The job change is a bizarre and calamity; the nation begs me to tone it down.

Because ordinary dimensional rifts are usually thin lines, like a bolt of lightning frozen in the sky.

In some narrow places, it is only a few meters wide.

But this one is different.

This crack stretched across the entire sky, extending from the east to the west, for tens of kilometers.

The edges of the crack were a deep, dark red, as if someone had taken a red-hot iron rod and sliced ​​the air open, tearing the sky apart.

This scene alone is enough to tell that this dimension is no benevolent place.

The Northern Alliance has gone to great lengths to stabilize this rift.

The area around the crack was densely covered with barriers.

Large and small, layer upon layer, each one radiating a steady light, completely enveloping the crack.

Judging from their posture, they wish they could do another round.

A barrier is a barrier, but people still need to exist.

Near the mountains, four military corps were stationed here.

What does four army corps mean?

Even if we take a conservative estimate, it's still tens of thousands of people packed here.

Tents connected to tents, campsites connected to campsites, stretching from the foot of the mountain all the way to the halfway point. Looking down, it looks like a small city built by people.

Of course, having a large number of people is not enough.

The reason these four legions were sent here is because each legion has a saint in charge.

Four legions, four saints.

This lineup is already quite impressive.

But it's not over yet.

Besides the four saints, there are three demigods.

And above these three demigods...

There is one more—the Source level.

It's important to understand that in the global landscape, the Source-level resources of major powers are their trump cards, and they don't use them lightly.

Even though Sherlock was having a blast on the other side of the Pacific, and the Source of God was about to open for entry, the few demigods leading the Northern Alliance had already rushed over.

But the source-level system remained firmly in its home territory without moving.

This demonstrates that the threat level of this dimensional rift is so high that the Northern Alliance dares not gamble on it.

And this plane is called—the Court of the Dragon King.

Just by hearing the name, you can probably guess about 70-80% of what it's about.

The Royal Court of Yalong, as the name suggests, is Yalong's territory.

The sub-dragon is not the kind of Western or Eastern dragon that humans have named, but rather an independent species system.

They share similarities with "dragons" in the conventional sense, but are also fundamentally different—they are larger, more intelligent, and organized, systematic, and have a ruling structure.

The royal court was their power center.

According to the Northern Alliance's intermittent explorations of the Yalong Royal Court plane over the years, there are Source-level powerhouses within this royal court.

I don't know the exact number.

This is the most chilling part.

If you say there's a source level inside, that's fine; everyone can make a rough estimate, formulate a countermeasure, and have some idea of ​​what's going on.

But if you say there are source-level cells inside, but you don't know how many there are—then I'm genuinely unsure.

One? Two? Three? Or more?

do not know.

Everything is unknown.

So the Northern Alliance gritted its teeth and moved its own Source-level weapon over.

It's not because I'm poor and generous, it's because I have no other choice.

……

However, the power struggles and infighting among these high-ranking officials have little to do with the ordinary soldiers who are being rotated out of the camp.

The Ural Ridge at night is as cold as a refrigerator; when the north wind blows, even one's thoughts seem to freeze.

Inside the barracks, the soldiers who had just been relieved huddled in their tents, seven or eight of them huddled together in a relatively warm corner.

On the table was the standard vodka.

This was a tradition among Northern Confederate soldiers, or rather, a necessary measure for stationing in such a dreadful place—without a bit of vodka, one really couldn't stand it.

A veteran named Kolya, a corporal, was twenty-six years old, and his face was weathered by the wind, looking almost like dry tree bark.

He was holding the chipped enamel mug, and had just taken a sip of the vodka when someone next to him tugged at his sleeve.

"Koria, Koria!"

The person who pulled him was a rookie professional, who looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, with a youthful face that hadn't been worn away by time, and eyes that shone like light bulbs.

"What's wrong?"

"Look, look—"

The new recruit pointed forcefully out of the tent: "The sky over there!"

Kolya turned his head and peeked out through the gap in the tent.

What did he see?

High in the sky, a seven-colored pillar of light.

The beam of light flowed slowly across the distant horizon.

It stood out conspicuously against the darkness of the night.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—seven colors mixed together, like someone smashed a rainbow, scattering fragments all over the world.

"oh."

Kolya looked away and took another sip of vodka.

"Oh? What does 'oh' mean?"

The new recruit panicked: "What's that?!"

After all, when that thing fell from the sky, the entire camp was in complete chaos.

And not long after, powerful energy fluctuations began to slide down from the horizon.

They sped off toward that place.

However, he was still on duty at the time, and although he was curious, he could only suppress his doubts.

Now that I've finally gotten a change of shift, I naturally want to ask the veterans in the barracks a lot.

Koria put down his enamel mug, glanced at the group of new recruits around him who were also craning their necks to look curiously, and sighed: "Fragment of a higher dimension."

"Fragments of a higher-dimensional secret realm?!"

As soon as he said that, the surrounding recruits immediately erupted in an uproar.

"Does that mean there's treasure inside?!"

"When I was in high school, my teacher told me that there were mythical items in higher-dimensional realms!"

"My God, this is something from mythology, is it real or fake?"

Everyone was talking at once, each more excited than the last. Finally, one hot-tempered soldier stood up, pounded his chest, and shouted with booming voice, "Hey, whatever's inside, it's definitely the Northern Alliance! Victory will belong to the Northern Alliance!"

"Victory belongs to the Northern League!"

As soon as the slogan was raised, the remaining recruits also raised their glasses, swirling the vodka in their enamel cups and spilling a few drops.

Kolya did not join in the shouting.

He held his cup, took another sip, and glanced at the faces of the howling recruits.

It then landed on the seven-colored light outside the tent and paused for two seconds.

Finally, he turned his gaze to the enormous dimensional rift that stretched across the sky.

After an unknown amount of time, he lowered his head, wiped the remaining vodka from his lips with his sleeve, and said casually:

"Whether we can get it or not, I don't know."

"But there is one thing I know—our current task is to guard that rift. The fragments of the higher-dimensional realm are the business of the demigods."

"Our task is to pray that the things from the [Kingdom of Yalong] don't slip out before they get away."

"Otherwise, we'll all be dead!"