What is this 'Dimensional Chat' ?

Chapter 106. The Weight of Memory

The battlefield stretched endlessly, a violent sea of clashing blades and bloodied earth. The air was thick with the roars of warriors and the dying screams of the fallen. Tempest's forces clashed with the Orc horde, their steel and magic meeting the monstrous tide in a desperate struggle for survival.

At the heart of it all, the towering figure of the Orc Lord loomed like a nightmare given form. His very presence cast an oppressive shadow over the battlefield, a suffocating aura of malice and insatiable hunger. His Devour ability had consumed countless lives, and with each soul lost, his power grew. He was no mere beast-he was an ever-expanding abyss, feeding on death itself.

Yet, amidst the chaos, standing on a small ridge overlooking the battlefield, one man remained utterly unfazed.

Satria.

His golden cloak fluttered in the wind as his keen eyes studied the battlefield like a chessboard, his arms crossed as he analyzed every movement, every weakness, every opportunity.

"Rimuru's army fights with passion," he mused. "But passion alone will not win wars."

His gaze swept across the battlefield, dissecting each fighter's strengths and weaknesses with the precision of a seasoned strategist.

At the center of the battlefield, Benimaru led his warriors like a blazing wildfire. His katana cut through the orcs with effortless precision, each stroke fueled by overwhelming power. His leadership was inspiring, rallying his allies with every strike, his presence alone pushing them to fight harder.

But Satria saw the flaw.

"He fights like a lone beast rather than a commander," Satria noted. "His raw strength is formidable, but he lacks coordination with his forces. If the Kijin learned true battlefield discipline, they could become an unstoppable strike force."

A weapon was only as strong as the hand that wielded it. Benimaru was a warrior-but he needed to become a general.

Not far from Benimaru, Shion swung her massive greatsword like a tempest incarnate, sending orcs flying with every strike. Her strength was monstrous, her loyalty unwavering. She carved through the enemy ranks like a goddess of war, but...

"Reckless," Satria muttered.

He could see it clearly. Her power was undeniable, but she left herself wide open after every attack.

"She fights with emotion rather than calculation," he observed. "If trained properly, she could become a warrior who knows when to hold back and when to unleash devastation."

A beast with raw power was terrifying-but a beast with control? That was an extinction-level threat.

In the heart of the battle, Hakuro danced.

His blade was a whisper of death, his movements so fluid they seemed effortless. Where others relied on brute force, Hakuro moved with calculated grace, every stroke a precise, lethal execution.

Satria's lips curled slightly.

"A true master," he admitted. "Hakuro fights with purpose-every movement optimized, no wasted energy. His control is near perfection."

It was rare to see such discipline on the battlefield. If Rimuru's forces learned even a fraction of Hakuro's technique, they could turn the tide of any war.

Across the battlefield, Gobta and his wolf-mounted riders struck fast, weaving between the orc ranks like ghosts. Their speed and hit-and-run tactics made them unpredictable, sowing chaos in the enemy lines.

But it was unrefined chaos.

Satria sighed. "Disorganized. They lack formation, and the moment they face resistance, they scatter."