The Strongest War God

Koa Short shouldered the flag, his eyes ablaze with determination to the point of sacrificing himself.

Disregarding the aborigine martial artists, he charged directly, as wherever his flag went, Hansworth men followed.

Hundreds of thousands of martial artists trailed behind the flag, understanding that while men could fall, banners could not.

The flag represented the soul of the army, an unyielding spirit.

Koa knew the perilous nature of being a flag bearer, with a death rate exceeding 90%.

Yet, carrying the flag was everyone’s goal, as its presence bolstered morale significantly.

Sorrell Neal, surrounded and wielding a black spear, saw the reinforcements on both sides and roared defiantly, “Kill them!”

The commanding roar echoed, lifting the spirits of those on the battlefield.

Sorrell wanted everyone to know he was still in the fight, the commander enduring a bloody battle.

The aborigine encirclement crumbled, and the 70,000-strong aborigine army was defeated.

A hundred miles from the 16th ancient city, a luxurious carriage resembling a walking house housed a feminine-looking young man, dressed in a white fox fur robe and attended by a beautiful maidservant.

His deep-set eyes observed the battlefield through a mirror—a spirit artifact providing a view of outside external forces.

“Interesting,” the young man murmured, focusing on Braydon Neal standing on the city wall. “Who is he?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know. He’s never been seen in the 16th ancient city before,” the old man outside the carriage replied, wiping cold sweat off his brows.

The young man smiled faintly.

“He’s intriguing, but it’s futile. Graham Neal is trapped in the temple and is on the verge of death. This is the perfect opportunity to breach the ancient city, seize the bronze door, and allow the Oracle Palace to elevate my parents to the emperor realm. Even my younger brothers and I will ascend to the status of emperors guided by the gods in the Oracle Palace in the future.”

This was the enticing offer the Oracle Palace had extended to these aborigine ancient cities: dismantle the bronze door, and the Oracle Palace would spare no effort in ensuring the family’s ascent to emperors.

Such an alluring prospect was hard for any aborigine to reject, and indeed, no one could resist.

The feminine-looking young man gracefully stepped out of the carriage, his white boots treading through the sky as he smiled, hands behind his back.

“Secretly order the 300,000 troops behind us to attack and break through the bronze door in one fell swoop. This time, I will personally oversee the battle. I want to turn Sorrell Neal’s skull into a wine vessel!”

His words exuded confidence, having launched several assaults on the 16th ancient city in the past months and being well-informed about Sorrell’s predicament.

The city seemed like an arrow at the end of its flight.

In an instant, hundreds of thousands of aborigine martial artists, adorned in beast clothes, barefooted, and armed with bronze spears or black iron swords, congregated.

They became the advance force for the feminine-looking young man, showcasing the ferocity of the ruins’ aborigines, unafraid of death.

As the earth trembled, Sorrell, in the midst of battle, saw the approaching army and bellowed, “Everyone, retreat! Defend the city! Whoever dares to retreat will be beheaded!”

On the city wall, Braydon’s white robes fluttered as he exerted his pressure.

No longer a banished immortal, he appeared like a monarch descending upon the world.

Furious, Sorrell confronted his brother, “Brother, what are you doing? Maduka Hlongwane’s 300,000-strong army is pressing down on us. It’s very easy for them to deal with tired soldiers like us. Even if we can fight, we can’t fight today, and we have no backup! If a large number of martial artists die today, the defense of the 16th ancient city will weaken by 30%, and after a few battles, the city will collapse on its own.”

Sorrell, burdened with the responsibilities of leading the city, spoke the truth.

Braydon, having arrived before Sorrell, left invisible marks in the air with his hands, unleashing the Mount Sino Sword Talisman.

“I’ve experienced battles without any help, and I’ve experienced it for many years,” he said, raising his hand to touch Sorrell’s head, who instinctively resisted.

With a faint smile, Braydon gazed at his younger brother, as if seeing a reflection of his youth.

“Ruins are the most suitable place to nurture battle through battle,” Braydon remarked softly.

He turned around and shouted, “All troops, listen up! We cannot retreat! Those who retreat will be killed!”

The Northern King’s killing order echoed across the entire battlefield.

Two black flags, akin to sharp knives, thrust deep into the aborigine army with unstoppable force.

Blood reflected the setting sun, and corpses littered the ground.

“Brother!” Sorrell hoarsely clenched the black spear in his hand.

“The 300,000 aborigine reinforcements you are worried about, I will take care of them.”

Braydon left behind this sentence and streaked across the sky, a white afterimage resembling a stream of light.

In Hansworth, Braydon had always been a hard-line warmonger in line with the Northern Army men.

Faced with threats from countries around the world, compromise was never an option.

In the ruins, their resistance to outsiders was even more unwavering.

Summoning his sword with a thought, Braydon flew into the sky.

Nine thousand meters behind him, the Mount Sino Sword Talisman lit up.

Standing in the sky with his hands behind his back, Braydon had already encountered the 300,000 aboriginal soldiers after advancing 70 miles.

He, a white-robed youth, aimed to single-handedly halt the massive aborigine army.

An army of 300,000 covered the landscape, an endless black mass resembling a swarm of ants.

Despite the daunting sight, Braydon’s expression remained calm.

He softly remarked, “The flag is the soul of the army. The general is the courage of the soldiers. If the general takes the lead and bravely fights on the battlefield, how can the soldiers not pledge their loyalty to the death?”

Closing his eyes, Braydon immersed himself in memories of past battlefield experiences that hadn’t been revisited in years.

The once iron-blooded Northern King opened his eyes anew, bathed in a radiant white light as the essence of banishment and killing intent fused into his being.

Swoosh!

Scarlet flying swords emerged from the Mount Sino Sword Talisman—80,000 of them soaring into the sky.

“What?” exclaimed Sorrell, black spear in hand, as he gazed at his brother, now resembling a sword immortal in the heavens. “The Mount Sino Sword Art!”

“It’s a Hansworth Sword Immortal!”

“How many years has it been? A sword immortal at last!”

“Facing a million enemies wouldn’t be daunting if a great success sword immortal appears!”

“A single sword immortal can wipe out an entire country.”

Countless martial artists on the battlefield raised their heads, their eyes gleaming with excitement.

In the outside world, among the hundred countries, Hansworth’s representative was a swordsman!

The sword immortal served as Hansworth’s distinctive identity, feared by outsiders.

For the people of Hansworth, being associated with sword immortals was a source of pride.

The terror of sword immortals lay in their mastery of the blade.

A formidable figure like Braydon, commanding 80,000 swords, was undeniably fearsome.

The sword, akin to a galaxy, hung in the world, each blade a lethal weapon.

Braydon, with eyes brimming with cold killing intent, advanced, stepping forward with his left foot.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

The 80,000 swords that once stood upright now lay flat, their tips held horizontally in the air.