The Strongest War God

Chapter 1452: The Saint of the Day, Braydon Neal

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

He had attained the pinnacle of the divine realm, poised on the cusp of transcending into the saint realm.

Within this realm, one could bask in the freedom of roaming between heaven and earth for a span of 2,000 years.

To achieve this breakthrough, he needed to transmute the chains of order into the great path of heaven and earth.

With his eyes shut and body in a meditative pose, Braydon Neal emitted a faint glow from the divine pill nestled within him.

The chains encircling the pill gradually loosened and enveloped Braydon, forming a ten-meter-long chain of order, its hue a stark gray—an embryonic manifestation of the path.

Seated amidst this ethereal cocoon, Braydon’s focus honed in on the task at hand: to morph the chains of order into the primal runes of the great path, thereby ascending to the esteemed rank of saint.

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With closed eyes, he immersed himself in the process, the chains coalescing into a palm-sized gray rune pulsating with the raw power of primordial chaos.

As the transformation unfolded at a leisurely pace, the green lotus swayed gently, fostering the growth of the Northern King Sword—a silent testament to their shared cultivation journey.

Unbeknownst to them, the serene frost world began to unravel.

The perpetual snowfall ceased, and the once-timeless landscape plunged into darkness, marking an unforeseen shift in the balance of their surroundings.

It wasn’t a mere eclipse, a passing shadow cast by sun, moon, or blackened sky.

Instead, an inexorable descent into unyielding darkness loomed overhead.

The heavens shifted, tipping precariously as if losing their grip on the earth below.

This destabilization rippled through the world, unsettling its very foundation.

As the disarray persisted, a sense of impending doom gripped many, prompting a hasty exodus from the frost world.

It seemed inevitable—the imminent collapse of this world spelled certain demise for its inhabitants.

Word of the impending catastrophe spread like wildfire, echoing throughout the Hall of Souls and rippling across the expanse of the Spirit Sea.

Factions dispatched their foremost figures to investigate, their concerns twofold—assessing the situation and seizing any emergent treasures birthed by the world’s demise.

The three esteemed soul slaves of the Hall of Souls had long been privy to these developments.

Despite their awareness, they were powerless to intervene.

Within the confines of a secluded chamber, Beckham Jovel spoke with a wistful resignation. “It appears that His Highness has acquired the Heart of Frost.”

Issac Irwin’s expression mirrored his helplessness. “By refining this artifact, one gains control over the frost world. However, His Highness’ refinement seeks not integration but extraction of its power.”

They had surmised that Braydon’s involvement was behind the world’s upheaval—an unsettling truth they could not alter. @@novelbin@@

Apart from him, ordinary prodigies would find it impossible to tame the Heart of Frost.

Yet, Braydon not only subdued it but also utilized the Yin-Yang Five Elements Diagram to suppress its power.

It wasn’t a surrender; rather, it was a calculated sacrifice—a means to refine the artifact and harness its primordial chaos Qi to bolster his own strength.

“Not even His Highness is aware,” Carlisle Jaynes remarked, shaking his head. “If the Heart of Frost’s power is fully extracted, this realm will cease to exist.”

“It matters not. Both Bilal Yarbro and Lady Lauritz Hagan have charged us with overseeing His Highness’ cultivation. Sacrificing a frost world holds little consequence in comparison,” Beckham declared, emphasizing Braydon’s paramount importance.

The collapse of the world unfolded gradually, its pace measured against the vast expanse of its territory.

Despite the cataclysm, less than a tenth of the realm had succumbed to the chaos thus far.

Meanwhile, Braydon remained engrossed in his cultivation before the ice palace, undisturbed by any interruption.

Even the old hall master dared not approach, and denizens of the frost world found themselves barred from the palace’s vicinity.

Having spent two years within this realm, time within moved at a ratio of 1:100 compared to the outside world.

While a mere seven days had elapsed in the Hall of Souls, Braydon’s tenure within the frost world spanned a substantial 730 days.

Two entire years had elapsed—two long years.

Braydon remained seated before the ice palace, a gray rune taking shape before him.

