The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1902: To The Last Drop of Blood (1)

Word arrived of an impending enemy assault.

A vast multitude was on the move.

Soldiers and laborers scurried with haste and a palpable sense of urgency, ascending mechanical lifts, embedding precious gems into the colossal ancient mechanism, and etching intricate runes around the luminous blue core within. A biting cold pervaded the cavern, yet it was a familiar sensation to these individuals.

Having endured life in a frigid and unforgiving environment for generations, the cold had become an insignificant aspect of their existence.

Against their dense, hirsute skin, the ambient temperature posed no discomfort.

"Hurry it up!" a commander, astride a mutated war bear and speaking with a thick dwarven brogue, barked out instructions as he surveyed the other dwarves diligently working on the contraption. "Complete this marvel, and ensure it's flawless. Take pride in your artistry. Allow no imperfection to mar its form, for this day marks its debut to the world!"

"Aye—!"

"Huzzah—!"

Across the expansive cavern, another figure, also mounted on a war bear, observed with keen, piercing eyes.

He scrutinized every minute detail of the dwarves' labor, ensuring absolute adherence to the blueprints.

No room for error.

At this crucial juncture, any mistake was simply unaffordable.

"This is our defining moment. The empire faces assault. Foes advance upon the capital city—intent on defiling our sacred metropolis with their vile intentions. They seek to corrupt the hallowed ground that fostered the dawn of peace. We shall not permit such a desecration."

"Aye—!"

Hundreds of dwarves rhythmically struck their chests, emitting a unified roar.

"We dwarves decree: Absolutely not!"

"Aye—!"

Another unified thudding against their chests.

"We dwarves shall halt their advance and transform this frozen land into their final resting place!"

"Aye—!"

A thunderous chorus from the hundreds of dwarves resonated throughout the entire chamber, surging upwards towards an aperture where a fierce blizzard raged. Even against the onslaught of frigid air, their triumphant cries dispersed, reaching the dwarven populace beyond.

Every single individual was aware of the unfolding events.

They knew the Clarentium Empire was under siege.

And collectively, they had resolved to erect an impenetrable bulwark.

A fortification formidable enough to hold the line and repulse the encroaching adversaries.

It was through the Clarentium Empire's intervention that the Dwarven Kingdom still stood today. Had the empire not offered its aid, their realm would have been reduced to ruins by the merciless onslaught of Demons. Now, the chance to repay that profound debt had arrived.

And the Dwarven Kingdom would undoubtedly seize this opportunity.

"Your Majesty," a dwarf clad in full plate armor, radiating an aura of power that belied his rank, paused at the precipice and offered a salute to an imposing figure—a dwarf firmly grasping a colossal ice hammer. "The emissaries have returned. Both the Elves and Dark Elves have dispatched a thousand workers each to bolster our mining efforts. They are already on-site and have remarkably enhanced productivity. Osmalt ore extraction rates are projected to escalate substantially."

Ever since the world began reverting to its primordial state, materials from the ancient epochs had resurfaced.

Among these was the Osmalt Ore.

This ore, known for its immense energy density, served as a potent fuel source during antiquity.

Dwarves were never celebrated for their martial prowess, even when compared to other mid-tier supernatural beings.

Their true brilliance resided elsewhere—in intricate machinery, in masterful engineering, and in potent runes, enabling the creation of armaments capable of shifting the balance of power between kingdoms. Now, as if divinely ordained, vast deposits of Osmalt Ore had been discovered beneath the loftiest peak of the Dwarven Kingdom.

A treasure concealed within the bedrock.

And from the moment of its discovery, the Dwarven Kingdom had dedicated its efforts to its extraction.

To elevate their civilization.

However, they also foresaw future calamities, such as the current crisis, and had already made prudent preparations.

The Rastrikan Demons would have utterly annihilated them had the Clarentium Empire not intervened. If the emperor himself had not personally repelled the demonic forces, their very race would have faced extinction. That harrowing brush with annihilation left an indelible scar. Never again would they suffer such a fate. Consequently, the dwarves embarked upon their monumental undertaking.

They forged their own instrument of ultimate destruction.

Fueled by an unyielding will for survival, the entirety of the Dwarven Kingdom was compelled to focus solely on this singular objective for months on end.

And it had reached its completion nearly a month prior.

