Lex, seeing this, returned to his divine realm with a smile and began to wait patiently. His role wasn’t to participate in invasions but to safeguard the students in their class.

  After four hours of movement, William anchored his divine realm in the void and began deploying exploration beacons. Rather than the standard 20 issued by the academy, he released 40—his personal reserves from previous wanderings. Once the beacons were deployed, William settled in to wait. The other three followed suit, mimicking his actions.

  William had already digested Lex’s earlier briefing about the region. This area was primarily frequented by fledgling demigods or those still nurturing their realms. True powerhouses disdained these resource-poor zones, while the billion-square-kilometer realm owners near the base camp only guarded the perimeter. Other civilizations used this as a crucible for their novices—a Darwinian proving ground where only survivors earned further investment. Human civilization’s approach of assigning mentors was rare; among other factions, only scions of influential families received such protection.

  Three days passed. Suddenly, William’s beacons pinged a target. “Contact! Follow me!” he alerted the others, steering his realm toward the coordinates. Within an hour, they closed in on a concealed divine realm. A thick invasion channel snapped into place. Probing the enemy realm—under 40,000 square kilometers—William immediately dispatched 200,000 Venomwing Dragonflies to map the terrain. To his team, he transmitted: “Invade now. Their realm’s small—good practice run.”

  Three new invasion channels bloomed as his companions struck. Through the dragonflies’ shared vision, William analyzed their forces:

  Richard’s serpentfolk resembled bipedal lizards—obsidian scales, twin cobra heads sprouting from broad shoulders, lashing tails. Their ragged formations clutched crude spears, armor conspicuously absent.

  Chen Hao’s centaurs presented a stark contrast. Frontline shock troops wore full plate, wielding three-meter lances like medieval knights. Rear ranks sported light armor, compound bows slung across their backs, curved swords at their hips—a disciplined hybrid of archers and skirmishers.

  Samuel’s followers drew William’s keenest interest. Humanoid but hairless, their cerulean skin peeked through leather jerkins. Each carried a short blade and a bizarre weapon: bulky rifles fed by tanks on their backs. Divine senses revealed pneumatic mechanisms—gas-powered launchers hurling metal slugs with lethal force. Effective range: 150 meters. Fifty shots per tank. Game-changers in a bronze-age battlefield.

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  The trio manifested towering avatars at their invasion points, booming divine edicts to their followers. William cringed at the theatrics—standard academy doctrine for non-fanatical believers. His own legions, bound by zealous faith, required no such pageantry.

  Venomwing scouts relayed fresh intel: “Doghead tribe. Forest terrain. Estimated population: low millions. Minimal threat. Push to their divine core. I’ll hold reserves for support.”

  As 2 million winged zerglings poured from William’s channel, Richard gaped. “Bloody hell! You brought 200,000 fliers alone? Those look mean enough to solo this!”

  “You’re the vanguard today,” William replied. “I’ll backstop. After a few joint ops, I’m going solo.”

  Unfazed, Richard’s avatar roared: “Serpentborn! Advance! Leave no doghead breathing!”

  The forest erupted in chaos. Richard’s disorganized horde crashed through undergrowth, spears tangling in vines. Doghead ambushers sprang from hidden burrows—scaly humanoids with bestial maws, crude stone axes raised.

  “Flank left!” William’s voice crackled through their divine link as Venomwings highlighted enemy positions. “Chen Hao, cavalry charge at 10 o’clock clearing. Samuel, suppressive fire on the treeline.”

  Chen Hao’s centaur knights lowered lances, thundering across a mossy glade. Dogheads scattered, impaled on steel. Archers loosed volleys into fleeing stragglers.

  Samuel’s gas-gunners took position, metallic pops echoing as slugs shredded foliage. Doghead shamans mid-incantation collapsed, blue blood spraying bark.

  “Rearguard approaching!” William warned. A thousand-strong doghead warband surged from behind, clubs studded with volcanic glass.

  Before the trio could react, a black cloud descended—William’s zerglings. Scythe-like forelimbs flashed. Within minutes, only bone fragments remained.

  “Efficiency,” William noted dryly as the others stared. “But you’re improving. Richard—tighten your formations. Samuel, rotate your firing lines. Chen Hao, scouts ahead next time.”

  As they pressed deeper, the forest thinned into rocky badlands. A massive obsidian ziggurat dominated the horizon—the enemy demigod’s sanctum.

  “Final push,” William ordered. “I’ll handle aerial defenses.”

  Doghead wyvern riders swooped from crimson skies, only to meet a maelstrom of Venomwings. Acidic barbs dissolved leathery wings, sending riders screaming to their doom.

  Richard’s serpentfolk scaled the ziggurat, clashing with elite guards in bronze armor. Samuel’s marksmen picked off reinforcements while Chen Hao’s centaurs stormed the summit.

  At the apex, a cowering doghead demigod raised trembling hands. “Mercy! I yield my realm core!”

  “Denied,” William’s voice cut through. A zergling swarm reduced the supplicant to crimson mist. The ziggurat shuddered as divine energies imploded.

  As realms disengaged, Richard whooped: “That’s how it’s done! When’s the next hunt?”

  William studied the starscape. “Tomorrow. But remember—next time, no safety net.”

  The others exchanged uneasy grins. Lex’s voice chimed in their minds: “Return for debrief. And William…try not to orphan the entire class.”