Black sail

Chapter 693 LXXII: Let the Galaxy Burn

Chapter 693 LXXII. Let the Galaxy Burn

[Again... a single moment decides the outcome?]

It was still an incredibly powerful throw, and Julius managed to dodge it, but was still affected by the explosive force.

Caught off guard, Gerdrey swept past, his figure forming a line, dragging Julius's head along the way, cutting the Sky Arena in two.

Julius's condition is unknown; he has been carried backstage for emergency treatment and is unable to continue competing.

"Holy crap, flying through the air!"

Renn and Shadi have lost everything.

In the betting game, either Morrison, who bet on the owl dragon, won it all, or Chuan Che, who bet on Godley, took it all away.

One person died tonight, and several were seriously injured. Gerdrey deserves the most credit. This stateless man is too damn ruthless. Is he not interested in official titles or what? With your personality, even if you were to infiltrate the royal court, no one would be willing to give you a friendly face. You don't understand the unspoken rules.

In the subsequent broadcast.

Since Julius was unable to continue, Salert finished third in the losers' bracket third place match.

This was far beyond what the group had expected. Dao Ge had indeed given it his all and burned himself out. Dao Ge, who had been unlucky his whole life, finally got lucky and picked up a private seat. This was the ultimate luck he had earned after years of hardship guarding the tower while in exile overseas.

The third-place finisher is someone he can brag about for a lifetime. He can roam freely throughout the Western Continent, and wherever he goes, people will treat him to meals, hotels, and prostitutes for free.

Because it is necessary to ensure absolute fairness in the final championship battle.

Divine Sword Dragon and Stateless Person Gerdley need to rest a while longer and get back to full strength before officially starting the Royal City PK, where the winner takes all.

"The big one is coming...it's coming."

Lisite looked at Xiadi, who was the albino dark elf who had come up with the idea. "If this goes wrong, you... will be the King of the East Sea."

The current situation is that headshots are flying everywhere. The general public doesn't care and doesn't know what's going on, but those in high positions must have incredibly interesting expressions.

But that alone is not enough.

The vivid expressions and the terrifying influence they wielded are one thing.

The most crucial thing is how to translate influence into tangible benefits.

It's no use knowing all this; we have to get this done and detonate it at a certain point in time.

The royal court needed to make a statement in a formal setting, and the Continental Martial Arts Tournament, as one of the most popular events in the Western Continent, was the perfect opportunity.

This is... forcing the emperor to abdicate, preventing him from attacking Heaven's Port. What audacity! You dare to punish the national hero of Aran?
"What the hell am I, the King of the East Sea? I messed up and I'm going back to Summerset Island."

Xia Di immediately shifted the blame.

"Damn, I knew you had no sense of the big picture. Is there any hero with the ambition to carry on my will?"

Li Si Te, with a stern expression, asked the crowd that they must be prepared for the Emperor's wrath.

Everyone wore tactical black faces, and no one responded. The dark will of Heaven's Harbor—perhaps it's time to end this here.

"A hero whose spirit can shake mountains and rivers, that is naturally me, Lady Fafnir! I will carry on your legacy!"

Fafnir crossed her arms; this was a statement of justice.

Lisite was overwhelmed with gratitude, her tears almost overflowing.

"Sister Fa... I sense your ambition, your domineering spirit. Let the galaxy burn!"

Li Si Te spoke in a serious tone.

At this moment.

At the Continental Martial Arts Tournament, in the royal family's special seats.

Cicero's thoughts had been pulled back to a time that seemed to be from the last century.

……

The old capital of Aran.

Silver Dragon was beheaded by the Emperor. His head was severed by chains and crashed through the city wall, his blood gushing out like a dam bursting its banks.

The sky was dyed a blood-red ochre, and the hanging sun, like a shattered branding iron, was stained with dark red spots of gunpowder smoke. The blood of the silver dragon flowed everywhere on the road like a tsunami.

Thick smoke billowed from the burning building, blood splattered in every crack of the bricks, and every street in the capital was crushed into scorched earth by horses' hooves and boots, making a sticky sound of "the dead" when stepped on.

The battle lines surged like a giant wave crashing with flesh and blood. The silver armor of the royal city's defenders clashed with the black iron armor of the Aran rebels, and the opposing forces pressed closer to each other, unleashing a dull, oppressive atmosphere of death.

The muffled thud of a longsword piercing a throat, the crisp crack of a battle axe splitting a skull, mixed with the screams of the dying, and the stench of blood in the wind, wove together an impenetrable, chilling net of death.

"What's the point of having so many petty scoundrels rushing in to their deaths like animals, howling in vain?"

The man blocked the main road to the palace, single-handedly taking on a thousand men.

Zote, in his prime.

The Ten Directions Great Annihilation erupted with blood-red light, and terrifying demonic energy seeped out of the armor, forming energy bonds that resembled the ring-shaped structure on the sun known as the solar magnetic rope.

The nameless greatsword exuded a terrifying aura, and the blood plasma flowing from the blood drain was like a great river.

It smelled of blood, decay, and burnt food.

Beneath his feet lay a sea of ashes and corpses.

The entire battlefield was devoid of intact land, with only layers upon layers of corpses forming undulating "mountains." The highest point of these mountains could even reach over broken walls and ruins, and even the sunlight could not penetrate the gaps between the piles of corpses, casting only thick, inky shadows on the ground.

Blood had already soaked past Zote's ankles, and the bloodthirsty killing intent on his terrifying face was like a living god of the underworld crashing down from a shattered abyss.

Augner should be able to hold off the attack from the other side.

As Zote thought this, his gaze focused on the one-eyed soldier before him, whose nameless broadsword was pointed at Cicero.

"This is the last crackdown."

The deputy head of the Witch Hunt Secret Service seemed not to be a human being, but a terrifying symbol, possessing an almost mechanical indifference. Killing was not his purpose, but rather his instinct for existence.

The people of Old Arameans all acknowledged that they were nothing more than prey in the web of blood he had woven.

“You’re right. This is indeed the last time for you. The massacres you committed, whether in the Duchy of Sotland or anywhere else, will never happen again.”

Cicero showed no fear.

All the tragic products of the Aranian system converge here: tenant farmers who are insolvent and sent to their deaths by their lords; wives and daughters who are secretly executed to take credit for others' crimes; and wanderers whose families are destroyed.

They all came here with the will to defy fate and face death.

"Completely depraved... "

I might be wrong.

But history is never wrong!

This has been proven to be the most effective method for over two thousand years, except that it adds another line to the list of sinners.

No one can... defy history.

Zote carried an unnamed greatsword, and everything around him was shrouded in black and white under the bright red sunlight.

It slashed towards Cicero.

……

"Uncle Cicero..."

At the royal table, Phoenix looked bewildered, clearly the thorny nature of the matter far exceeded his capabilities.

Cicero remained stunned for a long time.