What?!
Aspect of the World?
Orson stared upward, eyes wide in shock, as the Sacred Executor’s body erupted with a colossal golden projection.
The entire world seemed to groan in protest.
Rumbles shook the air, and Orson staggered, nearly losing his footing as the very fabric of reality trembled.
A towering sovereign appeared above, face like sculpted jade, radiating an unassailable majesty.
He gripped a massive azure demon-subduing cudgel that stretched hundreds of meters high. Six golden rings spun behind his back, blazing like miniature suns.
Compared to him, even the Crimson Lizard King in full dragon form was like a housecat before a mountain.
The Sacred Executor’s expression was calm, neither joyful nor grim. His eyes slowly opened, fixing on Orson.
“Before the Aspect of the Sacred Executor… why do you not kneel?”
“The Aspect of the Sacred Executor…”
Orson’s face went pale. He was at a complete loss for words.
The Sacred Executor rose from a seated position. His colossal form stretched so high that Orson’s neck almost snapped from craning to follow it.
Then the giant cudgel moved.
Wind and cloud churned in terror, space itself screaming under the strain.
“Like hell I’ll kneel to you!”
Orson gritted his teeth, triggered Earthquake plus Whisper of the Wind, and blasted himself backward hundreds of meters.
Boom!
He threw a glance over his shoulder—only to see layers of earth and stone rising in a titanic wave. The cudgel’s casual swipe had unleashed a tsunami of dirt and rock, crashing toward him.
“Awaken—Grip of the Underworld!”
Orson slammed a chaos six-pointed star underfoot, conjuring a massive elemental hand that smashed into the wall of debris, barely halting its advance.
But this was just the aftershock of a single, lazy swing.
If that cudgel hit him directly, even with his monstrous HP, he’d probably end up as little more than a puddle of meat.
Alerts screamed in his mind.
“Warning: Cetran has activated the divine Soul Seal ultimate technique: Aspect of the World!”
“Warning: Cetran’s stats have been magnified twentyfold!”
“Warning: Aspect of the World will persist for 60 minutes. Countdown initiated.”
“You must survive his pursuit until it ends. Once the effect lifts, Cetran will suffer heavy stat decay.”
Orson’s mind went blank. A sour fear coiled in his gut.
“Run? Where am I supposed to run?”
No flying, no teleportation—unless he was some top-tier assassin with godlike agility, he had no chance of evading this monster for an hour.
His eyes went cold.
He tightened his grip on the Supreme Arcane Blade and activated Whisper of the Wind, dashing side to side while hurling Chaos Magic Balls.
They traced streaks of light across the night sky, hammering into the Sacred Executor.
Damage Reduction -70%!
Crit -400,000!
Chaos Burning -12,000!
Crit -410,000!
Orson’s jaw dropped.
The bastard was like him—an adventurer—and that white armor was decked out with absurd damage reduction, capping at the hard limit of 70%.
Where he could slap Heaven Demons for over 2 million a pop, here it was cut by more than half.
He peppered the giant with spells while backing away, looking for openings, but it was laughable.
The towering war god was like a golden mountain, Chaos Magic Balls bursting on him without leaving a single mark—his hair wasn’t even mussed.
“About 30 million per hit… only 1% of his HP bar moved. Which means he’s got at least three billion health?”
Orson gave a hollow laugh, drained of all strength.
Boom!
The Sacred Executor idly clapped his hand, sending Earthquake rippling outward. Huge boulders tore from the ground, raining down toward Orson.
“What a… beautifully simple attack style…” Orson muttered, swallowing hard.
He forced his mind clear and danced among the rocks with razor precision.
Doomsday Blade!
Heavenly Fire Slash!
A flaming cyclone exploded forth, chopping the massive boulders into rubble.
Crit -800,000!
Block!
Block!
Crit -800,000!
“God that hurts.”
Orson staggered back, arm numb, the Supreme Arcane Blade plunged into the ground just to hold himself upright.
