Chapter 765: 765: You Are Not My Match
Bradley stood above all, fury blazing in his eyes, and in that moment the gaze of countless souls across more than ten Infinite Dimensions worlds locked on him.
"We’ve been here before!"
"We’ve conquered before!"
"And we’ll rise again, carrying the spirits of our fallen Earth brothers and sisters, and once more conquer every land beneath the sun and moon!"
He was not a true god, but his presence roared with the force of one. The strongest challenger beneath the divine, without question.
"Return my son!"
"You dare desecrate the City of Gods? Are you not afraid of divine wrath striking you down?"
Orson lifted his gaze. The mountains quaked, the skies shook.
From tens of thousands of meters above, a tide of war beasts surged forth.
Buzzing filled the heavens as eighteen massive magic warships arrayed in a single line, projecting a pressure field so overwhelming it warped the very air.
"I finally brought them here! These Godslayer slaves... they’ve lost all humanity, daring to slaughter innocent divine citizens!"
From a heap of corpses, Vincent crawled out, face alight with joy as he wailed toward a beautiful woman standing on a warship’s deck.
The true power of the Supreme Council had arrived. Each figure radiated a heroic aura, towering above mortals like celestial sovereigns.
Even the weakest among them carried commander-tier strength. They might not rival the apex powers of other Infinite Dimensions worlds, but on Earth, they were absolute.
"Godslayer, if it’s war you want, then we’ll fight you to the death!"
"We are Sword Soul! The hands of the gods! We shatter all who dare invade! Begone from the City of Gods!"
A booming roar shook the heavens. From the horizon came a vessel even larger than the Undying Lord’s battleship, its blood-red hull blotting out the sky.
"The Ark of Death." Bradley’s face darkened.
This was the Ark of Death, a composite divine weapon capable of unleashing devastating mana shockwaves that shattered defensive barriers. It was this very weapon that once ambushed and crippled the Celestial Fortress, leaving countless Earth soldiers dead in its wake.
"Sword Soul."
A golden-haired man with delicate, androgynous features appeared atop the Ark of Death. His single word fell like a decree.
At once, a sea of radiant guild titles lit up the sky like a million stars.
"Kill them! Offer eternal faith to the gods!" roared Vincent’s father.
Vincent, emboldened, sprinted toward the Sword Soul Guild forces, hoping to merge with their formation. Two trialists piloting hovercrafts tried to cover his retreat despite the crushing aura pressing down on them.
Bradley turned to Orson, voice flat. "Now or later?"
"No rush." Orson shook his head with a calm smile. "Better to send them all to hell together, so they’ll have company on the road."
"Ha! Always thinking ahead." Bradley laughed, savage and gleeful, watching the family of three reunite.
"Orgod, whether you’re god or ghost, for slaughtering divine heirs and butchering innocents, you’ll never know peace, not even in death!"
Vincent’s mother, furious, glared at Orson.
"Yeah! Kill them all! Arrogant vermin!"
With his parents at his side and Sword Soul’s full force behind him, the spoiled brat suddenly found his courage again.
"Godslayer? Even the name reeks. What gives you the right to blaspheme?"
"Do you not understand? Without the gods, you’d all be long dead!"
"We suffered under your tyranny in the US sector. Now look at you, beaten dogs!"
Several trialists with American faces sneered. Once small-time guild bosses, they had risen in power after throwing themselves under Sword Soul’s banner. Now, they sat as high-ranking council elders, basking in authority.
"They’re right. Pretending to be Orgod, tricking and ambushing a few divine heirs—what of it? Nothing but cowardice."
"Some Earth mage? Any true god could crush him with a flick of the wrist. Godslayer trash only dares bully civilians."
"When the Abyss poured out, it was Sword Soul and the other worlds who saved us. Without them, the US would’ve been erased!"
"And wasn’t it Godslayer who held the Abyssal Node Device? They brought the demons here themselves!"
From within the luxury shelters, wealthy elites typed frantically into the live feed, showering Sword Soul with flattery.
