Chapter 1228: The Battle That Never Was

Jake’s taunt dropped like a hammer into silence—short, brutal, and deafening—before the air shattered with a furious roar.

"THAT’S NOT WHAT WE AGREED ON!"

Master Eldrion’s voice thundered across the battlefield like a divine punishment, slamming into the soldiers behind him with enough force to leave half his army half-deaf. No Light Warrior doubted for a second that his rage was real.

The veterans standing by his side—generals, high-ranking officers, seasoned predators—had already widened their eyes in shock, their mouths forming stunned, silent O’s. One even clenched his jaw so tight his teeth cracked audibly, as if the mere thought of what was coming triggered some primal fight-or-flight response he could no longer suppress.

’He’s afraid.’

The old warrior might’ve fooled the rank and file, but not these grizzled bastards. The air between them had turned heavier, electric with unspoken fears. A bead of sweat traced the temple of a battle-hardened captain, ignored even as it reached his collarbone. Another reached for a pendant around his neck—a silent prayer, disguised as a stretch. Each of them, in their own way, was already preparing for the worst.

Since then, tracking this mysterious Player had become a top priority.

Rank 17. Oracle Knight. Leader of the Myrtharian Nerds. Stand-in Soulmancer King. A one-man army.

Any one of those titles was enough to raise red flags—and goosebumps.

Even if they were missing half the puzzle—like what exactly went down on the battlefield under General Corvac—what they’d managed to scrape together through various channels was already more than enough.

In fact, they didn’t need to know everything about Jake.

Knowing his subordinates was enough to fear him.

Take the half-giants Gerulf and Rogen, for example. These two mountains of meat were physically incapable of subtlety. Their raw savagery and zero-filter personalities made them walking disasters—and they took orders from Jake. So by basic logic, the guy giving the orders had to be worse.

Sure, it was primitive reasoning. But it was the safest one.

The only thing they hadn’t figured out yet was just how justified their paranoia was.

Judging by Eldrion’s over-the-top meltdown... they were starting to get their answer.

Of course, there were still a few stubborn bastards who clung to the belief that Jake had just been lucky. That if he’d run into the Celestial or one of their Titans instead, his so-called legend would’ve fizzled out like a wet firecracker before it ever had a chance to shine.

If that wasn’t idiocy, it was just plain denial.

At that moment, only Lord Calyx seemed to be seeing through the farce, his expression twisted in suspicion.

Aren’t we supposed to be on the same damn side? Isn’t victory a done deal with all the prep we’ve done? Even if he’s stronger than the Celestial, there’s no way he’s getting out of the trap we’ve set for him alive...

While the old man kept ranting and raving, Jake casually picked at his ear.

And when Eldrion finally had to pause to catch his breath, Jake cut in, his tone bone-dry and venomous—yet loud enough to echo across both armies like he was whispering in each of their ears.

"You done?" he said, cocking his head mockingly. "So what? I don’t recall swearing on anything. And even if I did... what difference would it make? You’ve only got yourself to blame for being that gullible at your age."

"Y-You!!"

This time it wasn’t just Master Eldrion who was fuming—it was the entire army.

Disrespecting one of their Supreme Commanders was basically the same as spitting on all of them.

"Coward!"

One furious warrior shouted, and the others quickly joined the chorus.

"You’re backing out ’cause you know you’d lose those duels!"

"Bet you ran out of decent fighters! Or maybe they all chickened out after seeing what we brought to the field, huh?!"

"You think we didn’t notice that pink-haired chick was about to croak?!"

Unlike the higher-ups who had to keep their mouths shut to preserve some shred of dignity, the rank-and-file had no such restraint. Their reactions were raw, honest, and unfiltered.

But Jake didn’t even blink. He just stood there, soaking in their anger like a sponge dropped in acid—cold, impassive, and radiating silent menace.

The smarter ones started to feel it. Not just as tension in the gut, but as a shift in the air itself. It was like the moment before a superstorm hits—birds gone silent, hairs rising on the back of your neck, and the eerie awareness that something massive and unstoppable was already moving.

They didn’t know why, but their instincts were screaming. One by one, they began subtly stepping back, trying not to be the poor bastard stuck in the front row when the shit inevitably hit the fan.

"No need to be afraid," Jake said gently, this time speaking directly to the ordinary soldiers rather than their commanders. "If I wanted to wipe you out, I wouldn’t have bothered with this clown show. Anyone who drops their weapons right now will be spared. After that, the price will go up."

