Chapter 1230: 1230
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A young man walked forward slowly, a jet-black sword trailing along the ground his in right hand.
His c.h.e.s.t was b.a.r.e, but was clearly soaked in blood. It was impossible to tell whether it was his own, or that of someone else. Still, the only thing he wore was a pair of rolled up black pants that somehow seemed untouched.
His features were the pinnacle of perfection as though his face and body were sculpted by the Gods themselves. His jaw was defined, his shoulders and c.h.e.s.t were broad, and he stood tall at slightly more than 6'6 despite being b.a.r.e foot.
His eyes were listless, yet carried with them a slight golden glow. Any expert could immediately tell that this young man was in a deep selfless state, the kind of selfless state one could only reach when in pursuit of a goal that overwhelmed your mind.
The only possibility was that this young man no longer cared about his life. He was willing to exchange even the last of his life force in exchange for the answer he sought.
This was deeper than any selfless state possible, so deep in fact that it was impossible maintain without the exchange of life. A mortal's mental energy simply couldn't withstand the drain. Yet… It ironically so often times led to absolute death.
Would he receive his answer first?... Or would his life force deplete first?...
Despite being an army of a combined thirty thousand, despite being of high-ranking nobility, despite having nine celestials and three high earth grade beasts among them, the three first tier dukes felt fear seize their hearts.
"Who are you?" Sir Tybalt finally recollected himself, unconsciously reaching for the handle of his mace. Although this young man had suffocating Presence, at least that of an Emperor, maybe even a God, his cultivation was still at the peak essence gatherer level.
Still, Tybalt had to be careful. This kind of genius couldn't be without a backer. Even if he was reckless toward them, being reckless toward him might end up with King Cromwell using them as a scapegoat to appease his clan or sect.
"Where is Percival Valore?" The young man's voice didn't sound human. It was as though he was three people at once, speaking with a layered and ancient voice. It felt like his words themselves could penetrate into your soul, shattering it in an instant.
At that very moment, the Red Devil Horses that had managed to withstand the pressure of the dragon tailed lions collapsed to the ground, dropping their riders to shiver on the ground incessantly.
The eyes of the three Dukes contracted. 'King level Presence!'
Their soldiers shivered in fear. In an instant, every essence gatherer present became completely useless. The saints tried to hold their own, but they too couldn't withstand the weight on their minds. Unfortunately for them, affording a Presence protecting treasure was impossible and well out of their reach.
'His Presence can even affect us? His body is so powerful?!' The three Dukes and their attendants trembled slightly.
Who didn't know that Presence was a Martial Art, solely reliant on the body? If your body wasn't powerful enough, it was impossible to effect high ranking individuals. The fact that they felt pressure meant that this young man's body was comparable to a celestial's!
Sir Merek, the magic grandmaster, stepped forward. "Why is it that you're searching for King Percival?"
The moment the young man's gaze shifted to him, Sir Merek felt like a mountain was weighing down on his c.h.e.s.t. It seemed almost meaningless that he had a Presence protecting treasure.
"Where is he?" The young man ignored the question. "I need him to answer a question."
"This…" Sir Merek didn't know what to say. All of this for the answer to a question? To destroy their gate and impugn their prestige just for a question? This was building irreconcilable hatred! If he just wanted to know the answer to a question, with his status as a True God, even their sect Master would give him the face of meeting in person.
It was obvious to them all that this young man was a true God. The only members of the younger generation that would have King level Presence were the True Gods and no one else.
That was when another frightening thought overwhelmed them. How were they going to stop this young man? None of the True Gods came from weak backgrounds. Even the weakest, not because of talent, but because of youth, Dyon Sacharro, came from the formerly first ranked quadrant. Their 74th quadrant couldn't afford to offend any of them!
It was at that moment that Sir Merek began to record everything.
There was a reason the weaker quadrants weren't simply conquered by stronger quadrants. Aside from the Star Clan that came from the outside world, no one had ever broken this rule because there were checks and balances. As long as their quadrant provided evidence that this True God provoked them first, no one would blame them for retaliating.
"Young man." Sir Ulric finally spoke, grasping his lance tightly. He had clearly thought of same thing Sir Merek had. "You may be a True God, but there are rules that even you must follow. Attacking our quadrant like this, even if you die, your clan won't have the right to speak a word."
Sir Merek's head snapped toward Ulric, an incredulous expression on his face. Was this battle maniac really provoking a True God? This idiot was courting disaster!
"Are you going to answer my question, or not?"
Sir Ulric trembled at the young man's dismissal. "Leave behind your name! I, Ulric Valore, do not kill the nameless! Even if you are a True God, even a baby dragon can be killed by a fully-grown tiger!"
"My name?..." The young man paused. "If I tell you my name, will you tell me where Percival Valore is?"
Sir Ulric sneered. "Is that your last request before death? Then I'll happily oblige!"
