Under the vast starry sky, Caspian shot out of the black spaceship like a flash of lightning. With a single swing of his sword, he sliced the azure wolf in half—cleanly and effortlessly. The attack had taken less than a heartbeat.
The two surviving world masters flew over to Caspian, bowing with gratitude.
"Thank you, Sir, for saving our lives!" one of them said, his voice reverent.
Though they spoke respectfully, both were secretly speculating about Caspian's true identity. To kill an immortal demon clan member so easily—this man clearly wasn't an ordinary immortal.
Caspian gave a small nod and advised, "You've sustained serious losses. It would be best to return to the base, heal your wounds, and then return when you've recovered."
The two world masters exchanged looks. Their unit had been shattered by the azure wolf. At least half of their brothers-in-arms had been devoured right before their eyes. The pain was evident on their faces.
But those brave enough to fight on the extraterritorial battlefield had long since prepared themselves for life and death. Though grief lingered in their hearts, they suppressed it. With a heavy heart, they ordered their domain master subordinates to begin cleaning up the battlefield.
One of them respectfully asked, "May we know your name, Sir?"
Caspian casually stored away the azure wolf's spatial equipment. "You may call me Marquis Bloodcloak."
The world masters paled at the name. As long-time fighters in the outer realm, they were well aware of the immortal god rankings: Military Lords, Marquises, Kings. The fact that Caspian carried the title of Marquis confirmed his immense strength.
"No wonder," one muttered, "he was able to kill that immortal in a single strike…"
The streamlined black spaceship tore through the wreckage of shattered stars. Inside the main cabin, Caspian sat in contemplation, mentally reviewing the earlier battle.
His consciousness focused on a peculiar white blind box that existed only within his mind. The moment he had killed the azure wolf, a progress bar had appeared on its surface.
It now read: 1/100.
Killing an ordinary immortal filled 1 unit. Killing a Marquis immortal would grant 10 units. If he could somehow take down a King-level immortal, the progress bar would fill completely.
Caspian's lips curled into a faint smile. "Finally, the first step has begun," he murmured. "I'm looking forward to what's inside this blind box."
Satisfied, he switched focus to the military merit system. As always, the virtual universe network had been active during the kill. Now that the battle was over, the rewards were already credited to his account.
"One hundred million military merits," he muttered. "So, that azure wolf was just an ordinary immortal Military Lord."
Military merits could be exchanged for either Primal Chaos Units or internal points within the Virtual Universe Company. The exchange rate was 100,000 merits for 1 unit. Which meant his recent reward amounted to 1,000 Primal Chaos Units.
A fortune to most world masters or even lower-ranked immortals. But to Caspian, it was trivial.
He gave a command to the ship's artificial intelligence: "Check the azure wolf's world ring."
"Yes, Master," replied the AI.
Dozens of liquid metal robots detached and flew into the ring, beginning their inventory task.
After a few minutes, the AI returned with a report: "Estimated total value—close to 20,000 Primal Chaos Units."
Caspian nodded slightly. This was within his expectations. The net worth of an ordinary immortal Military Lord, including assets and territory, might range in the hundreds of thousands of units. But what they carried into battle was always significantly less.
Furthermore, the azure wolf's corpse, as an immortal of the demon clan, held substantial value. But given the human army's heavy losses, Caspian had left the body for them to recover.
Just then, a mechanical voice rang out:
"Ding! Master, an Inkscale Clan immortal god has been detected—800 million kilometers away."
Caspian's eyes lit up. "Chase it down."
Search, detect, kill.
That cycle had become Caspian's entire existence for nearly three centuries.
In the ruins of a shattered star, Caspian stood in silence. Before him lay the massive corpse of a foreign immortal—eight arms, over a hundred meters tall. Even in death, it radiated a fearsome aura.
He sheathed the Bloodshadow Sword and looked within himself, where the white blind box now displayed:
Progress: 99/100.
In these three hundred years, Caspian had slaughtered more than ninety alien immortals—36 of them high-level Military Lords, 63 of them ordinary ones.
The corpses of his enemies had paved his rise. In the Nine Nether Starfield, his name had become legend. One not to be provoked.
"Not bad," he said aloud. "Just one more."
The black spaceship ascended from the fragments of the shattered star, transforming into a streak of light that disappeared into deep space.
Through the years, Caspian had earned nearly ten million Primal Chaos Units from his kills. Military merits had all been converted into Virtual Universe Company points. The current total: 543,000 points.
The spaceship's detector was now tuned to maximum sensitivity. Nothing within a billion kilometers could escape its surveillance.
"Let's keep going."
Not far—just under a hundred million kilometers away—another figure sat cross-legged on a star fragment. His entire body was made of gleaming metal. At first glance, he resembled a mechanical statue rather than a living being.
This was a member of the Machine Race, one of the universe's four peak races.
He stared at a holographic screen in front of him. On it, a black spaceship streaked across space, and inside it was a single figure.
"So that's the one they call Marquis Bloodcloak," the metal man muttered. "Caspian of the human race—causing chaos in the Nine Nether Starfield."
Though only a high-level Military Lord, this Machine Race individual possessed technology far beyond his level. His detection system surpassed even that of many King-level immortals.
He had detected Caspian's approach before Caspian even sensed him.
Killing a Marquis would be no easy task. Immortals at that level possessed undying bodies and immense power.
The machine man hesitated.
"A Marquis who doesn't leave the Nine Nether Starfield… he's likely a lower-tier Marquis," he reasoned. "I might have a chance…"
He clenched a metallic fist.
"I've been given the Netherflame Hell—one of Master's secret weapons. If I use it properly, I just might win…"
A hint of madness entered his artificial eyes.
"If I can kill this Marquis, Master will surely notice me. This is my chance."
And thus, another hunt silently began—two predators hurtling through the vast and deadly reaches of space, on a collision course neither could avoid.