The sky submits under his feet, the atmosphere solidifies around him.
Just by standing there, he seems to beco the center of the universe, the asure of all things.
When his eyes open and close, there is no blinding divine light, only a soul-piercing calm, indifferent to the mundane, a gaze truly overlooking ants and wielding the rules.
Seville Empire, Marquis of Steelheart, Ares Iron Anvil, a Level 4 Knight who has ignited divine fire, concentrating on the divine status associated with war and steel.
"Two Level 3... a good harvest." Marquis Ares voices calmly; not loud, yet clearly overpowering all battle noise on the field, resonating directly within the souls of Isera and the High Priest, with a tallic coldness.
Facing this catastrophic pressure, Isera and the High Priest’s expressions drastically change, feeling an unprecedented death threat.
But they did not retreat, as the highest Guardians of the clan, there was no retreat.
"Invaders! The land of the Moon Mark cannot be desecrated!" Isera shouted sharply, transforming all fear into a battle intent of doom.
She raised the Moon Mark Scepter high above her head, frantically drawing energy from the Moon Well of the Moon Mark Eye, even at the cost of tapping the Moon Well’s source.
A shadow of the eternal moon over a hundred ters in diater erges above her head, its silver light scorching to the point of nearly lting the space, carrying dual intentions of purification and destruction, crashing towards Marquis Ares.
This was her desperate strike, enough to heavily injure or even threaten the life of an ordinary Level 3 pinnacle.
anwhile, the Level 3 Grand Priest’s figure completely transforms into a drifting living shadow, rging into every inch of light and shadow around.
She did not launch a world-shattering energy attack, instead employing the oldest and most enigmatic forbidden magic of the dark elves, the Thousand Shadow Soul Devouring Curse.
Countless shadow threads, fine to the extre, carrying poisonous curses that erode the soul and disintegrate will, bypass physical defenses, silently enshrouding from all directions, directly targeting the soul core of Marquis Ares.
This is an attack targeting the essence of the soul, venomous and deadly.
The two Level 3 powerhouses, one bright, one dark, one of energy, one of the soul, seamlessly collaborate, launching the strongest and most threatening joint strike of their lives.
Facing this combined attack that would make any Level 3 existence prepare rigorously, possibly wiping them out, Marquis Ares’s expression remains unchanged; he doesn’t even show any gesture of defense or evasion.
At the mont the eternal moon was about to touch him, he rely raised his right hand, slightly spreading his fingers, lightly grasping towards the dazzling silver moon.
There was no intense collision of energy, no earth-shattering explosion.
Words beco truth, rules concede.
That eternal moon, condensed with all of Isera’s might and the Moon Well’s vast energy, vanished silently as if it were a soap bubble burst or a painting gently erased by an eraser, within the range of his holding hand.
The moonlight energy and law runes that constituted it seem to have never existed, directly returning to nothingness, not even stirring a ripple.
At the sa ti, the shadow threads of the Thousand Shadow Soul Devouring Curse, when reaching within three feet of Marquis Ares, as if encountering an absolutely impassable invisible barrier.
To be precise, it’s not a barrier but the absolute rejection of higher existence itself against lower-dinsional forces.
The shadow threads emit a soul-perceivable shrill scream, then lt and vaporize rapidly like ice and snow exposed to the scorching sun, unable to even stain the corner of his garnt.
"Your understanding of the rules is too shallow." Marquis Ares slowly lowers his hand, looking calmly towards Isera and the High Priest, who suffered backlash from their failed magic and simultaneously spewed silver blood, "Energy is just a facade. The soul also has levels."
He did not pursue, just lifted his foot, stepping lightly forward.
This step seed to step on the heartbeat of the entire Moonwatch Platform, the entire Moon Mark clan’s territory, and even this part of the world.
"Boom—!!!"
An indescribable muffled roar, not a sound, but a tremor from the rules of the world.
From his point of landing, a visually perceivable shockwave, mixed with tallic hues and dark red war breath, expands spherically outward.
The sturdy moonstone base of the Moonwatch Platform, fragnt by fragnt, shatters.
The castle’s towering tower, as if hit by an invisible giant hamr, collapses with a boom.
The elves battling or fleeing below, like leaves caught in a whirlwind, are thrown and those of lower rank directly turn to dust in the impact.
Isera and the High Priest bear the brunt, their raised moonlight shields and shadow barriers shattering like paper, the two like celestial bodies colliding, fiercely smashing into the collapsed castle ruins behind, their breath is instantly weakened to the extre, blood staining the shattered priest robes and clan leader garb.
With just one step, the two Level 3 Guardians are severely injured, near death, and the clan’s core architecture reduced to ruins.
This is Level 4, the chasm between those with divine status and mortal spirits that cannot be bridged.
Their every move carries part of the rule’s power, a walking disaster on earth.
Marquis Ares stands in the void, overlooking the montarily silent, doomsday-like ruins below, his gaze sweeps over the dying Isera and High Priest, seemingly penetrating layers of rock, gazing towards the faint escaping breath in the castle underground.
"Clear the battlefield, extract the Moon Well," he commands indifferently, his figure beginning to faintly fade, as if the outco here is of little concern.
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