The young man didn't seem to respond to provocation, he only had a singular goal in mind. "My name is Dyon Sacharro…"
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A young man walked forward slowly, a jet-black sword trailing along the ground his in right hand.
His c.h.e.s.t was b.a.r.e, but was clearly soaked in blood. It was impossible to tell whether it was his own, or that of someone else. Still, the only thing he wore was a pair of rolled up black pants that somehow seemed untouched.
His features were the pinnacle of perfection as though his face and body were sculpted by the Gods themselves. His jaw was defined, his shoulders and c.h.e.s.t were broad, and he stood tall at slightly more than 6'6 despite being b.a.r.e foot.
His eyes were listless, yet carried with them a slight golden glow. Any expert could immediately tell that this young man was in a deep selfless state, the kind of selfless state one could only reach when in pursuit of a goal that overwhelmed your mind.
The only possibility was that this young man no longer cared about his life. He was willing to exchange even the last of his life force in exchange for the answer he sought.
This was deeper than any selfless state possible, so deep in fact that it was impossible maintain without the exchange of life. A mortal's mental energy simply couldn't withstand the drain. Yet… It ironically so often times led to absolute death.
Would he receive his answer first?... Or would his life force deplete first?...
Despite being an army of a combined thirty thousand, despite being of high-ranking nobility, despite having nine celestials and three high earth grade beasts among them, the three first tier dukes felt fear seize their hearts.
"Who are you?" Sir Tybalt finally recollected himself, unconsciously reaching for the handle of his mace. Although this young man had suffocating Presence, at least that of an Emperor, maybe even a God, his cultivation was still at the peak essence gatherer level.
Still, Tybalt had to be careful. This kind of genius couldn't be without a backer. Even if he was reckless toward them, being reckless toward him might end up with King Cromwell using them as a scapegoat to appease his clan or sect.
"Where is Percival Valore?" The young man's voice didn't sound human. It was as though he was three people at once, speaking with a layered and ancient voice. It felt like his words themselves could penetrate into your soul, shattering it in an instant.
At that very moment, the Red Devil Horses that had managed to withstand the pressure of the dragon tailed lions collapsed to the ground, dropping their riders to shiver on the ground incessantly.
The eyes of the three Dukes contracted. 'King level Presence!'
Their soldiers shivered in fear. In an instant, every essence gatherer present became completely useless. The saints tried to hold their own, but they too couldn't withstand the weight on their minds. Unfortunately for them, affording a Presence protecting treasure was impossible and well out of their reach.
'His Presence can even affect us? His body is so powerful?!' The three Dukes and their attendants trembled slightly.
Who didn't know that Presence was a Martial Art, solely reliant on the body? If your body wasn't powerful enough, it was impossible to effect high ranking individuals. The fact that they felt pressure meant that this young man's body was comparable to a celestial's!
Sir Merek, the magic grandmaster, stepped forward. "Why is it that you're searching for King Percival?"
The moment the young man's gaze shifted to him, Sir Merek felt like a mountain was weighing down on his c.h.e.s.t. It seemed almost meaningless that he had a Presence protecting treasure.
"Where is he?" The young man ignored the question. "I need him to answer a question."
"This…" Sir Merek didn't know what to say. All of this for the answer to a question? To destroy their gate and impugn their prestige just for a question? This was building irreconcilable hatred! If he just wanted to know the answer to a question, with his status as a True God, even their sect Master would give him the face of meeting in person.
It was obvious to them all that this young man was a true God. The only members of the younger generation that would have King level Presence were the True Gods and no one else.
That was when another frightening thought overwhelmed them. How were they going to stop this young man? None of the True Gods came from weak backgrounds. Even the weakest, not because of talent, but because of youth, Dyon Sacharro, came from the formerly first ranked quadrant. Their 74th quadrant couldn't afford to offend any of them!
It was at that moment that Sir Merek began to record everything.
There was a reason the weaker quadrants weren't simply conquered by stronger quadrants. Aside from the Star Clan that came from the outside world, no one had ever broken this rule because there were checks and balances. As long as their quadrant provided evidence that this True God provoked them first, no one would blame them for retaliating.
"Young man." Sir Ulric finally spoke, grasping his lance tightly. He had clearly thought of same thing Sir Merek had. "You may be a True God, but there are rules that even you must follow. Attacking our quadrant like this, even if you die, your clan won't have the right to speak a word."
Sir Merek's head snapped toward Ulric, an incredulous expression on his face. Was this battle maniac really provoking a True God? This idiot was courting disaster!
"Are you going to answer my question, or not?"
Sir Ulric trembled at the young man's dismissal. "Leave behind your name! I, Ulric Valore, do not kill the nameless! Even if you are a True God, even a baby dragon can be killed by a fully-grown tiger!"
"My name?..." The young man paused. "If I tell you my name, will you tell me where Percival Valore is?"
Sir Ulric sneered. "Is that your last request before death? Then I'll happily oblige!"