Pain lanced through him, blood dripped from the corner of his mouth—but his eyes burned with unbroken resolve.
“Pain… pain means it’s real.”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
That was the difference between an adventurer and a pampered player.
Many past tycoons flaunted monstrous stat sheets, but in Hardcore Mode, pain was real. Death was real.
If you hadn’t been baptized in blood, your numbers didn’t mean a damn thing.
“Behold the Sacred Executor’s immortal might! Filthy barbarian, daring to defy us—die!”
Mia was safely distant now, jeering with cruel delight.
Orson’s face darkened.
“You don’t deserve to wear that face. Don’t worry—I’ll peel it off myself soon enough.”
“How fun. Why not just stay here and let the Sacred Executor devour you?”
Mia giggled, even mimicking Sienna’s gentle lilt.
Ice spread across Orson’s features.
He didn’t waste another breath on this wretched thing.
Roar!
Death Bite!
The Crimson Lizard King’s eyes flared. Seeing its master in peril, the dragon’s power erupted—it lunged, jaws wide, tearing through the air to bite at the Sacred Executor.
Snap!!
A sharp crack rang out.
Fear burst in the dragon’s eyes. The Sacred Executor had caught it by the throat, massive hand clamping down.
Lethal Strike -50,000,000!
Lethal Strike -50,000,000!
Orson’s heart lurched.
“Don’t fight head-on!”
The Crimson Lizard King bellowed, claws gouging into the Sacred Executor’s arm, drawing blood—but the damage was pitiful. It was losing the raw strength contest by miles.
With a desperate shudder, it shrank back into human form, letting the enormous hand close on empty air, and landed awkwardly on the ground.
“I am Cetran. Protector of this realm.”
The Sacred Executor’s dead eyes glowed faintly as his voice echoed with cryptic power.
“Immortal Art—Heaven Shattering!”
Six golden halos blazed behind him, flying free like divine meteors, then plunged toward Orson.
They blocked out the sky.
Orson felt a hollow chill.
So that was why even gods of the galaxy had died here.
This was a true Forbidden Curse-tier attack—no chant required, just instant devastation.
Facing a real adventurer war god was a whole different level from even King or God bosses.
The Crimson Lizard King panicked.
It lunged back, snatched Orson by the robes, and hurled him with all its might—then raised its bone sword to shield itself from the onslaught.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Lethal Strike -110,000,000!
Lethal Strike -90,000,000!
Block Overload -30,000,000!
Even with its colossal HP pool, the dragon lost over 500 million health in moments.
This was power that crushed even Orson’s encounters with so-called top bosses.
No wonder BlazeKing could defy gods. If this was just one of his generals, what kind of monster was BlazeKing himself?
Orson’s face was cold, but there was no panic in his eyes.
He flung a Hurricane Spear.
Crit -5,000,000!
Still drastically reduced.
But he wasn’t done.
He spun the War Supremestaff, oceanic echoes rolling forth.
“Awaken—Boundless Roar!”
Magic Dragon Curse form!
A colossal tsunami rose, swallowing the ruined village before slamming into the Sacred Executor’s chest.
It only forced him to drop his cudgel, stagger back a few hundred meters—and gave Orson time to yank the blood-soaked Crimson Lizard King back up.
“Shift to dragon form. We’re going to break this bastard!”
The dragon roared, surged back into its winged glory.
Orson vaulted into the saddle, seized full control, and unleashed a combo of Death Dragon’s Breath and tidal fury. Black-brown mist rolled across the battlefield.
Percent Damage -20,000,000!
Percent Damage -20,000,000!
Even cut by damage reduction, it was still solid.
The Sacred Executor groaned—just as Orson guessed, a corpse could not dodge or mitigate explosive bursts like a real veteran.
He was tough, but he wasn’t agile.
The Sacred Executor trembled, lifting one colossal foot.
“Immortal Art—Cloudstep Crush!”
“Been waiting for you to use a skill.”
Orson’s lips curled into a frosty smile.
“Dark Spirit King! Light Spirit King! Kill him!”
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