Lord of the Truth

1083  A talk with the mutant king

"...." Pythor stood tall, unshaken, His presence alone radiated supremacy, his gaze locked onto the incoming warships, watching them arrive one after another as if he were expecting a particular vessel amidst the fleet.

The carnage unfolding across the battlefield?

It didn't concern him.

To Pythor, this was inevitable—a predetermined conclusion, merely the unfolding of fate.

He stood directly beneath the purple sun, its ominous glow casting his enormous form in an ethereal light.

The sheer majesty of his stance was undeniable.

Anyone —regardless of allegiance— who laid eyes upon him at the heart of the city would feel an overwhelming urge to kneel.

But then—

A voice shattered his focus.

"It seems your roar wasn't just for show… You did something to your soldiers, didn't you?"

"Hmm?"

Pythor's massive head shifted, turning slowly with an air of absolute arrogance.

His razor-sharp eyes settled upon the one who had spoken.

A figure stood before him— nearly three meters tall, with twisting horns spiraling from his skull, and surrounded by an angry swarm of Underworld Daisies— flowers that spun like a disturbed hornet's nest.

Pythor knew who was in front of him immediately.

"I never imagined I'd speak to a mutant Red Plague King before…" Pythor murmured slowly, before shifting his gaze back to the warships, "Truly… if one lives long enough, they'll see everything."

Then, in a tone of pure indifference, he confirmed what Sakaar suspected. "You're right. My roar carried absolute commands—orders to throw themselves into battle and achieve victory, no matter the cost."

His voice was unhurried as if he were merely discussing a trivial mechanism rather than a battlefield drenched in blood, "It's a basic function of the Racial Upgrade Device—a safeguard ensuring that one's army never betrays them in their most crucial moments."

"Normally, the effect is far weaker than what you're witnessing now… but my transformation into this primal form amplified it. And as for the Planetary Spirit Manifestation—" @@novelbin@@

He finally glanced at his opponent.

"I used it to extend my Call across all of Nihari."

A tense silence followed.

Then—

"...That's far more detail than I expected." Sakaar gave a smile, slightly taken aback.

His question had been rhetorical—he hadn't expected an actual answer.

Let alone such a thorough one.

In truth, he had only spoken to announce his presence— not to indulge in Pythor's self-indulgent explanations.

And—

What was that about a mutant Red Plague King?

"This is my first time using these abilities, so I felt like boasting a little. Is that a problem?" Pythor spoke with calm amusement.

His focus never wavered from the incoming fleet, "Besides—none of this information will help you. All of you are dead men walking anyway."

Then, as if returning the favor, he asked—

"Perhaps I should ask you, Red Plague— why bother talking to me? You had a far better chance if you attacked from the shadows."

"I know my own limits." Sakaar's voice remained steady, unwavering.

"If Holak's attack couldn't kill you, then I certainly wouldn't be able to either. My only goal is to stall you—until my Lord returns."

His tone carried absolute confidence, "If anyone has a way to kill you, it's him."

Pythor finally chuckled—a deep, hissing laugh that rumbled through the air, "Oh? You criticize my blunt honesty, yet you're even more straightforward than I am. I like that. Hss hss."

But he still did not turn to face Sakaar directly, "But tell me— do you truly believe you have what it takes to stop me, Red Plague?"

Sakaar's lips curled into a small smile.

The Underworld Daisies around him began to spread, filling the air with an ominous presence.

"I have a better chance than Holak."

Pythor's expression remained unreadable.

"Perhaps~" He hummed in a disinterested tone, his eyes still locked onto the incoming ships.

Then —without turning— he asked:

"Where is the one with the green flames? He was fighting alongside you just moments ago."

"I left him in the mountain, driving the sealing nails deep into the hearts of the remaining imperial guards who still cling to life, while simultaneously draining the lingering life force from those who perished under the effects of that deadly purple mist."

Sakaar let out a chuckle, his voice dripping with mockery and amusement before continuing, "Don't you find this strange? Most of your generals have been killed and recently replaced. Your marshals? Every single one of them has perished. And now, the elites in their armies have followed suit. Meanwhile, you yourself contributed to the slaughter of a hundred imperial guards here, while the soul creatures wiped out another forty. If we also count the guards who perished at Poison Rock and the staggering 2,500 martial emperors from your ranks that we have slain since the war began... what do you have left? Your elite forces? Your foundational pillars? Your Powerhouses? They are all but gone. You are, for all intents and purposes... alone."

Pythor's gaze darkened. His expression, once composed, now bore the weight of calculated thought. "...Are you trying to manipulate my mind? Why do you even possess such intelligence and rhetorical finesse? Your kind is supposed to be nothing more than savages, driven by nothing but predation and reproduction..." His eyes narrowed. "Truly, the mutated Red Plague Kings are a threat. It never once crossed my mind that a planet in the Young Belt would harbor two of you."

He stared at Sakaar for a long moment, memorizing every detail of his enemy's face. He had just climbed the ranks on Pythor's kill list— now second, right below Robin Burton. And after him, Amon.

With a slow exhale, Pythor turned his attention back to the battlefield. The chaos raged on. "...To answer your question, what I have left is a planetary empire spanning Thirteen worlds, and millennia of prosperity to rebuild everything. Keep your tricks to yourself. The war is already won. We won't even get the chance to fight, Red Plague King."

Swoosh Swoosh

Within minutes of Pythor's signal, nearly twenty warships arrived, their crews operating with reckless abandon, attacking the demons with no concern for their own survival. The sheer number of bodies piling up reached horrifying levels.

Sakaar, however, remained relaxed, his smirk unfazed by Pythor's confidence. "I made a few calls before arriving as well. I will not allow this war to end before the lord says the final word."

Bzzzt Bzzzt

Several instantaneous space gates burst open behind the Grand Serpent Empire's army. A flood of demons poured out, immediately engaging the enemy in brutal combat.

"Reinforcements have arrived! Hold the line!!" Amon's lieutenants roared with renewed vigor as they watched their brethren ambush the enemy from behind, striking at the perfect moment.

Pythor's eyes flicked toward the new arrivals before shifting his gaze back to the warships. "The remaining demons from the southern region? Do you actually believe they will make a difference in a battle like this?"

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

Five more portals flared open in different locations. This time, the ones charging out were not demons. They were the locals—humans, dwarves, stubborn warriors, even half-bloods, and a contingent of towering Nihari giants. Each one emerged with weapons raised high, their faces twisted with unrelenting rage, their eyes burning with the desire for revenge.

Two years of horror had pushed them to this moment. They had nothing left to lose.

But...

BOOM.

It was futile.

The moment they stepped out, none of them made it past ten steps before being cut down.

Pythor scoffed. "Really, Now?!" His glare fixed on Sakaar. "Is your grand strategy to burn through every last energy pearl on this planet just to keep it out of my hands?!"

Sakaar simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Please, don't underestimate them. Their numbers are still considerable, and numbers take time to kill."

Of course, Sakaar never truly expected them to win the battle— even if they threw billions into the fray.

Pythor exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his features. He turned toward the portals once more, his heart sinking at the sheer waste of life. He clenched his fists, his voice growing colder. "No matter. I'll deal with the Seventh Son later. First, I will ensure Robin Burton is eliminated for this farce to finally end."

His gaze locked onto the direction where Robin had been thrown moments ago.

Sure enough, as he turned...

Two golden eyes glowed at him from beneath the rubble.