At the battle of BlackGate, after waiting endlessly without seeing any reinforcements from The Writter, Net quietly sensed that something was wrong. Just as he prepared to retreat "Boom". Voga seized the moment and delivered a lethal blow to the clan leader. The sudden strike left Net grievously wounded, his ribs shattered, fragments of bone driven deep into his organs as he roared in pain.

  “I thought you would have that thing? Don’t tell me you don’t possess it? I mean the badge of the GoldenFang?”

  Net lay collapsed on the ground, laughing loudly. He knew he had been deceived. There was never any reinforcements at all, or perhaps the reinforcements he hoped for had been obstructed by some mysterious force. He could sense a terrifying fluctuation of battle from far away. That fluctuation could only come from a combatant of Battle King level or higher.

  Voga’s seemingly casual question made Net choke with emotion. GoldenFang was only a stray tribe, a temporary clan erected from fear and submission toward Richer. The badge was lost ever since Richer purged the entire SiverFang clan.

  “The badge? It vanished along with the last heir of SiverFang,” Net replied slowly.

  The battle at BlackGate had reached its conclusion. Its outcome was sealed the moment Net fell. The Golden soldiers either surrendered or died. Hesmor’s army quickly regrouped and prepared to become the second spearhead that would strike into the Golden capital.

  The royal palace of Golden trembled violently. Around it, Hesmor’s forces and the Half-Dragons had long since encircled the area. Ceasar and Drake watched the unfolding situation in cold silence. If their estimation was correct, Richer had already broken through to the rank of Socerer Emperor. What they were about to face was the wrath of an emperor.

  Inside the vast grand hall, streams of dark mist coiled around Richer’s body, pouring into him, and within the Inter Space they condensed into a fourth magic core. The fourth magic core was pitch-black, formed entirely from the energy of nightmares. The magic sigil Richer had prepared long in advance was none other than a high-tier Forbidden Spell.

  Before long, the three dark crystals surrounding Richer shattered, and the formation beneath his feet lost power and went dim. All trembling ceased. Richer opened his eyes, filled with calm and confidence. Will surged from his body like a flowing stream. He could reshape it at will, make it gentle like water or rigid like stone. He condensed the Will into a small sphere floating before him, slowly rotating. This was the materialization of Will, the most basic manifestation of a Socerer Emperor. Richer had truly reached the pinnacle rank of mankind at a very young age.

  He slowly stepped out of the palace. Richer wore a luxurious silk coat, adorned with expensive jewelry made of gleaming gemstones. He clapped his hands, the gold rings on his fingers glittering brilliantly beneath the sunlight.

  “Greetings, everyone! I am Golden Richer! King of Golden! I can see that all of you are eager to destroy me, enemies on the front lines, and even my own companions within the nation.”

  Richer laughed arrogantly, wielding the power of an emperor made him more confident than ever. And not only that, he was a wishbearer, a Lone Walker.

  “Today is a special day! Everyone here shall witness the birth of an Emperor! Golden is no longer a small kingdom. With my existence, I will lead it into becoming a mighty empire that stands equal to Greaton. No! Even greater. Hesmor is only the beginning! Even Noland, Badland, and BreakIsland will all kneel beneath my feet! I am the great Emperor Golden Richer.”

  Richer’s smile twisted further into madness, growing more and more distorted. His eyes, filled with disdain, looked upon all his adversaries the way one would look at harmless ants. The lands surrounding the royal palace trembled violently; the ground slowly split apart in rhythm with his laughter, louder and louder, more and more resonant. From the cracks spreading across the earth, countless mounds of soil bulged upward like festering boils, stretching throughout the capital. When all of them had fully formed, Richer’s voice suddenly sank into a terrifying calmness. He spoke slowly, each word dripping with killing intent:

  “But it’s a pity that everyone here must die! You’ve all seen far too much!”

  Drake sensed something was wrong. Those earthen mounds gave him a deadly feeling of danger. He immediately entered “Dragonform” and shouted to warn all allies, but it was already too late.

  “Everyone be careful! Those mounds are bombs. They’re going to explode! Scatter now!”

  Richer raised both hands before him and clenched them tightly. Following his movement, the mounds around them swelled and then detonated with overwhelming force.

  “High-tier Magic: Bursting Earth”

  “Boom” “Boom” “Boom” “Boom” “Boom”

  Hesmor’s soldiers were blown apart. Many Half-Dragons were killed or injured. A single high-tier spell, when cast by an Emperor, wiped out more than half the enemy in an instant. Those who survived were either elites or were already keeping their guard up. When the dust finally dispersed, the Golden capital was nothing more than a barren desert wasteland. Majestic structures lay buried beneath a sea of sand. Ceasar had lost an arm in the explosion and screamed in agony. Hesmor’s forces were reduced to just over ten thousand. Drake, still in “Dragonform,” wasn’t heavily wounded, but his troops had taken severe losses, over half of the Half-Dragons had been killed outright.

