BUILDING MY OWN EMPIRE - My Journey from Nothing to Overwhelming Power-Chapter 85 – All for One
The ten soldiers stood.
A single line.
But—
their faces were not alike...
Only one thing unified them.
Anger.
A dark... heavy... silent anger.
The kind of anger that does not scream...
but decides.
The kind that makes a man ready...
to descend into hell... just to reach his goal.
In the sky—
a Third-Rank Master stood.
High... steady... like an unmistakable omen of danger.
His snow-white hair drifted with the wind...
his eyes fixed on them with clear interest.
Then—
he smiled.
A cold smile.
And said, almost amused:
"Those are beautiful looks... the ones on your faces."
He paused.
Then added, with genuine admiration:
"If I had a way to make you my subordinates... I wouldn’t hesitate."
His smile widened.
"You... are a remarkable squad."
It was praise.
Praise from a Third-Rank Master...
to a group of lesser fighters.
But—
it had no effect.
Quite the opposite.
Their eyes burned brighter.
Their anger deepened.
As if his words were fuel.
"Do you belittle us, you bastard?!"
one of them shouted, his voice filled with contempt.
"Subordinates?!"
another roared, sharper:
"You’re not even worth an insect to us!"
But—
the Master did not care.
His expression did not change.
Still smiling.
Still calm.
As if everything was unfolding exactly as he wished.
Suddenly—
the soldiers moved.
They drew closer to one another.
Gathered.
Slowly... cautiously... with clear intent.
"We have to do it..."
one of them said in a low voice.
"Is there no other way...?"
another replied, hesitant.
"No... this is our mission."
A brief silence.
Then—
"Does anyone object?"
A moment...
then—
"No."
It was not a normal reply.
It was internal.
All of them answered...
at the same time.
Mental communication.
Silent.
Sealed.
Impossible to intercept.
In the sky—
the Master watched.
He heard nothing.
But—
his eyes narrowed.
He felt something.
He didn’t understand it...
but he sensed it.
Below—
the soldiers formed a circle.
At the center—
Logan stood.
He inhaled slowly.
Then—
suddenly...
blue threads burst from his body.
Thin...
yet dense.
They shot toward his comrades.
Connected to them.
One... after another.
"All... for one."
Logan whispered.
In the next instant—
the ability activated.
Suddenly—
the nine fighters’ accumulation began to drop.
Sharply.
Their bodies trembled.
Some fell to their knees.
Muted groans escaped them.
They did not scream...
but the pain was obvious.
It was...
being pulled from them.
Strength.
Energy.
Something deeper.
All of it—
flowed into Logan.
And within him—
power began to pile up.
Wrapping around him.
Pressing down.
He clenched his teeth.
His body... had reached its limit.
But—
"Not yet!"
he roared inwardly.
And pulled more.
Each surge—
felt like fire burning inside him.
Sharp pain.
Tearing.
Scorching.
But he did not stop.
Below—
the soldiers collapsed.
One after another.
Their bodies twisted.
Their breaths heavy.
But—
their eyes...
still burned.
The same anger.
The same resolve.
Then—
suddenly—
the threads stopped.
Severed.
And they all fell...
unconscious.
Only Logan remained.
He stood slowly.
Raised his right hand...
then the left.
Moved them.
As if testing his new body.
A faint smile appeared.
But—
his eyes...
were not calm.
They were deep... and dark.
In the sky—
the Master’s expression changed.
His gaze sharpened.
This time—
serious.
"A sacrificial technique..."
he murmured.
Then added:
"This type... cannot be predicted."
Suddenly—
Logan jumped.
Ten meters.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Until—
he stopped.
Midair.
Standing...
as if on invisible ground.
Not far from the Master.
But—
the Catastrophe Horse stood between them.
Logan raised both hands.
From his palms—
a strange vapor emerged.
Silver...
tinged with black.
Threaded with lines...
like roots.
It began to spread.
Slowly.
Then—
expanded.
Creeping toward its target.
At that moment—
the Catastrophe Horse flapped its wings.
A violent gale erupted.
The air tore apart.
The vapor scattered.
Vanished.
Dissolved.
The Master laughed.
"Is this your att—"
He stopped.
Suddenly.
The vapor—
returned.
But not in front of him.
Rather—
around the horse.
From every direction.
It surrounded it.
Clung to it.
Over its wings.
Around its neck.
Beneath its hooves.
As if—
it were part of it.
The Master’s eyes widened.
"What is this...?"
The horse charged.
Tried to escape.
But—
the vapor did not detach.
It remained.
Clinging.
Then—
the horse screamed.
A distorted cry.
Its body began to twist.
Convulse.
It flapped wildly.
The winds returned.
Stronger.
But—
useless.
Moments later—
it began to descend.
Slowly at first...
then—
fast.
BOOM!
It crashed into the ground.
The battlefield shook.
Dust exploded.
And at the center—
was the horse.
But—
it was no longer the same.
Its body...
was disintegrating.
Falling apart.
Piece... by piece.
Its wings—
withered.