The young man didn't seem to respond to provocation, he only had a singular goal in mind. "My name is Dyon Sacharro…"
A young man walked forward slowly, a jet-black sword trailing along the ground his in right hand. His c.h.e.s.t was b.a.r.e, but was clearly soaked in blood. It was impossible to tell whether it was his own, or that of someone else. Still, the only thing he wore was a pair of rolled up black pants that somehow seemed untouched. His features were the pinnacle of perfection as though his face and body were sculpted by the Gods themselves. His jaw was defined, his shoulders and c.h.e.s.t were broad, and he stood tall at slightly more than 6'6 despite being b.a.r.e foot. His eyes were listless, yet carried with them a slight golden glow. Any expert could immediately tell that this young man was in a deep selfless state, the kind of selfless state one could only reach when in pursuit of a goal that overwhelmed your mind. The only possibility was that this young man no longer cared about his life. He was willing to exchange even the last of his life force in exchange for the answer he sought. This was deeper than any selfless state possible, so deep in fact that it was impossible maintain without the exchange of life. A mortal's mental energy simply couldn't withstand the drain. Yet It ironically so often times led to absolute death. Would he receive his answer first?... Or would his life force deplete first?... Despite being an army of a combined thirty thousand, despite being of high-ranking nobility, despite having nine celestials and three high earth grade beasts among them, the three first tier dukes felt fear seize their hearts. "Who are you?" Sir Tybalt finally recollected himself, unconsciously reaching for the handle of his mace. Although this young man had suffocating Presence, at least that of an Emperor, maybe even a God, his cultivation was still at the peak essence gatherer level. Still, Tybalt had to be careful. This kind of genius couldn't be without a backer. Even if he was reckless toward them, being reckless toward him might end up with King Cromwell using them as a scapegoat to appease his clan or sect. "Where is Percival Valore?" The young man's voice didn't sound human. It was as though he was three people at once, speaking with a layered and ancient voice. It felt like his words themselves could penetrate into your soul, shattering it in an instant. At that very moment, the Red Devil Horses that had managed to withstand the pressure of the dragon tailed lions collapsed to the ground, dropping their riders to shiver on the ground incessantly. The eyes of the three Dukes contracted. 'King level Presence!' Their soldiers shivered in fear. In an instant, every essence gatherer present became completely useless. The saints tried to hold their own, but they too couldn't withstand the weight on their minds. Unfortunately for them, affording a Presence protecting treasure was impossible and well out of their reach. 'His Presence can even affect us? His body is so powerful?!' The three Dukes and their attendants trembled slightly. Who didn't know that Presence was a Martial Art, solely reliant on the body? If your body wasn't powerful enough, it was impossible to effect high ranking individuals. The fact that they felt pressure meant that this young man's body was comparable to a celestial's! Sir Merek, the magic grandmaster, stepped forward. "Why is it that you're searching for King Percival?" The moment the young man's gaze shifted to him, Sir Merek felt like a mountain was weighing down on his c.h.e.s.t. It seemed almost meaningless that he had a Presence protecting treasure. "Where is he?" The young man ignored the question. "I need him to answer a question." "This" Sir Merek didn't know what to say. All of this for the answer to a question? To destroy their gate and impugn their prestige just for a question? This was building irreconcilable hatred! If he just wanted to know the answer to a question, with his status as a True God, even their sect Master would give him the face of meeting in person. It was obvious to them all that this young man was a true God. The only members of the younger generation that would have King level Presence were the True Gods and no one else. That was when another frightening thought overwhelmed them. How were they going to stop this young man? None of the True Gods came from weak backgrounds. Even the weakest, not because of talent, but because of youth, Dyon Sacharro, came from the formerly first ranked quadrant. Their 74th quadrant couldn't afford to offend any of them! It was at that moment that Sir Merek began to record everything. There was a reason the weaker quadrants weren't simply conquered by stronger quadrants. Aside from the Star Clan that came from the outside world, no one had ever broken this rule because there were checks and balances. As long as their quadrant provided evidence that this True God provoked them first, no one would blame them for retaliating. "Young man." Sir Ulric finally spoke, grasping his lance tightly. He had clearly thought of same thing Sir Merek had. "You may be a True God, but there are rules that even you must follow. Attacking our quadrant like this, even if you die, your clan won't have the right to speak a word." Sir Merek's head snapped toward Ulric, an incredulous expression on his face. Was this battle maniac really provoking a True God? This idiot was courting disaster! "Are you going to answer my question, or not?" Sir Ulric trembled at the young man's dismissal. "Leave behind your name! I, Ulric Valore, do not kill the nameless! Even if you are a True God, even a baby dragon can be killed by a fully-grown tiger!" "My name?..." The young man paused. "If I tell you my name, will you tell me where Percival Valore is?" Sir Ulric sneered. "Is that your last request before death? Then I'll happily oblige!" The young man didn't seem to respond to provocation, he only had a singular goal in mind. "My name is Dyon Sacharro"
