dissipated.
Antares stood tall in the center of the depression, his midnight cloak swirling around his dark armor and his eyes fixed on the heavy wooden gates of the settlement he was about to transform into the crown of his future empire.