Suddenly, a thunderous boom reverberated, heralding a momentous surge in his aura.

Transitioning from the pinnacle of the divine realm to the esteemed saint realm, Braydon’s transformation was swift.

As the primordial chaos runes materialized, the chains of order vanished, replaced by a rudimentary rune.

With this transformation, Braydon’s presence surged exponentially.

Simultaneously, the green lotus sensed the shift, emanating a formidable pressure.

A column of gray chaotic light pierced through the realm as the lotus blossomed, birthing the Primordial Chaos Sword—a weapon exuding a menacing aura of chaos despite its still-black hue.

Meanwhile, within the Yin-Yang Five Elements Diagram, the heart despondently withered.

Its essence drained day and night, converted into primordial chaos Qi.

Yet, with the sword’s emergence, a crisp voice resonated—a manifestation of the artifact spirit, born alongside the Primordial Chaos Sword.

Concealed within the sword lay the primordial chaos artifact spirit, akin to a child who revered Braydon as its father.

“Master!” the voice chimed, imbued with a sense of dependence.

“As I ascend to the saint realm, you make your appearance—a double blessing indeed,” Braydon murmured, his left hand gently grasping the sword’s hilt, its weight palpable in his grasp.

It felt as heavy as if it weighed ten thousand pounds!

While Braydon wielded the blade with ease, it would likely prove too weighty for an outsider to lift.

This sword, nurtured by the primordial chaos green lotus, was a connate supreme treasure—a relic destined to grow alongside Braydon, reaching the pinnacle of power.

As Braydon gripped the battle blade, the moment of his breakthrough infused it with newfound potency.

With a swift swing of his left hand, the sword cleaved forward, its edge crackling with primordial chaos Qi.

With a single stroke, it rent the sky asunder, laying waste to a span of 100,000 miles.

Elevating beyond mere saint status, the connate Primordial Chaos Sword ascended to the realm of supreme treasure—a connate supreme treasure, its power awe-inspiring.

“Henceforth, you shall still be known as the Northern King Sword,” Braydon declared, sensing the weapon’s formidable might.

“Very well, Master. You are the Great Northern King, and I, the Little Northern King,” the newly formed artifact spirit responded, its innocence untainted by the world’s complexities.

Braydon’s affection for the spirit swelled, and he whispered softly, “May your innocence endure for all eternity.”

It was a heartfelt wish, though tempered by the knowledge that an artifact spirit, once stained with blood, could harbor a malevolent aura—a harbinger of its potency in battle.

With his characteristic resolve, Braydon condensed a primal rune, laying the groundwork for future endeavors.

Entering the first level of the saint realm marked a pivotal moment for Braydon.

Yet, as he embarked on this transcendent journey, the skies over the frost world darkened, shrouded by a vast expanse of ominous clouds.

These clouds, thick and black, coalesced, stretching across a hundred thousand miles, heralding the arrival of his saint tribulation—a trial of unparalleled magnitude.

Amidst this tumultuous scene, a tender voice pierced the air—the Primordial Chaos Sword’s artifact spirit spoke. “Master, this tribulation is mine.”

“It is mine as well,” Braydon affirmed, attuned to the tribulation’s essence alongside his sword.

Both master and weapon were fated to confront this celestial ordeal, their destinies irrevocably entwined.

Yet, this tribulation bore an unusual aspect—melding the trials of both master and weapon.

Previously, Braydon’s divine tribulation alone possessed the power to vanquish a peak holy master.

Now, facing the saint tribulation, the stakes soared to unprecedented heights.

Within the Hall of Souls, Beckham’s countenance shifted abruptly. “What?!” he exclaimed. “Summon the primordial chaos banished immortal with haste! Without his protection, His Highness will struggle to weather the heavenly tribulation!”

“I shall go at once,” Issac declared, vanishing in a blur as he entered the Hall of Souls—a domain exclusive to holy masters, spanning three hundred floors and beyond.

Here, the primordial chaos banished immortal roamed freely, its presence a bulwark against impending catastrophe.