Adversity arrived precisely when it was needed most.

"How many volleys? How many times can we discharge it?" King Huvuki inquired.

Not long before this moment, he had emerged from his hermitage, revealing himself as a powerhouse of the ninth-rank realm. While many still surpassed him in strength, his dominion over the frozen lands had ascended with his breakthrough. He possessed not merely the might of an ordinary ninth-rank entity.

"Ten. Ten cannonballs. Only two of those are Eternity-frost Cannonballs."

"And our current output? How many more can we produce within an hour?"

"Either two additional standard cannonballs, though it may pose risks given the current urgency. Or, one Eternity-frost Cannonball."

"Make the latter," King Huvuki declared, shouldering his ice hammer as he intensely scanned the horizon. "Prepare to awaken the Sleet Blizzard Bear. Additionally, retrieve the Amuerus Katana replica and dispatch someone to deliver it to the Tigermen."

"Your Highness, that replica is a treasured gift designated for Lord Kyran! To part with it is already a significant issue, but to hand it over to the Tigermen...? That is surely to—"

"Just deliver it. The circumstances do not permit hesitation."

King Huvuki’s sharp gaze fell upon the dwarf, an unspoken warning against further questioning of his decree.

He, more than anyone, harbored the greatest reluctance to bestow the item upon the Tigermen.

However, this was not the opportune moment for personal sentiment.

"Present it to them and instruct them to wield it with purpose," he stated, his gaze returning to the distance. "Moreover, should our endeavors succeed in quelling this threat, we can petition the emperor for restitution. Naturally, we shall claim a portion of whatever the Tigermen receive in exchange for the katana."

Miles away from the Dwarven Kingdom's domain.

A vast formation, stretching a mile in length, was meticulously maintained, with one hundred totems positioned along its perimeter.

At the formation's core, the very heart of the ritual, stood a Tigerman. Broad and robust, yet possessed of an odd lack of distinction. Possibly larger than the others, but in no way did he stand out. The characteristic black stripes adorned him, as did the same attire and the identical energy signature. He appeared as a flawless copy amongst countless others.

And it was this very absence of unique traits that, paradoxically, made him remarkable.

Perhaps this was the reason for his central placement within the formation.

Because he truly embodied the quintessential constitution of a Tigerman.

Throughout the expanse of the formation, a thousand Tigermen were dispersed.

Each of them possessed a strength and a distinctiveness in appearance far surpassing that of the central Tigerman.

"Similar to the Dark Elves, our kingdom finds itself on the defensive," the newly appointed King remarked, placing a hand upon the ordinary Tigerman's shoulder. This was not a gesture of casual camaraderie, but rather the symbolic settling of a mantle of authority. "This presents our paramount opportunity to ascend. To demonstrate our value to the empire. To the Emperor himself." His grip tightened infinitesimally. "This is the sacrifice we are prepared to make. And our destiny, Maraka, now rests within your grasp."

Merely an hour prior, the kingdom had received an urgent missive from Lord Flunra.

Without the slightest delay, the entirety of the kingdom had mobilized to prepare this long-forgotten ritual of ancient times.

A ritual intended to bring forth a champion.

Maraka surveyed his surroundings.

His gaze swept over each of his brethren, individuals prepared to lay down their lives for the sake of the kingdom.

To offer their lives that he might become the champion of the Tigerman Race.

"Following this ritual, you shall merge with the essence of nature. After this ritual, you shall experience a rebirth. Following this ritual," the King paused, allowing the profound silence to amplify his pronouncement. "You will emerge as the Champion of the Beasts—one who embodies the collective will and potential of a thousand. Do us justice, Maraka."

"I embrace this profound burden wholeheartedly," Maraka responded with a resolute nod. "I shall fight with every last ounce of my being."

"Rraarghk!"

With immense force, the King sliced his own palm and pressed it firmly into the earth.

Every sigil comprising the formation blazed with an intense luminescence, engulfing the entire ritualistic area.

He then leaped away, landing at the formation’s edge, and watched as the other Tigermen were systematically dismantled. The formation absorbed them entirely, their souls and bodies alike, breaking them down into a potent sustenance that flowed directly towards Maraka. One by one, cries of extreme agony pierced the air, rising and falling in a tragic cadence.

