Weapon seller in the world of magic

Twelve hours later.

The unnamed planet had become a chessboard.

Legion 52 was split cleanly into two forces.

The first half, nearly eighty thousand strong, remained in the same location they had camped for days. A wide, open plain now cleared of structures—no shields, no barriers, no visible defense mechanisms. Just tents, bare dirt, and soldiers in loose formations.

To an outsider, it looked abandoned. Exposed.

A perfect target to even strike.

On the opposite side of the planet, 9,000 kilometers away, where night still cloaked the terrain, was the second half of the army. The camp was a fortress.

Layered seals shimmered like faint ripples in the air. A barrier hummed like a restrained beast. At every point, mages stood guard, maintaining the perimeter.

At the center of that night camp, Second Vice Commander Fang Zhou stood atop a steel observation tower, monocle glinting in the moonlight. He was making sure to keep the barrier active so that the enemies wouldn't be able to sense their presence unless they saw them with their own eyes.

Back on the first side—under the full glare of the sun—the silence was finally interrupted by a deep hum in the air.

The soldiers stopped what they were doing and looked up.

A circular portal unfurled high above the sky like an opening eye.

And from within… emerged a fleet of flying boats—sleek, wooden, bearing the golden crest of the Feline Empire.

Each vessel was packed to the brim with elite soldiers in silver-white armor, their weapons radiating a terrifying aura. Even though they were practically beasts, many of these feline creatures had flying mounts, but of another race.

In the center ship, a larger figure stood at the prow, white robes fluttering in the wind, mane-like hair trailing behind him.

Around the White Lion King stood six Vice Generals, each a monster in their own right. Behind them, an army of ascendant and transcendent-level beasts awaits the command. Feline archmages in sleek robes. Panthra dual-blade assassins. Massive tiger-kin berserkers with ether-draining chains wrapped around their arms.

In the center command tent below, the Sky Pavilion Sect Commander stood stiffly, peering through the scrying mirror. The reflected image of the fleet glowed against his dark eyes.

"I can sense at least a hundred transcendants (11-circle)," he murmured. "And a dozen first stage transcendants (12-circle)"

His brow twitched slightly as he felt the oppressive force radiating from the white-gold barge.

"and him. The White Lion King. A true second-stage transcendant (13-circle) was also here.)

He gritted his teeth.

"They sent their royal elite, going all out to face our legion. I wonder what's going on with the other legions."

He then turned slightly to the side, toward the viewing slit in the tent that pointed toward the distant cliff edge.

There, standing like a lone spear before the storm, was Mark.

Hands in his pockets. The coat flapped gently in the breeze. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was like a mountain. Steady and calm.

The Commander's expression darkened. "Let's hope," he whispered, "this Lu Zhen's insane plan actually works."

His fingers clenched behind his back. "Because if it doesn't, we'll all die in minutes without any protective barriers."

Meanwhile, on the White Lion King's flagship…

"Since when did these humans become this reckless? No protective barriers at all?" asked one of the Vice Generals, a lean, panther-like figure with twin sabers and a bloodstained tail.

The vast fleet of flying ships cast enormous shadows across the war-torn plains as thousands of feline warriors stared down at the ground troops who… weren't doing anything.

No panic.

No scrambling to take formation.

No attempts at defense.

Just humans, standing there. Almost awkwardly.

At the center of the field, the Commander of Legion 52 stood waving a blue flag, looking incredibly out of place. His back was stiff, face tight with restrained frustration, but he didn't falter.

He swallowed his pride and waved the flag harder.

Across the Immortal Plane, the colors of battlefield flags were a language everyone understood.

White: surrender.

Green: messenger.

Yellow: caution.

Red: war declaration.

Blue: negotiation proposal.

A snort escaped one of the Vice Generals beside the White Lion King, a tall feline general with snow-white fur and jagged scars across his arms. "We shouldn't trust the humans," the Snow Leopard King growled, eyes sweeping the terrain. "It smells like an ambush."

The White Lion King scoffed.

"Ambush? Look at them. Their commander looks like he wants to cry. Barely a hundred of them have enough strength to even qualify for a real battle. I bet they weren't expecting me to bring Elite Fleet 12. They knew that we would attack them if they had protective barriers. It seemed like they wanted to talk. Perhaps, negotiate to get out of here safely."

At his side, the Sand Cat Demoness—her waist draped lazily across his thick arm like a scarf made of silk and murder—purred into his ear. "Whether the negotiations succeed or not, we should slaughter them afterward," she said with a smile that held no warmth. "The Empress doesn't intend to take prisoners this time, after all."

The White Lion King grinned, sharp teeth gleaming in the light of the sun. "That goes without saying."

But the Snow Leopard King's eyes narrowed. His senses twitched. He scanned the plains, the horizon, and the cliffs. "Something's really off."

The ships began descending. Formations shifted.

Then came the thunder of impact.

The White Lion King, ever the prideful beast, leapt from his flagship in a fluid arc, crashing down to the cracked earth with a boom that sent dust spiraling.

He straightened, folding his arms. His golden fur shimmered with internal ether as he smirked at the human commander.

"So?" he said, voice booming across the field. "What did you want to talk about?"

The Commander didn't reply.

Instead, he threw the blue flag aside.

"Now!"

The shout split the air.

Before the first feline could react, mages all across the barren camp raised their staves as one. Glyphs ignited. Seals burned beneath the ships and troops.

"It's a trap!" the Snow Leopard King snarled. "I knew it."

"Attack," shouted another vice general.

A heartbeat later, it was too late.

Mass teleportation glyphs, etched in invisible stardust and charged through the night, flared to life in daytime.

At once, every single human soldier vanished.

Only the confused, stunned, and suddenly exposed feline invaders remained, thousands of them stranded in an open field.

"Uhh… they ran away?"

The White Lion King's golden eyes widened. "How—how dare you fool me!?"

His voice thundered for a moment, but then he turned, scanning the area in fury—until his eyes locked onto a singular figure standing a kilometer away.

On the jagged cliff above the battlefield.

A lone man. One hand in his coat pocket. The other lifted casually, and a smirk on his face.

"You brought too many toys to death, King Kitty," Mark muttered under his breath. "Now you get to play with gravity."

He snapped his fingers.

"Activate, Gravity Dome: 100,000 g, Radius: 1000km."

Mark didn't hesitate to go full throttle from the skill as no friendly target was around, even including Lan Xia.

The effect wasn't immediate.

It was instant.