For a second, the soldiers with sharper instincts faltered. Some even lowered their spears, ready to surrender.

But then the rest of the Radiant Conclave army rallied, drawing their weapons as one, their courage bolstered by sheer ignorance.

Those who had been ready to give up suddenly found themselves outnumbered—and being seen as a deserter in a place like this was basically a death sentence.

"Your threats won’t break our Light Warriors!" Eldrion scoffed, oozing arrogance and patriotism.

The rest of the army burst out laughing, mocking Jake for daring to try the "reasonable" approach.

If they thought that would rattle him, they were dead wrong.

The next instant, an aura descended upon them.

But not just any aura—this was something else. Something monstrous. Crushing. Demonic.

It slammed into them like a silent shockwave, tearing through flesh and bone with all the subtlety of a freight train. There was no flash of light, no sound—just pressure. Reality itself seemed to buckle. The air twisted, shimmered, then collapsed inward like a black hole had briefly opened around Jake’s feet.

Ordinary recruits began bleeding from every orifice. Eyes rolled back. Bones snapped. Muscles tore. Tendons ripped from joints like snapped guitar strings. Their brains were hit with trauma worse than any UFC knockout—as if they’d sprinted headfirst into a concrete wall at full speed.

Screams didn’t even get the chance to form. Blood vessels burst before voices could carry. Even those still conscious couldn’t cry out, their lungs collapsed under the sheer weight of that crushing will.

They dropped like flies.

The mid-level officers didn’t fare much better. Some vomited instantly, black bile spewing as their stomachs rejected the internal damage. One man clawed at his own chest as if trying to rip out the invisible hand crushing his ribcage. Another fired his weapon on instinct, the projectile arcing skyward before his arm snapped at the elbow like a dry twig.

Jake’s control over his Spirit Power had evolved far beyond the usual thresholds. He fine-tuned the pressure of his aura to each target—from squad leaders to division commanders—and all of them collapsed at death’s door.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

When the legion generals and army corps toppled like broken dolls smashed by a celestial hammer, the battlefield tipped into full-blown apocalypse territory.

The leaders of the Radiant Conclave wanted to scream at them, curse their weakness, demand answers—but they couldn’t.

Because the truth was even more terrifying:

They were next.

Jake had focused a portion of that same aura on them—but several orders of magnitude more intense. Crippling. Torturous.

Lady Faye didn’t even try to resist. She passed out cold, knowing full well what was coming.

Lady Lyria held on as long as she could, blood pouring from her clenched jaw. Her pristine white robes turned crimson in seconds, her perfect skin becoming a gruesome canvas.

"Such... spiritual power... How... is this... possible?!"

Those were the last words she managed before blacking out.

One might’ve expected Master Eldrion—the oldest and supposedly strongest among them—to last longer.

He didn’t.

The sacred white staff gifted by Anthace, which let him manipulate its roots and summon mysterious warriors at will, flared once... then extinguished like a candle snuffed by the wind.

A heartbeat later, Eldrion’s body met the same fate as everyone else’s.

Crushed bones. Torn muscles. Detached tendons. Blank, white eyes.

Right before he lost consciousness, his face twisted in a mix of shock and bitter regret.

Sweet oblivion claimed him at last.

Meanwhile, the Dusken Throne army—who had witnessed the slaughter in stunned silence—had already lost their voices.

Their jaws hit the dirt.

Their eyes bulged with equal parts fear and awe. Some staggered backward without realizing it. Others clutched their weapons tighter, not out of readiness, but to keep their hands from shaking. Veterans who’d survived half a dozen battles whispered prayers to gods they hadn’t believed in for years.

You could hear gulps echoing in the silence, along with the chattering of teeth and knees. A few soldiers dropped to one knee—not out of loyalty, but instinct. Submission.

Thank the gods... this monster’s on our side...

That exact thought was written all over their faces.

Whether Jake really was the new Soulmancer King or just a very convincing fake no longer mattered.

If he said he was, then he was.

But just when they thought the entire Radiant Conclave had been wiped out...

They saw him.

One man still standing.

Lord Calyx.

His expression wasn’t triumphant. It was broken. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Not rage—at least not entirely. It was disbelief. Betrayal. Horror. He looked around, and for the first time in decades, he seemed lost—like a general waking up to find his entire war had been a dream... or a lie.

His body stood, but his will? Already fractured.

And above all else... he was mad. Mad that he’d underestimated him. Mad that they all had. Mad that a single man had crushed everything they’d built... without lifting a finger.