  Mulock crawled out from beneath a mangled corpse. The moment Drake shouted, he had instantly transformed into a serpent and slithered into the stomach of an unlucky warlord. Even so, the shockwaves had gravely injured him. Their enemy was far too powerful. If he transformed into a Behemoth now, he wouldn’t help at all. He would only become a glaring target that would draw Richer’s attention. Surveying the devastation around him, the pirate had already planned to retreat. A single Enestone was precious, but one must stay alive to use it. He wanted to help Ceasar reattach his severed arm, but unfortunately that limb had likely been pulverized or buried deep beneath the sand.

  Richer was pleased with the destructive force of his spell. But as a cunning man, he had not chosen this spell merely for its power. It also created a sandy environment perfectly suited for him to exploit the strength of an earth-element sorcerer.

  “I already told you. All of you will die today! There will be no exceptions!”

  Richer hovered in the air. He knew they still had hidden trump cards; at the very least, Mys had yet to appear. But it didn’t matter. Against absolute power, every scheme and ploy was nothing but child’s play.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “You think you’ve already won, do you?” Drake growled, a mocking smirk curling on his lips. His true trump card had not yet been revealed.

  Before the battle began, Drake had received a message from Mys. This time, it was their duty to stall Richer until the true savior arrived. Drake truly didn’t want to resort to this method, but he had no other option left. Drake pulled out a strange egg-like object from within his garments. It resembled a seal more than a real egg. He slit his wrist with one of his sharp claws. Fresh blood flowed quickly, soaking into the egg and being absorbed completely. It was like a bottomless pit. No one knew how long it continued, but only when Drake’s skin had turned pale did the absorption finally stop.

  Richer observed with curiosity. The egg looked oddly familiar. As someone who possessed a Wish, Richer was, in a sense, also a successor of Madenes. He could sense waves of nightmare energy emanating from the egg.

  “Is that an item of the DarkGod?”

  Richer didn’t interfere. There was no need. He was utterly confident in his own power. When it came to DarkGod artifacts, he himself was in possession of a true, all–powerful creation. A mere egg with a faint ripple of energy was hardly worth his concern. “Crack” The shell of the egg began to fracture. A powerful aura, no weaker than Richer’s, burst forth violently. Drake nodded in satisfaction, then hurled the egg to the ground. “Boom” the egg shattered, revealing within it a pale, deformed little dragon with strange, pulsing veins covering its body.

  The dragon trembled, then rapidly grew in size, 10 meters, 20 meters, 50 meters, 100 meters. Only when it reached 120 meters did it finally stop. Its skin dried and hardened, turning rough as glossy scales spread across its body. Its eyes glowed blood-red, and two sharp horns curved forward from its head.

  “Graooooo!”

  It roared in unrestrained fury, the soundwave-like bellow echoing everywhere. From far away, even Exitus could feel its cry. The boy let out an astonished “Oh!” The energy radiating from the dragon felt extremely familiar. A dragon intertwined with the nightmare energy of Madenes. There was only one such creature.

  The dragon stared directly at Richer as if it wanted to devour him whole. The first target it saw upon awakening was always designated as the enemy, no wonder Drake had thrown the egg toward him. Yet Richer felt no fear. Instead, he glanced at the dragon with disdain. He needed no time at all to recognize the creature before him. Yes, it was Draco. The artificial dragon created from a human sorcerer.

  “A roar? Do you truly think you’re a real dragon?” Richer laughed coldly. Perhaps Madenes considered Draco talented, but not Richer. To him, Draco was nothing more than a deranged fool, a sickening dragon fanatic.

  As if it sensed the contempt directed at it, Draco swung its massive hand downward at Richer like swatting at a fly. “Bang” The collision between its strike and Richer’s “Will” exploded violently, sending a storm of dust and sand scattering across the battlefield. Richer frowned. It seemed he had underestimated Draco. Even as an artificial dragon, its physical strength was on par with an Emperor. That earlier blow had nearly shattered his “Will.”

  Draco appeared surprised as well. It hadn’t expected the tiny creature before it to withstand its attack. Feeling its majesty being trampled upon, it refused to tolerate such humiliation. A destructive aura surged from its throat.

  “What?” Richer was alarmed. To unleash its finishing move the moment it awoke? This dragon understood nothing about restraint. Richer wrapped his body in a dense sphere of “Will,” and to be safe, he coated the exterior with a tightly compressed layer of stone and earth for extra defense.

