Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 223: FACING THE EMPEROR

Moving with lethal speed, Greg appeared directly before Commander Harold. Without hesitation, he struck a brutal punch to the commander's gut, the force compressing his diaphragm and cutting off his air supply in a terrifying chokehold. Harold's face twisted with sudden shock and pain as he struggled to breathe. Before he could recover, Greg followed with a savage hammer blow to the side of his head, the impact reverberating through his skull and sending him crashing violently to the ground. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Greg didn't pause. He slammed his heavy boot down onto Commander Harold's head, grinding it mercilessly into the dirt with absolute disregard. The commander barely had a chance to shield himself.

"Fun fact," Greg sneered, his voice cold and mocking as he looked down at the battered man beneath him, "you wouldn't have even been able to touch me that day—even if you had tried."

With a deliberate motion, Greg lifted his foot off Harold's crushed head and grasped the commander by the neck, pulling him upright until Harold's eyes could witness the carnage before him. The battlefield was no contest—Greg's believers were systematically decimating the empire's soldiers, overwhelming them with ruthless precision and unyielding ferocity.

"Look closely," Greg whispered, his voice low and deadly, "watch how the empire you once took pride in crumbles beneath my feet."

Gripping Harold's left arm, Greg applied a cruel, agonizing force, wrenching it free from its socket with a sickening pop that echoed across the battlefield. The commander's scream of unbearable pain tore through the air, a sound so raw and desperate it momentarily distracted nearby soldiers. Yet Greg was far from finished. Without hesitation, he seized Harold's other arm and tore that one free as well.

Commander Harold's cries filled the battlefield, a beacon of agony that shattered the morale of his troops. Soldiers around him cast their eyes toward their fallen leader, their spirits sinking deeper into despair. The sight of their commander being mercilessly tortured by the enemy struck at their core—breaking their composure, weakening their will. Some soldiers abandoned their posts, rushing wildly toward Greg's position in a desperate bid to rescue Harold. But Greg's believers were far from defenseless—they moved to intercept, their formation tightening and holding firm, creating an impenetrable barrier. No soldier could get past to reach Greg or his men.

Greg's voice rang out, dripping with scorn. "It seems some of your soldiers want to protect you badly. How touching," he taunted, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Too bad they're weak. And the one they wish to protect… he's weak too."

A cold smile curled across Greg's lips. "Now then, let's see… what should I take next? I believe your legs will do nicely. Without them, you wouldn't have been able to stand in my way that day. So, I think I'll be taking those from you."

"Will manifestation!" Harold roared, panic flaring in his eyes as he desperately sought to survive, willing his powers to manifest and save him.

Greg rolled his eyes. "How annoying," he muttered under his breath as the world around them warped, pulling him unwillingly into Harold's inner realm.

"Will manifestation, break!" Greg commanded internally, and for the first time, he tried something he had never dared before—calling upon the power of the dragon's tongue to resist Harold's will manifestation. To his surprise and quiet satisfaction, the resistance worked perfectly. Harold's will manifestation faltered, unable to fully form or take hold.

Harold stared at Greg, blank and confused as realization dawned like a hammer blow. His carefully summoned will manifestation was being effortlessly dismissed by Greg's mere words.

"Who... who the hell are you?" Harold demanded, a chill crawling down his spine as fear and disbelief twisted his expression.

Greg's smile deepened. "You already know," he replied coolly. Without hesitation, he ruthlessly sliced through both of Harold's legs, severing flesh and bone with terrifying precision. The commander's anguished scream ripped through the battlefield once again.

Greg shook his head in mock sympathy. "You empire types really are determined to make me a torture addict," he said, resigned but amused.

"All right," Greg muttered, stepping back slightly. "I think that's enough pain for you."

With a swift, clean strike, he severed Harold's head from his body in one merciless motion.

Greg's lips curved into a playful smile as he turned his attention to the next and final target—the emperor himself, Augustus.

With a powerful beat of his great wings, Greg took flight. But before reaching Augustus, he seized the hidden Prince Jason by the neck, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Together, they soared toward the emperor's position.

Prince Jason had tried to seize the opportunity presented by the elite's will manifestation to slip away from Greg's grasp, attempting to hide somewhere safe. But it was futile. Greg's grip was unbreakable, and the prince could only writhe with regret, powerless under Greg's unyielding hold.

"Emperor," Greg called out as they neared, "it's been a while since our last meeting. You remain the same as ever—calm, collected, and calculating."

Augustus responded with a slight nod, his eyes cold and unreadable. "And you've grown even stronger than I expected."

Greg's expression hardened with resolve. "Naturally. This is the moment—the battle between us that will decide the fate of your empire."

"Indeed," Augustus said quietly, maintaining his stoic calm despite the precariousness of his position.

"This is the son you sent to rein me in. I must confess, he's done a poor and sloppy job," Greg said, extending his claws. "So allow me to punish him in your stead."

With merciless precision, Greg stabbed his claws into Prince Jason's heart. The prince's eyes widened in shock and pain as the blade pierced his flesh.

Regret and disbelief filled his gaze. His life, meticulously mapped out—destined to be the next emperor, a future just within reach—was now slipping away like smoke on the wind.

"Fa... fa... ther..." Jason whispered with trembling lips, "seek... vengeance... on... my... behalf..."

His eyes slowly closed, the light in them dimming as his life force drained away.

Emperor Augustus did not flinch. He uttered no words of comfort or grief as he watched his son die before him. His composure remained unshaken, cold as stone, unmoved by the agony unfolding at his feet.

Greg's lips curled upwards slightly. He had to admit—Augustus's calmness was otherworldly. Watching his own son perish had not stirred even a flicker of emotion in the man.

"Your calmness… it's on a whole other level of abnormality," Greg commented, unable to mask a hint of grudging respect.

Augustus drew his sheathed sword with a deliberate motion. "When you carry the weight of countless lives on your shoulders, you learn not to be shaken so easily. Besides, I lost everything on that night already. This changes nothing."

He squared his shoulders, no longer willing to remain a mere observer. Now, he would take part. Now, he would face Greg—this was the start of everything.

The two enemy leaders stood poised to clash, the fate of an empire hanging in the balance.