Chapter 589: Killing Comndnts
At the far edge of the labyrinthine maze, the dense forest paths finally gave way to an expansive plain—a wide, open stretch of jagged stone and wind-swept grass, silent save for the sound of battle tearing through the air.
At the center of this battlefield stood a massive blue-colored door, glowing with a strange, otherworldly light. The door pulsed with energy, its surface swirling like a dinsional portal, clear and gleaming like liquid sapphire—the gateway to the next stage of the Citadel.
But no one could approach it. Not yet. Because at that very mont, an intense, all-consuming battle was raging across the field like a tempest.
At the forefront of the chaos, King Magnar, Kate, and Klaus were locked in a fierce, desperate struggle against none other than Drevon, who stood at the heart of the storm like a dark god of war. Every swing of his blade, every pulse of his energy sent tremors through the earth.
Despite being outnumbered, Drevon’s strength was monstrous. His strikes were sharp, his movent precise, and his mastery of his concept was higher. Even with all three of them working in perfect unison, they were clearly being pushed back.
Klaus was bloodied, Kate panting with exhaustion, and Magnar’s armor cracked and scorched. But Drevon showed no signs of faltering. He fought like a man possessed—with cold hatred, sharp cunning, and brutal efficiency.
anwhile, not far from them, the rest of Magnar’s chosen group was engaged in their own desperate battle against the infamous Three Commandnts of Monarch. Garil, the Commandnt of Wild, fought with primal fury, his form half-covered in beast-like essence as he tore through the battlefield with savage claws and explosive bursts of earth energy.
Loxus, the Commandnt of Lightning, moved like a storm given form, his body cloaked in crackling arcs of blue electricity that lashed out with every movent. And then there was Reiner, the Commandnt of Spear, whose thrusts tore through the air with pinpoint precision and frightening power—his spear almost invisible to the eye as he struck with relentless rhythm.
Facing them were Ralph, Garrison, Nortan, Jas Garfield, and the others. They were holding their own—for now—but the ground beneath their feet was stained with blood, and the air stung with pressure. It was a battle of equals, of titans clashing on ancient stone.
And off to the side, far removed from the fury, Silus Xuan sat calmly atop a boulder, his legs crossed, his face indifferent, even sneering as he watched the chaos unfold like a spectator at a show he already knew the ending to.
Standing beside him was a tall, grim-faced man with a spear strapped across his back, his posture straight, his presence sharp. His expression was solemn, observing the battle with focused eyes, but he made no move to interfere.
Behind the two stood three more young n, their auras impressive but still paling in comparison to Silus. All three were at the peak of the Expert Rank, clearly geniuses in their own right, likely junior elites of other Middle Domain families. But now, they stood silently, overshadowed by the monstrous powers at play before them.
But just as the two fierce battles raged on—one between Drevon and the three leaders, and the other between the Three Commandnts and Magnar’s elite—three massive golden swords suddenly materialized high in the air, their appearance as abrupt as a divine judgnt descending from the heavens.
Each sword radiated overwhelming power, forged from pure golden energy, glowing like miniature suns. Before anyone could react, the swords descended like lightning bolts of wrath, targeting the Three Commandnts of Monarch.
Caught completely off guard, Garil, Loxus, and Reiner barely had ti to lift their heads before the golden blades pierced through them. Their defensive auras shattered like glass, their bodies torn apart in a blink—cleaved into pieces, their life force extinguished before they could even unleash a counterattack.
It happened in an instant, so fast and so violently that even the watching elites—Ralph, Garrison, Nortan, Jas, and the Union Warlords—stood frozen in utter disbelief.
They had just been locked in a dead-even struggle with the Commandnts, barely managing to hold the line, yet now those sa enemies had been wiped out in one stroke, their bodies obliterated by an attack that felt more like a divine execution than any mortal technique.
No one even had ti to recover from the shock when, in a flash of light and wind, Max materialized directly in front of Drevon, as if space itself had bent to his will. There was no warning—just motion.
With his sword in hand, eyes burning with unwavering focus, Max struck. “Severing Flow Sword Art!” he roared, and in the next heartbeat, his blade unleashed a flowing, rippling slash that tore through the air like a river made of lightning and blades.
Drevon’s eyes widened, true shock etched into his face for the first ti in years. First, it was the face that stunned him—Max. But the real terror ca an instant later—the attack. It was too fast, too sharp, and too precise.
A sword art that didn’t just cut the body—it severed intent, space, and reaction. Drevon knew he couldn’t dodge in ti. His instincts scread at him to defend, but even as he summoned energy to respond, he realized the truth—he was too late.
Even if he survived the slash, he would be injured, and injured badly. The attack ca not just with speed, but with purpose—the kind of purpose that turns a strike into a sentence.
But just as Max’s sword was about to land on Drevon—his blade barely a breath away from cleaving through flesh and pride—a sudden, razor-thin sense of danger surged through his body like a scream of thunder.
His Three-Dinsional Body pulsed with alarm, and in that instant, Max saw him—a figure materializing at his right side, faster than sound, his presence like a spear of death itself. Without warning, a gleaming spear shot toward Max, thrust with such terrifying speed and precision that it seed to cut through the very fabric of space.
The man wielding it had a calm yet terrifying aura, his expression unreadable, his movent deadly. ‘Damn… this man is strong’— Max’s thoughts raced as he instinctively tried to reposition, but even before the spear made contact, he could feel the heat burning his skin, the air around it sizzling with energy so dense it crackled like fire.
Even with 600 Dragon Scales constantly reinforcing his body, Max didn’t doubt for a second—if that spear touched him, he would bleed.
‘No ti to finish the attack on Drevon,’ he realized, teeth clenched. ‘I have to focus entirely on defense.’ It wasn’t a choice—it was survival.
In that split second, Max abandoned his killing blow, twisted his body away from Drevon, and instead poured all his energy into activating one of the most trusted defensive skills in his arsenal. One he had mastered long ago, but was using first ti in a battle.
“Eternal Bulwark!” he roared, and in the blink of an eye, a massive golden wall surged up between him and the incoming spear—its surface etched with runes that shimred with radiant divine light.
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