"Fuck you!"
Bradley’s roar shook the square. A sweep of his elemental blade sent arcs of sword light slicing down, crushing these sycophants into bloody paste like ants underfoot.
"See? That’s Godslayer for you—murdering innocents without hesitation!"
The survivors hadn’t even finished gloating before scrambling like rats back into their shelters.
"Help! I’ll give everything, all my gold, to Pantheon Sanctum!"
But the Sword Soul elites didn’t even glance their way. To them, ordinary mortals were nothing but insects. Without a god’s presence, they were the absolute rulers of this land.
"Clean it up."
Orson gave Bradley a nod.
Bradley had endured long enough. He bellowed in rage. "I spilled my blood for you! And you grovel to the enemy, you spineless dogs!"
A thunderbolt roared through the wealthy district. Blood painted the streets, screams split the night. One by one, lives were extinguished beneath his sword. Bradley’s face was drenched in gore, his slaughter unrelenting.
But there was no joy of revenge in his eyes—only grief and bitter wrath.
For these people he had once fought to protect, the Iron Legion had bled. And in return, he saw only betrayal. Their fate had long been sealed. Tonight, he merely collected the debt.
"Bradley, capturing you with divine artifacts was never our true intent. You’re free now—leave. The pact still stands."
The Ark of Death descended over the district. The golden-haired man finally spoke, his voice weary.
"Aurex, call for your father, the Thunder God."
Bradley’s crimson armor gleamed as he snarled.
"He is not my father. I am... only his successor in name." Aurex’s bitter smile barely formed before Bradley’s sword slammed him through a wall of shattered ruins.
"Aurex!" cried a royal guard, rushing to aid him, but Hobilarze’s glare stopped him cold.
The wealthy quarter lay silent now, painted red. The screams had faded. Blood rivers ran through broken streets. Bradley’s sword itself dimmed from the endless slaughter.
"Will you let him run wild like this, Lord Hobilarze?" Vincent’s mother spat, glaring at the divine weapons.
The council elders scowled. Mortals’ deaths didn’t concern them, but these mortals were their "nourishment." It was their wealth and resources that fed the council.
"I told you—call your father! Didn’t you hear me?"
Bradley roared, blade raised once more.
Aurex was no weakling. His strength rivaled gods, but compared to Bradley—tempered by a thousand blood-soaked battles—he fell short. Add Bradley’s beads of Buddha and his domain, and below Lower God, few in all the Infinite Dimensions could match him.
"The traitors are gone. Enough."
At last, Hobilarze moved, his body radiating golden light as he stepped between them.
His gaze shifted toward Orson in the distance. Though he couldn’t pierce the man’s veil, he could sense it—this one’s life-force was nearly spent.
Gods endured only so long as faith fed them. Without temples, without worship, even a god would wither.
Chaos shrines on Earth had all been erased. Even as the so-called Chaos God, this man could not endure. All they had to do was stall. Soon, Pantheon Sanctum’s true gods would descend through the shrines.
Clang!
Bradley reeled, blood spraying from his hand as Hobilarze caught his blade barehanded.
"Out of my way!" Bradley snarled. He’d rather face a god head-on than waste time with this puppet.
Divine weapons were not trialists. They were extensions of the gods’ own power. Hobilarze’s defense was monstrous, a wall against both blade and spell. And his millennia of combat experience dwarfed Bradley’s.
"You’re not my match. From the day you were cast out of Earth, you lost every chance of victory."
Hobilarze’s voice was cold as he pointed at the ground. "This is Pantheon Sanctum’s domain."
At once, the other god-tier trialists stepped up behind him.
"And what about me?"
A soft chuckle cut through the tension. Hobilarze froze, eyes wide, stumbling back.
Orson lowered his hood, dispelling the Phantomcraft illusion. His once-stalwart frame now bowed with age, his face lined with time’s weight.
But in his hand, the war staff still shone with undiminished, soul-crushing power.