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So the quarrel raged on without end.

Inside the military tent, the two scions of the Split Fang Clan each occupied their own territory, with their respective followers and warriors forming clear factions. Alongside the neutral members, the entire space was divided into three camps by the oppressive atmosphere.

Hearing General Menrokas' words, the gathered Lion Clan members knew they had to unify their command and put an end to the infighting. The eldest son, Dos, was the first to speak: "I don’t think there’s any need for debate here. Five of the seven legions follow my orders. Having me take unified command of the army is the only viable option."

Beria immediately retorted from the other side, "Under your command? You shamelessly promised a slew of conditions that betray our family’s interests just to bribe a pack of greedy lackeys! Do you really think they can help you win? Don’t make me laugh. Only top-tier experts can stand against that Saint-Realm Werewolf. Without our elite Warcraft Orc Warriors holding the line, you wouldn’t even see the enemy’s face before getting beheaded."

Dos glared and snapped, "Hah! That proves you're the real culprit here. If you hadn't lured away the Warcraft Orcs, how could the Battle Fang Clan have caught Lion Heart City off guard?"

Beria sneered in response, "For generations, our Lion Clan has only accepted practitioners of the 'Emperor Martial Overlord Art' as clan leaders. It’s because you’re a worthless failure that the Warcraft Orc Warriors refuse to pledge loyalty to you. How laughable that you still dare to vie for the title of Beast Emperor. Have you ever stopped to think what you really are? The clan’s elites and warriors from other battle races look down on you—that’s why they refuse to follow the family’s orders!"

"You dare call me worthless? What about you, stuck at the eighth level of Sword Master for two years? Don’t think that just because you flaunt the name 'Emperor Martial Overlord Art,' you’re Father reborn. Among all past practitioners of the 'Overlord Art,' fewer than one in five ever crossed the threshold to become a Sword Emperor. Do you really think you’ll ever reach the level of 'Emperor Martial'?"

"Silence, you trash who can’t even touch the basics of the 'Overlord Art'! It’s precisely because you obsessed over human politicking and backroom deals that the rebels in Lion Heart City thought Father had no worthy successor—that’s why they turned traitor!"

"Nonsense! Do you think leaving an untested whelp like Beria in Lion Heart City would’ve changed anything? Only if the three Sword Emperors among our Warcraft Orc Warriors joined forces could they suppress a Saint-Realm expert. You taking them away is the real reason for this disaster!"

"What? If it weren’t for your meddling, Dos, I would’ve already become clan leader! How could—"

"You’re the delusional failure here, pretending to inherit Father’s talent when you’re just a cheap imitation—"

"You’re the root of the problem—"

"No, you—"

"..."

"..."

The two brothers argued fiercely, while their clansmen could only watch helplessly. Similar debates had happened countless times before, yet never yielded any resolution. After all, the real conflict stemmed from their personal ambitions and interests. Even if one side was truly at fault, they would still shift the blame to the other. The result was nothing but a pointless shouting match.

Finally, General Menrokas had enough and cut in, "Enough! Both of you, calm down. This isn’t about assigning blame—it’s about unifying our clan’s forces to face our powerful enemy. If you two remain at odds like this by tomorrow, the entire family will collapse. At that point, neither responsibility nor status will mean anything."

Dos and Beria’s expressions darkened, and they fell silent. Menrokas’ frank assessment visibly shook them. Deep down, they understood that infighting was the last thing they needed in such a crisis. If the family fell, their squabbles would become a joke. But conversely, if the family survived, whoever took the lead now would naturally become the next patriarch. Even if the Split Fang Clan’s dominance was waning, remaining the preeminent warrior clan in the alliance was still possible—as long as they didn’t fall. Whoever backed down now, regardless of the family’s eventual fate, would be doomed to a miserable life. That was why neither would relent.

The general saw through their motives but chose not to voice it. Instead, he sighed and said, "This matter must be settled. Both of you, propose a way to decide the outcome quickly."

Dos waved his hand dismissively. "What’s there to debate? Since the leaders of all our family’s legions are here, let’s just take a vote."

As the eldest son, Dos was several years older than Catherine and over a decade older than Beria. Knowing from childhood that he couldn’t cultivate the "Emperor Martial Overlord Art," he had deliberately cultivated alliances with various factions within the clan. At least sixty percent of the commanders had shown him goodwill, which was why he proposed a vote—to guarantee his victory.

Normally, Beria would’ve immediately objected, and Dos had prepared countermeasures. But this time, though Beria’s eyes flashed with icy fury, he didn’t protest. Instead, he smirked and said, "Fine. If you want a vote, then let’s vote. But, 'big brother' Dos, I have one question for you."

Beria’s sudden shift startled Dos, especially the unexpected use of "big brother," making the heir's hackles rise. He knew his younger brother all too well—while Beria hadn’t fully inherited their father Samantha’s peerless martial talent or commanding presence, he had inherited nine parts in ten of the man’s ruthlessness and cunning. The difference was that Samantha was equally harsh on himself and others, while Beria reserved his cruelty solely for others. Instantly on guard, Dos replied, "Beria, 'little brother,' speak your question."

Beria’s smile turned frigid. "Good. I just want to know—can a corpse still challenge me...?"

"What—?" Dos immediately sensed danger and instinctively recoiled, trying to put distance between himself and Beria by retreating into the ranks of his guards and generals. It wasn’t Beria himself he feared—it was the three Orc Sword Emperors standing behind him.

But what he didn’t expect was that death would rise from below.