Tore apart.
It screamed.
Kicked.
Tried to rise.
But—
could not.
In the sky—
the Master raised his hand.
Energy gathered.
He prepared to attack.
But—
he stopped.
Watched.
In silence.
The Catastrophe Horse...
died.
The vapor faded.
Vanished as if it had never existed.
And in that moment—
the Third-Rank Master’s face changed.
For the first time.
No longer calm.
No longer smiling.
Instead—
rage fell upon his features.
Heavy... suffocating... real rage.
"You bastard..."
he snarled violently, his voice distorted by fury.
His gaze dropped.
To the ground.
To where—
his horse had fallen.
The Catastrophe Beast...
his companion...
his most precious weapon.
Not merely strength—
but a lifetime investment.
Countless resources.
Endless sacrifices.
Years of risk... killing... and filthy deals.
All of it—
gone.
In a single moment.
Without him being able to—
save it.
His hand trembled.
His face tightened.
The rage seemed ready to tear through him from within.
For a moment—
he nearly charged.
Nearly lost control.
But—
he restrained himself.
Barely.
Then—
suddenly—
Logan raised his hand again.
The vapor returned.
Emerging slowly from his palms.
Stretching.
Creeping through the air...
toward the Master.
But—
the Master did not move.
He stood still.
Unshaken.
His eyes narrowed.
"This vapor..."
he muttered.
His thoughts tangled.
Anger pressed against him...
but his mind—
did not stop.
He inhaled slowly.
Deeply.
Then—
his expression steadied.
He regained himself.
He was not just a fighter.
He was—
the Snow-Haired One.
One of the pillars of the Swallow Sect.
A Third-Rank Master for five years.
A veteran of countless battles.
A man—
who does not act without analysis.
His thoughts accelerated.
"When the horse attacked... the vapor disappeared..."
His eyes shifted to Logan.
"Then reappeared... surrounding it."
He paused.
"Was the attack the trigger...?"
A beat.
"...or would the vapor have moved anyway?"
That hesitation—
cost him time.
He did not decide.
Did not advance.
Did not retreat.
But—
in a moment...
he moved.
Dashed.
First to the side—
then straight toward Logan.
He ignored the vapor.
Dismissed it.
Focused on one target—
Logan.
But—
suddenly—
the vapor moved.
It surrounded him.
From every direction.
Wrapped around him.
Like invisible chains.
"Damn you..."
he muttered.
At that moment—
Logan’s voice reached him.
Rough.
Dark.
Solid.
"Did you think... the vapor attacks those who attack it?"
The Master paused.
Just for a fraction.
"You’re wrong."
Logan continued.
"The vapor... attacks those who attack me."
"Liar."
the Master snapped immediately.
"The horse attacked the vapor."
A faint smile appeared on Logan’s lips.
Despite the blood forming at the edge of his mouth.
"The wind..."
he whispered.
"It moved toward the vapor..."
His eyes locked onto the Master.
"And I was behind it."
He paused.
"It was a violent wind... it would have hit me... even slightly."
Then—
his smile deepened.
"And that... was enough."
In that instant—
the Master fell into doubt.
Exactly as Logan intended.
And suddenly—
he felt it.
Something faint.
An itch.
A slight numbness.
Within his body.
Not painful.
Not obvious.
But—
present.
And that alone—
was enough to alarm him.
Within the vapor—
the Master moved again.
Toward Logan.
A clear decision forming:
Eliminate the source.
Suddenly—
he found himself...
far away.
Thirty meters.
He stopped.
"What is happening?!"
he snarled.
He charged again.
Toward Logan.
But—
once more—
the vapor carried him.
Pushed him back.
As if an invisible hand...
refused his approach.
The itch intensified.
The numbness spread.
And slowly—
another sensation emerged.
Fatigue.
On the other side—
Logan...
was not well either.
Blood streamed from his mouth.
Red droplets falling through the air.
His body trembled.
But—
he still stood.
The Master looked at him.
Then—
smiled.
"It seems..."
he whispered coldly,
"...you will fall before I do."
Then—
he focused his accumulation.
Deeply.
Calmly.
With five years of mastery.
In an instant—
his energy moved within him.
Then—
it emerged.
Not an attack.
Not a shield.
Not a technique.
But—
pure control.
A transparent energy...
wrapped around his body.
A thin layer.
But—
solid.
Compressed.
Perfectly controlled.
This was not combat.
This was—
a higher level of mastery.
Something only known to those who have lived within their power...
for years.
Against intrusions into the body—
poison...
corrosion...
invasive energy—
this...
was a wall.
And suddenly—
the sensations vanished.
The itch.
The numbness.
The fatigue.
All of it...
gone.
He stood firm.
His gaze sharpened once more.
Meanwhile—
thirty meters away—
Logan...
was in a completely different state.
His mouth filled with blood.
His breathing broken.
His body...
barely holding.
He stood for a moment.
Then—
staggered.
Once.
Then again.
Then—
lost balance.
And fell.
From the sky—
toward the ground.