  “Boom”

  The dragon opened its jaws and unleashed a beam of annihilation. The beam incinerated everything in its path, slamming into the suspended sphere of earth and stone, heating it until it glowed red and hurling it deep into the ground. The attack carried the destructive force of hundreds of Dark Despair bombs exploding at once. The shockwave blasted away every living creature on the surface. The ground erupted once more, leaving behind a molten, cavernous crater.

  “Grao!”

  Draco roared triumphantly, asserting its dominance but it failed to notice a mound of sand behind it swelling larger and larger.

  Richer burst out of the crater in fury. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. That attack had genuinely wounded him. Gradually, Richer calmed down, absorbing too much nightmare energy had clouded his mind, making him arrogant and delusional. Fortunately, the blow just now served to snap him back to clarity. The fourth magic core within him radiated heavy darkness. Richer decided to immediately unleash the “Forbidden Spell” he had just formed.

  The mound of earth behind Draco began to distort. Limbs gradually formed, and before long, it transformed into a colossal sand–earth Golem. The Golem stood over 150 meters tall, sand flowing across its body like water, glowing eyes shone from its head. The Golem lunged forward, attacking Draco relentlessly. Each punch detonated like an earthquake, its overwhelming power sending Draco’s massive body flying. Draco staggered back to its feet, madness filling its eyes. It spread its wings and charged to retaliate. Yet every strike it landed sank uselessly into the Golem’s body, sand at the point of impact dispersed into countless grains before reforming instantly. Meanwhile, the Golem’s blows smashed across Draco’s face, tearing off scales and leaving the dragon’s head soaked in blood. Draco opened its jaws to fire another destructive beam but the Golem seized its mouth, clamping it shut. One arm locked around the dragon’s snout, while the other hammered its abdomen again and again.

  If this continued, Draco’s defeat was already set in stone.

  A battle between giants, one where ordinary beings had no place. Ceasar dragged his mangled body along with the remaining survivors of the Hesmor army, retreating as fast as they could. He needed to deliver this message to Jacor: an Emperor had appeared in Golden. This was no longer a small kingdom, no longer a land where mortals could scheme. Suddenly, they encountered the marching forces of Voga and Melor coming toward them. Stunned, Ceasar let out a bitter smile. He was recognized in his most miserable state. From afar, Voga leapt off his horse, rushing toward Ceasar to ask what had happened.

  “What on earth occurred? On my way here, I didn’t see a single living person! All I saw were unmoving golden statues.” Seeing Ceasar’s condition, even someone as dim-witted as Voga could tell that the enemy was unfathomably powerful. A hundred thousand soldiers, yet only a few thousand remained barely clinging to life. The casualty rate was horrific. And from afar, they could all see two colossal monsters locked in battle.

  Ceasar sighed helplessly. He was no longer the famed general of countless battlefields, but like an old man on the verge of death.

  “Retreat! No matter how many reinforcements you bring, it won’t be enough! The king of Golden is an Emperor.” Ceasar walked away without looking back. He knew those words alone were enough for Voga to make his decision.

  “An… Emperor…” Voga trembled in fear.

  Just one word, yet it carried the weight to send millions fleeing. Voga no longer hesitated. He ordered a retreat immediately. What a joke! Against an Emperor, no amount of soldiers would ever be enough. The battle was already finished. Hesmor would need to report to the “Alliance” so they could send someone to negotiate. All the soldiers regrouped with Ceasar’s retreating force and withdrew but among all of them, only one person stayed behind. A cold, indifferent boy wearing a dust-covered gray cloak, his eyes fixed upon a shadowy figure ahead.

  Mys stood there in silence. She had been waiting for him for a long time, having shed the black cloak that concealed her body. Her true face was that of an old crone, wrinkled and covered in warty skin. Without a doubt, Mys was the ferryman of the Black Sea. Exitus was not surprised. Perhaps he had already guessed something. Perhaps from the beginning, fate was a road he was destined to accept and walk.

  “Nashor told me that he knew how to cross the Valley of Death. But only those who return from the realm of the dead can know its rules. From the very beginning of the battle in Hesmor, Nashor died and it was you who brought him back.”

  Mys smiled softly. Her hideous face shifted, transforming into that of a beautiful woman with deep, intelligent black eyes. Her skin became youthful and smooth, her nose elegantly high.

  “He still had a mission unfulfilled and it would only be completed once you appeared. Alright then, boy, take your time. We still have an entire battle ahead of us.”

  Mys pointed toward the two colossal monsters. Their fight was leaning heavily toward one side. Draco’s injuries were worsening by the moment. If its body had not been that of a dragon, it would have already died from sheer exhaustion. Exitus wasn’t concerned. Whether they helped or not, he would take Richer’s life. Not for some grand reason, simply because it was personal.