This symphony of suffering was so profoundly haunting that Maraka winced with each rising note.

Every single one of them was a willing sacrifice.

Esteemed warriors who had honed their skills over centuries of conflict.

Yet, even for them, the excruciating sensation of their very beings being siphoned away by the formation proved overwhelmingly unbearable.

It far surpassed the limits of their legendary pain tolerance.

It was an agonizing demise; nevertheless, for the prosperity of the kingdom, they would willingly endure such torment repeatedly.

Maraka could perceive a fundamental alteration in his physical form. He felt enhanced, perfected. With each subtle tremor and surge of newfound power, the immense weight of his responsibility grew heavier upon his shoulders. Each soul his body assimilated carried with it the fervent conviction of unwavering service to the kingdom.

And through this, his resolve to protect and secure the kingdom's future multiplied a thousandfold.

ROAR—!

A mighty roar erupted from his throat as the sheer magnitude of his accumulated power exploded outwards.

Its concussive wave propagated across vast distances, but fortunately, the surrounding area was desolate.

Only an expansive tract of earth, perfectly suited for this very ritual.

The King instinctively raised a hand to shield his face as the shockwave emanated. When he lowered his guard and gazed upon the center of the formation, only a gaping crater remained. Maraka gave the impression of having vanished entirely. He had been selected due to his ideal Tigerman physique—and possessing a power level sufficiently low to remain beneath the ritual's absorption threshold.

Specifically, below the seventh-rank realm.

Upon the ritual's successful culmination, the designated Tigerman would be bestowed with extraordinary potential.

A potential capable of elevating him to a level of strength far exceeding the standard for a Tigerman.

Despite its initial effects, the Tigerman Kingdom ultimately decided to proceed with the ritual.

For one full day following its completion, the chosen Tigerman would possess the combined might of a thousand sacrificed brethren. This immense power surge was more than sufficient to propel Maraka far beyond the limits of the ninth-rank realm.

Perhaps it could even allow him to brush against the fringes of the pseudo-tenth rank.

A single day of unparalleled strength, purchased with the lives of a thousand souls.

However, a significant complication existed.

In eras past, this very ritual was performed when the Tigerman subject was still youthful, enabling them to mature into a formidable powerhouse.

It had never been enacted upon an individual as advanced in age as Maraka, leading the King to harbor anxieties about a potential ritual failure.

Yet, these concerns proved to be short-lived.

Maraka’s hand gripped the precipice of the crater, the rough earth yielding under his touch.

A pulsating, crimson aura emanated from his hold—and even this precarious grip fractured the very ground beneath his fingers. With surprising ease, he hauled himself upward, drawing the King’s astonished gaze before straightening his spine, which now seemed unnaturally elongated.

His form expanded, evolving into something far more imposing, the very pinnacle of Tigerman physique.

As he stood to his full height, Maraka blinked and looked down at the King.

Indeed, he was looking *down*.

Maraka now commanded an astonishing height of ten feet. His limbs had elongated to predatory perfection, and his muscles, now vastly thicker and denser, coiled with every breath as if anticipating imminent combat. A potent energy thrummed through his entire being, concentrating with ferociously on his hands.

His hands had become semi-translucent, revealing the swirling, destructive orange power contained within.

It resembled a tempest captured within crystalline confines.

A scarlet vapor now sizzled from his entire body as the ritual compelled him to unleash his Red Force.

A guttural growl rumbled from his throat as he began to gauge the extent of his newfound might.

The instant he attempted to channel the Red Force, the ground beneath his feet fractured catastrophically.

It felt as though his weight had suddenly increased tenfold.

"Champion of the Beast," the King proclaimed, arms outstretched with a ferocious grin. "You shall lead our people into the fray. Demonstrate to all that the Tigerman Race is not to be trifled with. Prove our strength, our capacity to exceed all expectations."

"I will..." Maraka responded, his voice now resonating with an unnatural, echoing depth.

Another Tigerman approached from a distance, bearing a long, ornate wooden case.

Halting near the King and Maraka, he knelt respectfully, presenting the object. "Your Highness. The Dwarves have dispatched this. King Huvuki’s message was clear: we are to utilize this weapon to its fullest potential and assist them in repelling the encroaching horde."

The King surveyed the katana housed within the case, a smirk playing on his lips.