The Strongest War God

At the center of the five-colored altar.

“Braydon, is it you?” Lowell Neal turned around with difficulty.

“Uncle Lowell, it’s me!” Braydon Neal raised his hand in response and immediately employed his lightning technique.

Lightning crackled, enveloping Braydon’s body, serving both as a weapon and a protective shield.

Lightning was the nemesis of evil.

Braydon took a step forward, intending to enter the five-colored altar to rescue his second uncle and grandfather.

Given Graham Neal’s precarious condition, his life could be extinguished at any moment—it couldn’t be delayed any longer.

“Don’t come in!” Lowell shouted, but it was already too late.

Braydon stepped into the five-colored altar area, and the moment he did, the scenery before him transformed.

The world seemed to flip upside down, and Braydon felt like he had been transported back fourteen years to Preston city.

It was still his seventh birthday, that rainy night etched deeply in his memory.

“An illusion?” Braydon muttered as he looked around.

He found himself in the Neal family’s manor in Preston, reliving scenes from his childhood memories.

Liam Neal lay in a pool of blood, and Braydon stood silently at the door, witnessing his young mother holding his hand as they fled from the Neal family manor.

“Laura! Protect Braydon! Run!” Lowell shouted.

Braydon’s eyes reddened at the sight.

The rain intensified, and Laura Quinn pulled Braydon away, escaping to the Quinn family’s villa.

However, the red door remained shut, as the Quinn family, fearful of the Neal family, refused to open it despite Laura’s pleas.

Laura knelt on the ground on that rainy night. Yet the Quinn family did not open their doors.

However, when Lowell arrived, the door opened.

Everything seemed to be repeating itself.

With the fake sentiments of the Quinn family, Harry Quinn, the venomous snake, circled behind Lowell.

The sharp dagger revealed itself, poised to stab Lowell in the back.

Swoosh!

The sharp blade was about to pierce Lowell’s back, but Braydon raised his hand, intercepting the blade and letting blood flow from his palm.

The scene froze, and Harry was left stunned.

Braydon’s demeanor exuded killing intent as he spoke coldly, “Back then, I was just a child, forced to witness Uncle Liam and Uncle Lowell’s demise in a pool of blood. I was powerless. If I had been an adult instead of a seven-year-old, I would have wiped out your entire family!”

These words laid bare the deep-seated hatred in Braydon’s heart.

Despite the orchestrated nature of these events by his grandfather and uncles, the image of his two uncles lying in their own blood lingered in Braydon’s mind, stoking the flames of his vengeful desires.

Though consumed by a ghostly voice urging him towards slaughter, Braydon’s eyes retained a calmness beneath the surface of his anger.

The realistic illusion attempted to ensnare him, but he stood resolute.

“Scatter!” Braydon commanded, and the illusion before him collapsed, dispelling on its own.

The scene crumbled, but Braydon remained unaffected.

“Braydon!” Lowell called out anxiously.

“Uncle Lowell, I’m fine,” Braydon reassured.

Lowell breathed a sigh of relief as he urged, “Braydon, you need to leave immediately and protect the 16th ancient city with your brother.

“Since I’m here, I have to bring you and Grandpa back with me.”

Determined to rescue his second uncle and grandfather, Braydon pressed forward.

Lowell, aware of the illusion’s potency, cautioned Braydon about the increasing danger as he delved deeper.

There were hundreds of altars in the surrounding area, and each five-colored altar could allow a hundred people to enter the illusion.

The deeper they went, the more dangerous it was.

With layers of illusions stacked on top of each other, one would be unable to differentiate between illusion and reality. At that time, one would go crazy if they were still alive.

“The illusion here is potent. Even an emperor might lose himself if he goes too deep. Don’t venture further. If your grandfather and I don’t make it, protect your brothers and sister. Leave quickly!” Lowell advised in a hushed tone.

Undeterred, Braydon refused to leave.

If the only threat was the illusion, it wouldn’t pose much harm to him.

Though harboring regrets, Braydon activated the eight techniques, especially the Thousand Feathers Technique, rendering him immune to the illusions.

Approaching Lowell, Braydon summoned a milky white light that shielded him from the illusions.

Calmly, he declared, “I’ll bring Grandpa out.”

“Be careful. The closer you get to that ruined temple, the stronger the power of the illusion!” Lowell reminded.

Unfazed, Braydon focused on the dilapidated temple that was less than a hundred meters tall, housing a stone statue inside.

Was it a portrait or a statue?

Braydon was fearless as he had mastered the martial arts path.

The martial arts banished immortal could overcome any technique.

In an instant, Braydon brushed aside all resistance and stood before the ruined temple.

His grandfather, Graham, knelt in front of the ruined temple, his face extremely pale, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

His vitality was in turmoil, indicating a potential Qi deviation and the risk of dissipation.

“Wake up!”

Braydon raised his left hand, pointing at his grandfather’s forehead, and invoked the Thousand Feathers Technique, shouting urgently.

The technique swiftly protected and calmed Graham’s agitated vitality.

The elderly man seemed to sense the external aid, gradually waking up.

Upon opening his eyes, he recognized the young man before him, hoarsely exclaiming, “You’re… Braydon!”

“Grandpa!”

Braydon called softly, his memories of his grandfather still rooted in his childhood.

During that time, Graham showered affection on Braydon, cradling him carefully to prevent any harm.

Now, after over ten years of separation, they had reunited.

“Oh?” Trapped deep in the illusion, Graham mumbled, “Is it another illusion?”

“No…” Braydon began to answer but was interrupted.

He was overconfident.

“Wake up!”

A shout echoed from the green-robed man in Braydon’s spiritual aperture. “Kid, wake up quickly and protect your primordial spirit. I’ll help you.”

The forceful shout seemed to jolt Braydon awake, causing everything before his eyes to disperse.

With the green-clothed man’s assistance, reality returned.

However, Braydon couldn’t save Lowell or awaken his grandfather.

Hovering above the first five-colored altar on the periphery, his vitality flowed endlessly toward it.

These altars had the ability to absorb martial artists’ blood, which signified their vitality.

Silently absorbing it all marked the onset of death.

Once one had entered the third or fifth level of the illusory realm, it would be very difficult to regain consciousness.