Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent Chapter 205: The Man Called Ghizlan

Ghizlan stepped directly into her guard to deliver a lethal counterattack. However, he never got the chance.

A high-tension steel wire suddenly wrapped tightly around Gulag’s waist.

Iron-Scale, having anchored his opposite spool to a heavy iron mooring cleat, yanked backward with all his might. The chanical retraction violently pulled the massive brawler out of Ghizlan’s range just as the Conqueror’s palm strike obliterated the empty air she had occupied.

Gulag crashed onto the deck and imdiately thrashed against the wire, snarling like a cornered beast as she tried to charge back into the fight.

Iron-Scale stepped directly into her line of sight and gripped her armored shoulders. "Stop!" he commanded, infusing his draconic aura into his voice to pierce her feral haze. "You are burning your core to ash! Rember Gorak! Rember the child waiting for you in the Onyx Hall! Do not throw your life away just to satisfy your pride!"

The ntion of her mate and child struck harder than any physical blow. The crimson steam radiating from her armor hissed and rapidly dissipated as the berserker rage broke.

Gulag’s eyes widened with sudden clarity before she collapsed heavily to her knees, coughing up a terrifying amount of blood as the physical backlash of burning her life force hit her all at once.

Iron-Scale released her and glanced back toward Aaron.

The Kingdom Knight was leaning heavily against his greatsword just to stay upright. The brilliant silver glow of his blade had completely died out, leaving only dull, heavy steel.

The corrosive acid burn on his shoulder was actively weeping through his armor, and his chest heaved painfully as his internal mana reserves finally hit absolute zero. He was completely exhausted.

"Take her and fall back to the courtyard," Iron-Scale ordered the knight, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate.

Aaron gritted his teeth, his eyes locked furiously onto Ghizlan. "He killed my brother. I am not leaving."

"Your mana is entirely drained, and that acid burn is severely slowing your reflexes," Iron-Scale countered ruthlessly. "If you step into his range again, you will die, and your brother’s mory will die with you. Take Gulag and get out of my way."

Aaron’s trembling legs betrayed his lingering ambition. He knew the Vanguard commander was right, and staying here would only make him a liability. Swallowing his bitter pride, Aaron sheathed his heavy sword and reluctantly looped Gulag’s thick arm over his uninjured shoulder. Grunting under her imnse weight, the knight began dragging the battered Vanguard brawler away from the docks and back toward the safety of the ruined gates.

Iron-Scale turned back around to face the Conqueror. He drew his star-iron blade, letting the dark tal catch the morning light, and stepped forward to hold the line alone.

Ghizlan watched Aaron drag the unconscious brawler away, making absolutely no move to stop them. Instead, he slowly raised his bloodstained hands and began to clap. The slow, mocking applause echoed eerily over the ruined pier.

"A truly wise decision, Commander," Ghizlan comnded, his voice perfectly calm despite the chaos surrounding them. "You saved your subordinates from an execution and recognized a losing battle. It is a rare trait to see a leader prioritize logic over fragile pride."

Iron-Scale did not lower his sword. He adjusted his stance, testing the tension on his remaining wire-spools.

"However," Ghizlan continued, his smile fading into a look of absolute authority. "Sacrificing yourself to buy them ti only works if you can actually stall . I will make sure to mount your head on the harbor gates so your surviving army can admire your leadership."

The Conqueror exhaled, dropping the restraint he kept on his core.

The air across the docks warped. A suffocating pressure crashed down over the pier, heavy enough that the splintered oak planks beneath Ghizlan’s boots snapped. The ambient mana grew dense, pressing against Iron-Scale’s armor like a physical weight.

It was exactly as the scout had described... standing in the presence of a god.

’This output rivals the Sovereign’s,’ Iron-Scale analyzed, his eyes narrowing as he felt the gravity of the Conqueror’s aura. ’If I try to block his strikes conventionally, he will shatter my sword and arms with a single blow. I cannot trade blows with a Herald.’

"You are thinking," Ghizlan observed. "Good. Let us see what you have formulated."

Ghizlan vanished.

He didn’t use a spell. His speed was simply that terrifying. Iron-Scale didn’t try to track the Conqueror with his eyes. Relying on his combat instincts and the shift in atmospheric pressure, the Kobold fired both pneumatic spools upward, anchoring them to the rigging of the nearest transport ship.

The wires yanked him into the air a fraction of a second before Ghizlan materialized where he had been standing. The Conqueror drove his fist downward, unleashing a shockwave that pulverized the wood beneath him, carving a crater into the docks.

’Missed,’ Iron-Scale thought, detaching his left wire mid-swing to arc over the Conqueror’s blind spot.

Channeling his aura to condense the density of his blade, Iron-Scale plumted from the sky in a spinning slash aid at the back of Ghizlan’s neck.

Ghizlan didn’t turn around. He rely raised his hand over his shoulder, catching the falling blade between his thumb and forefinger. The impact sent a tremor through the air, but the layer of mana protecting the Conqueror’s skin prevented the tal from cutting him.

"Impressive reflexes," Ghizlan noted, gripping the blade tightly. "But you lack the mass to hurt ."

Ghizlan ripped the sword downward, intending to pull Iron-Scale into a knee strike. But the Vanguard commander was a step ahead. Rather than holding onto a trapped weapon, Iron-Scale let go of the hilt. As Ghizlan pulled the empty sword, Iron-Scale fired his right spool point-blank.

The grapple hook wrapped around the Conqueror’s extended wrist.

Iron-Scale hit the retract button, using Ghizlan’s anchored weight as a pivot point to sling himself around the Conqueror’s body.

"What?" Ghizlan muttered, his eyes widening as the Kobold zipped past his guard.

Drawing a secondary dagger from his belt mid-flight, Iron-Scale dragged the blade across the side of Ghizlan’s neck. The Conqueror instinctively flared his aura to block, but the velocity of the wire-assisted swing allowed the dagger to bite deep enough to draw a thin line of blood.

Iron-Scale detached the wire, landing in a crouch twenty feet away while drawing another blade from his thigh holster.

The docks fell silent, save for the sound of crashing waves.

Ghizlan stood still. He reached up with two fingers and touched the side of his neck. He looked at the sar of blood on his fingertips for a mont. He hadn’t bled from a blade in over a decade.

But now, he had bled twice.

’He is too durable,’ Iron-Scale thought, keeping his posture coiled. ’That strike carried enough montum to decapitate a drake, yet it barely scratched his skin. I have to find a way to bypass his mana barrier. ’

A low hum began to emanate from Ghizlan’s core. The polite facade lted away, replaced by the predatory gaze of the man who had slaughtered millions.

"I see," Ghizlan whispered, tossing Iron-Scale’s discarded sword into the ocean. The mana around him flared, cracking the air itself. "You are not just a blunt instrunt. You are a scalpel. Let us see how many tis you can dodge before I break you."