Lord of the Truth

On Another Battlefield—

"I will stop this wave! Go and cut off the demon's head!!" One of the strongest imperial guards shouted powerfully.

Wielding a massive hammer and towering shield, the imperial guard roared and stepped forward ahead of everyone. Your next journey awaits at My Virtual Library Empire

Though his body was covered in visible wounds, and parts of his armor were shattered, he looked as if he was ready to challenge the world.

Stopping a wave of underworld daisies was easier said than done.

Everyone understood that he didn't mean to stop them entirely but rather to buy a second or two.

"Don't waste the sacrifice of our Thirty-Seventh Brother!!"

Zzzn Zzzn Zzzn Hundreds of daisies rushed forward like a swarm of wasps hungry for flesh. Nothing would stop them from getting what they wanted.

"Heyaaaa!!!" The guard raised his colossal, epic shield and activated his ability—"Wall of the End!"

The shield's size multiplied tenfold, and not just its size—its power and weight increased as well, judging by the strain visible on the guard's arm, which looked like it might explode!

The underworld daisies couldn't all maneuver around the massive shield in time, and a great number of them crashed into it. Baaam Baaam Baaam!

"Haha... I've bought you time, you goblin bastard. Now the game ends! Hahaha!!" The guard laughed loudly, enjoying the sound of chrysanthemums exploding like music to his ears.

But suddenly—Baaaang! One of the underworld daisies didn't explode upon contact with the shield. Instead, it didn't even pause.

"What?!" The Thirty-Seventh Guard felt time slow down as his shield was shattered, and an ordinary-looking underworld underworld approached his chest. Boooom!

In the end, this particilar underworld wasn't ordinary at all; it was one of the five elite ones. Sakaar had fused them with thousands of regular underworld to heighten the danger. Upon contact, the imperial guard's chest exploded. He fell, and the shield that had accompanied him for more than 700 years hit the ground for the last time.

However, what the imperial guard sought to achieve had already succeeded. Swoosh Swoosh Swoosh

Seven high-level martial emperors had managed to break through the underworld underworld swarm and headed directly toward Sakaar.

The supreme general of the Second Army, the mighty Demon King; was in a pitiful state at this moment. Most of his armor had been shattered in his first battle against the 100 emperors, and he had sustained multiple wounds. Now, after several minutes of combat, those injuries had worsened significantly. Even his left arm appeared to be hanging by a thin thread, about to fall off!

"Your head is mine!!" The fastest among them raised his halberd, eager to claim this honor.

But—Shwalaaa! A black fireball was all that greeted him!

"Ah! Aaaah!!!"

Even though the black flames didn't inflict immediate pain, the martial emperor knew what was going on and he panicked about it. The moment he realized what had struck him, he quickly changed his trajectory, his body moving instinctively as he began releasing thick purple mist in large quantities to smother the deathly fire before it could consume him entirely.

He wasn't the only one facing this danger—several other fireballs had been launched toward the incoming warriors, forcing them to scatter in all directions and slow their advance.

"Hmph!"

With a grunt of effort, Sakaar's right hand morphed into an enormous cleaver, its jagged edges gleaming ominously. Without hesitation, he swung it fiercely at the closest opponent. Crash! The sheer force of the blow shattered the warrior's shield like fragile glass, and a chunk of his shoulder was cleaved away in a single, devastating strike. Blood splattered across the battlefield as the wounded warrior staggered back, gasping in pain.

"I'll handle things on that side..."

Caesar's voice was low, yet it carried a weight that chilled the air around him. It wasn't the kind of coldness born from murderous intent or battle fervor—no, this was something much more tangible, something that made it clear he was struggling. His entire body trembled slightly, a sign that he was reaching his limit.

Sakaar narrowed his eyes. "...You don't need to push yourself like that."

Caesar's face was pale as death itself, his once-vibrant complexion reduced to a sickly shade, and his wounds showed no signs of healing. His eyes, once sharp and full of life, were now a ghostly white, devoid of any color except for the dull black pupils that had now dimmed to a murky gray, yet he smiled upon hearing Sakaar; "You're not exactly in top shape yourself."

Caesar coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of dark blood onto the ground. He wiped his cracked lips with the back of his trembling hand, his chest rising and falling erratically. But despite his condition, he wasted no time, raising his hand to unleash a barrage of small, black fireballs toward the right flank, forcing their enemies to retreat momentarily.

Sakaar, meanwhile, continued his relentless assault. He swung his monstrous right hand again and again—sometimes wielding it like a brutal cleaver, sometimes snapping it like a whip—slicing through anything that dared approach him.

"I know I'm injured," he admitted with a growl, his breathing heavy. "But my wounds are only on the body. You, on the other hand... I don't even know what's happening to you."

Caesar let out a weak, rasping chuckle. "Oh? Does my condition earn sympathy from a Demon? Damn, I must really look like shit!" His voice was laced with bitter amusement. "Looks like I'll need to have a little chat with my father about these damned side effects... after today's battle."

"Your optimism is heart worming," Sakaar replied dryly, before swiftly lashing out with his blade-hand, cutting down yet another enemy who had dared to approach. Zwoosh!

"Of course we will win," Caesar muttered, his expression weary but determined. He tilted his head slightly, motioning toward the battlefield ahead. "Take a look over there."

Sakaar followed his gaze to where Robin and Pythor were locked in an intense hand-to-hand brawl. At that very moment, Robin delivered a devastating kick to Pythor's ribs, the sickening crunch of bones shattering echoing across the battlefield.

"Haha, did you hear that?" Caesar's laughter was hoarse, yet genuine, as he dodged an incoming attack and countered with a well-placed strike.

Sakaar, however, remained unimpressed. He shook his head slightly. "...That's just a warm-up."

His eyes remained fixed on the two fighters below. "Neither the Lord nor Pythor specialize in body cultivation. The only reason the Lord is holding his own is because of that auxiliary body-strengthening tattoo of his, while Pythor's beast bloodline naturally grants him a tougher physique."

Sakaar's expression darkened. "You'll know the real fight has begun when you start seeing that purple mist spreading everywhere."

Caesar shrugged, his lips curling into a faint, cracked smile. "Mental strength is crucial... Maybe Pythor will... lose his nerve after getting beaten in hand-to-hand combat... and just give up... Heh, heh, heh~"

His dry laughter held a hint of desperation, but he was trying to keep himself awake, trying to stay conscious through the pain and exhaustion gnawing at his body.

Sakaar could see it too— Caesar was barely holding on, using these small exchanges to keep his mind sharp. But Sakaar couldn't afford to let him stop. If Caesar fell now, Sakaar would be next. And if Sakaar fell... then the entire city, and everything they had fought for, would crumble with them.

At that moment, a voice both of them recognized rang out from the side, cutting through the chaos of battle like a blade—

"Hey guys, need a hand?"