Ark Undead

The heavy fist shattered the heroic spirit's stance, causing him to stagger back two or three steps.

The sudden attack gave Morton a huge advantage, and he knew he had to seize the opportunity.

So instead of punching forward, he planted his left foot firmly into the ground, and with a quick flick of his right hand, he grabbed the handle of the hammer he had just slammed into the ground.

As the heroic spirit continued to lean back, the distance between the two had quietly widened.

Morton gripped the hammer handle with both hands at the same point, tilting his upper body back and pressing down.

At that moment, he grasped his hope of victory.

His entire body suddenly stiffened, the power rising from his firmly planted feet, his whole body like a giant spring, his thighs, waist, shoulders, and even his arms all stretched to their limit.

As he straightened up, the hammer behind him rose up like a waltz, drawing a perfect arc in the air before crashing down on the heroic spirit in front of him!

365. Experts

Everyone could see that the hammer traced a perfect arc, carrying immense force as it slammed down from Morton's head towards him.

His goal has always been singular: to defeat his ancestors in this battle.

Therefore, he put down his heavy hammer and focused on close-quarters combat in order to gain this moment of opportunity.

Both fighters used family-inherited hammer techniques. Simply clashing hammers together wouldn't determine a winner.

Morton is a descendant of heroes; his bloodline sustained him all the way, making him a border hero admired by many.

But his efforts were by no means inferior to anyone else's; every battle honed him, bringing him closer to his ideal self.

Morton lacked the talent for Originium Arts, so he couldn't use Originium spells, and naturally, he couldn't utilize the power of Originium.

Relying solely on his own flesh and blood and his own efforts, Morton walked step by step to the front of the Heroic Spirit.

Even so, Morton was still human, and humans are bound to be subject to certain limitations.

For example, physical fitness, such as strength.

Morton was well aware that he was different from his ancestors. Therefore, he could not afford to waste his time on his ancestors.

Having become a heroic spirit protected by a sacred relic, their physical strength can be said to be inexhaustible under the relic's blessing.

But Morton didn't. Although the Undying Arena allowed him to ignore his injuries and fight to his heart's content, a person's physical and mental energy would be depleted with each use.

Morton's hammer strike was clearly aimed at shattering the heroic spirits.

He wanted to use this blow to lay the foundation for his victory.

Therefore, he will not hold back.

boom!

A giant steel hammer slammed into the head of the heroic spirit, the sickening sound of steel twisting and turning echoing between the hammer and the armor.

The helmet, which was originally considered sturdy, began to deform the moment it came into contact with the giant hammer. During the deformation process, the steel broke into fragments and scattered in all directions.

The heroic spirit's head felt as if it were being forcibly shoved into its body, almost as if it were being stuffed into its chest cavity.

The hammer continued to fall, determined to crush its enemy and prevent him from ever lifting his weapon again.

Morton clearly felt the force applied to the hammer face encounter some kind of resistance, but his own strength did not return.

This means that the power of his hammer blow was truly and completely poured onto the heroic spirit.

The immense force was like a waterfall falling from the sky, smashing the heroic spirit's stance to pieces.

He even threw the giant hammer in his hand.

Throw it out?

Morton thought he had victory in his grasp, but when he saw the Heroic Spirit swing the hammer in his hand, an immense sense of crisis suddenly rose in his heart.

He didn't even have time to grip his hammer tightly anymore; he released the handle and his entire body lurched backward.

Right where Morton had been standing, a heavy hammer slammed into the ground, creating a huge crater in the ashes.

Ashes flew everywhere, enveloping even the figures of the heroic spirits.

Morton, having released the giant hammer, glanced down at his thigh.

He was a little slow to react, and the hammer head grazed his thigh. The rough, unpolished hammer head tore off a large chunk of flesh after grazing his skin.

Blood was flowing freely. Had his reaction been even a fraction slower, his leg, or even his entire lower body, would have been smashed into a thin sheet by that hammer blow.

As ashes fell from the sky, the heroic spirit's form gradually took shape.

He looked like a demon crawling out of hell; his helmet was smashed to pieces, and fragments were embedded in his head, making his face unrecognizable.

However, this heroic spirit did not lose its fighting ability.

He reacted at the last moment before Morton swung the hammer.

