One Pound Meat, One More Attribute Point

He didn't have a single hair on his head.

A tattoo of a Black Dragon spanned from the crown of his head to his chin, crossing over the giant's entire cheek.

Within the original Star Sea Federation, such a tattoo was the mark of a heavily sentenced criminal, a sign of extreme danger.

After becoming the leader of the Dark Army, Tajadon had a myriad of ways to remove this shameful tattoo from his body.

But he did not do so; during the thousands of years of warfare, those who dared to mock him were personally sent by him to Hell. Nowadays, a tattoo of a similar style has become a symbol of glory within the Dark Army. Only the mightiest, strongest, most domineering, and most inhuman warriors are worthy of wearing it as a crown on their bodies.

Tajadon's massive frame leaned forward, his blood-drenched eyes fixed on Indra's face.

After seeing an almost imperceptible trace of fear on the face of this God's Son, Tajadon's smile grew even more wanton.

"How is the Great Clan Chief's body nowadays?" asked Tajadon.

"He is well," answered Indra, "although he hasn't engaged in combat with others for many years, I can sense the astonishing power contained within his body."

"That's good, that's really good," Tajadon said with a fiendish grin, "Only a strong prey can bring me sufficient delight. Imagining biting through his throat, his limbs struggling violently, yet his pupils can only helplessly dilate, the scorching blood gushing out at first, then gradually, slowly dripping... And with that, his thread of life comes to an end."

Tajadon's voice rose and fell with dramatic flair, his expression one of intoxication, resembling a poet savoring a millennium-aged fine wine.

Finally, he snapped out of his self-indulgence.

Tajadon's gaze returned to Indra, "Look at you, so scared out of your wits, come on, my cowardly and selfish child, tell me, what brings you here this time."

"There has been some unforeseen development in the plan," Indra stated succinctly, recounting the recent events.

Tajadon raised an eyebrow, asking with interest, "He's just an uncivilized native, and even such a minor character is too much for you to handle? I am starting to doubt whether working with you is a good choice."

Consecutive provocations and humiliations, a trace of anger flickered across Indra's face.

But upon meeting Tajadon's abyss-like eyes that seemed bottomless, he felt as if doused with ice water, and slowly lowered his head again.

"He's not the native you think he is."

Indra said, "My two brothers fell at his hands, and even the Great Clan Chief did not choose to face him head-on."

"He's still as weak as ever, no wonder he accomplishes nothing," Tajadon sneered.

However, Indra's words had successfully piqued his interest, "Well then, since you have already spoken so much... Hmm, give me the exact coordinates. I will handle this matter. It's also a good opportunity to dispose of some minor troubles I have here."

"Minor troubles?" Indra was somewhat curious.

But before he could ask further.

As he transmitted the message received from Faya back, with a humming noise, Tajadon's colossal frame slowly disappeared into the hazy mist.

...

...

...

The flagship of the Dark Army, the Heartless Slaughter.

Tajadon sat on his throne, waving his hand to disperse the chaotic torrent accumulating in the hall.

In front of him was a huge Duel Arena, adorned with various cruel torture devices, rapidly spinning gears, spikes that moved up and down, and Atomic Flames that shot straight up, among others. Thousands of slaves knelt around the Duel Arena, a vast sea of heads, with faint sobs emanating from within.

Not long ago.

One of the battle groups under the Dark Army obliterated a Federation Era refugee ship.

These slaves were the spoils of their operation, former compatriots now used as playthings for arbitrary killing and entertainment.

In the center of the Duel Arena, two towering figures clashed.

One of them had a crimson body, chains with mechanical structures draped from the head, and buzzing steel needles that seemed to penetrate straight through the skull and into the cerebral cortex. This made its owner perpetually maintain a pathological frenzy, such that even having limbs chopped off inflicted no pain, merely indulging in endless slaughter like the infected zombies from a Doomsday movie.

The other looked much more normal, with fair skin and a face still showing traces of youthfulness. Although he appeared very young, his movements were that of a very skilled warrior.

From the clothing, it was clear that the youth was one of those refugees.

An energy barrier of dark green enveloped the Duel Arena, suppressing the physical abilities of both fighters to the same level.

Sparks flew in the Duel Arena, with the constant clanging of metal on metal. Even among the Dark Army, it was rare to see such evenly matched combat, causing the surrounding crowd to hold their breath.

Finally—

The two figures crossed paths once again.

The youth found an opening, thrusting his sword forward.

Its point aimed straight for his opponent's heart, but the gladiator twisted his body, shifting the injury to the shoulder.

The sword was dull as it lodged into the bone, emitting a cringe-inducing grinding noise, and hot blood splattered.

A normal person receiving such an attack would surely panic. A look of joy crossed the youth's face as he stepped back to further his advantage, preparing to chop off his opponent's head.

However, to his surprise—