The slight tilt of his head meant that the hammer didn't actually hit his head squarely; instead, he used his left shoulder to absorb part of the force.

This resulted in his left shoulder also becoming a blurry mass of flesh and blood.

He retaliated by forcefully striking out with his right hammer, nearly ending the duel.

After all, they are Heroic Spirits, beings recognized by the Holy Relic.

If Morton could win this duel so easily, relying on a momentary flash of inspiration, then it would truly be a worthless battle.

"very good."

Morton paused, almost thinking he had misheard.

“Minos today also has such warriors.”

The spirit's voice was deep and powerful, and the crumpled flesh and blood of its brain seemed to writhe as it shook its head.

"Hey kid, what's your name?"

Morton shuddered and instinctively straightened his legs.

He ignored even the pain from the wound on his thigh, straightened his chest, and answered proudly.

"Morton, my name is Morton. I am a descendant of Parrishul, one of the twelve heroes!"

The tall, sturdy soldier stood on the battlefield and proudly announced his name.

In Minos, warriors only communicate privately, exchange names, and become friends after battles.

Now, in this immortal arena, there is only battle, and no post-battle feast.

The fact that the Heroic Spirit took the initiative to ask Morton's name shows that he truly regarded Morton as a warrior, not just a challenger.

This is Morton's glory; for him, it is the recognition of his ancestors.

Upon hearing Morton's loud shout, the heroic spirit was visibly taken aback for a moment before bursting into laughter.

The deep, resonant laughter pierced through the barrier and echoed throughout the square.

The youth's spirited and excited voice, along with the unrestrained laughter of the heroic spirits, reached everyone's ears.

The priests of the Temple of Heroes naturally overheard their conversation.

They clenched their fists, their faces flushed, clearly feeling the same sense of honor as Morton.

"Good! Very good! I never thought that after my soul returned to the sacred object, I would still be able to see my descendants challenge me one day."

Parishur reached out and grasped the handle of the heavy hammer that was stuck on his shoulder. With a little force, he pulled the hammer, along with some bone fragments and flesh from his body.

The hammer was hurled back to Morton, and like Parrishur's hammer, its head was buried in the ashes.

Parishur regained his footing, then stretched out his hands and pulled his heavy hammer from the ashes, holding it in his grasp.

His face, whose features were long since obscured, was now stretched taut at the corners of his mouth, as if he were enjoying the battle.

"Come, let us continue this battle, hero of Minos."

He didn't refer to Morton as a junior, but rather as a hero. This was both an explanation of his own identity and an expectation for Morton.

Morton also stepped forward, ignoring the dripping wound on his thigh, and shouldered the heavy hammer. The two stood face to face once again.

As the heavy hammer swung up the ashes from the ground once more, the two figures clashed again.

Both men were severely injured, and their movements were slightly distorted.

With each exertion, Morton's leg wound reopened a little more.

The wound on Parrishur's shoulder also made his hammer less intimidating than before.

The more they clashed, the more brutal their battle became.

Perhaps the hammer head grazed the skin, or perhaps they released the hammer handle at the same moment and simultaneously punched each other in the chest.

Against the backdrop of wounds and blood, the battle appeared exceptionally brutal.

Neither side wanted to lose this match... No. For them, the significance of this match transcended winning or losing.

They enjoyed the struggle, giving their all in a pure contest of strength and skill.

This is the answer sheet that the next generation of soldiers handed in to their ancestors, and the ancestors also enjoyed this hard-won gift.

This is a battle, and also Minos's farewell to his past self.

Morton didn't know, but Parishül knew very well.

Minos could not bear the gifts that the sacred objects brought.

These spirits of Minos, as well as warriors of the Twelve Heroes, could sense the battle every time the sacred relic erupted, and it was almost always Minos who was unilaterally suppressed.

The true appearance of the sacred object and the meaning of its existence have long been known.

They were not afraid to throw themselves into the endless battles; the warriors of Minos were born on the battlefield.

They simply hoped that Minos would continue to live on after they were gone.

The battle fought by the twelve heroes was not the pinnacle of Minos's revival, but rather its beginning.

However, Morton gave him a satisfactory answer.

Therefore, in return, he would also use his own hammer and his own fists to tell this little guy in front of him a lesson.

The Minoans were born warriors.

Even in death, they remain heroic spirits.