Chapter 166: Chapter 166: Large-Scale War
The golden statue opened its mouth for the first time. Its voice rumbled like thunder, yet carried a mocking tone that cut straight to the bone of everyone present.
"Bad kitty... I’ll teach you to respect your master."
A deadly silence spread across the battlefield.
The Lion King’s face twisted with rage. His pride, his bloodline, his throne—all trampled with a few simple words.
"ENOUGH GAMES!" he roared, his aura exploding like a sun.
The colossal lion behind him opened its jaws, releasing a roar that could tear mountains apart. The Lion King leapt forward, his claws blazing with fire and lightning.
This wasn’t just an attack. It was everything—his will, his blood, his existence. A strike meant to annihilate.
The golden statue raised its hand. It didn’t just block.
It struck back.
The impact was so brutal the shockwave echoed for miles like a divine explosion.
The Lion King’s bones shattered instantly, every snap cracking like dry branches. His body was hurled backwards like a broken doll. The mountain behind him erupted, shattered into a storm of rock and dust.
Silence.
Only the lifeless corpse of the Lion King remained, buried in the rubble.
From his chest, a crimson light floated upward, drifting slowly toward the city.
The kings recognized it immediately.
A fragment of law.
The condensed essence, knowledge, and experience of the Beast King, burning in a single crimson spark.
Every sovereign froze. Not a trace of arrogance remained.
The first to break the silence was the Undead Demon King.
His hollow voice no longer sounded confident.
"This... is no longer a game."
With a single gesture, he summoned his legions. Tens of thousands of corpses rose from the ground, forming flawless ranks.
The other kings followed, unleashing their powers and summoning their armies.
The golden statues smiled again.
And this time, they didn’t wait.
They struck first.
The silence after the mountain’s explosion lasted only a heartbeat. Then everything descended into chaos.
The armies surged forward without hesitation, while the kings charged at the statues themselves.
The red light that rose from the Lion King’s body shot upward like a comet, merging into the city’s dome. It pulsed like a war drum inside every soldier’s skull: fury, the name of their fallen sovereign, the command to avenge. It became a beacon that drove millions into a frenzy.
The enemy lines, once arrogant and loose, suddenly snapped into precise formation. Hundreds of thousands of heavy infantry marched forward. Dragons took flight, leaving trails of fire in the skies. Titans pounded the ground, and dark elves vanished into clouds of shadow to flank unseen.
On the walls, the Eight Disciples didn’t flinch. Their armor, forged by Jax, gleamed—crimson, obsidian, violet, burnished gold. Each one took a distinct stance—formation, dance, storm, pillar—and the earth trembled in unison. Their eyes burned like embers.
The first clash was a shockwave. King Carlos III’s forces charged with heavy cavalry and pike formations. The crimson disciple—wielder of fire—drove her spear into the ground. From its tip burst a spiraling wall of flame that swallowed the cavalry whole, turning warhorses into charred statues. Riders screamed as their armor cracked, the air thick with the stench of scorched iron. The fire didn’t linger for spectacle—it split their lines, tore banners to ash, and carved holes wide open for the next wave.
Meanwhile, the twin-spear disciple slipped through the broken ranks like a living storm. Her movements were blinding—twin spears tracing arcs too fast to follow, every spin severing arms, necks, tendons. An elven captain stepped in her way only to watch half his guard erased in a single sweep of her leg. Screams tore through the chaos. Heads rolled like fallen fruit.
Above, the dragons unleashed their flames, torrents meant to scour the walls. The solar blade disciple leapt, standing on the battlements. Her sword flared and split a dragon in half with one swing. Its body crashed down, scales burning. Another dragon tried to unleash fire but was skewered midair by spears of light erupting from the ground. She traced a seal in the air—"Judgment Light"—and for a heartbeat, her sword became a miniature sun. Those who dared look were blinded, their flesh seared in holy fire.
The dark elves tried corrupting the Disciples’ link to Jax. Ancient runes flared, black circles blooming beneath their feet, draining mana. The seventh disciple, master of aerial mana, answered with a scream that shattered the runes. A piercing sonic wave ruptured the circles. Elven magi clutched their ears, their own spells rebounding and collapsing their bodies into charred husks.
In the enemy’s rear, assassin squads and rune knights slipped through shadows. But the Dark Guardian, unleashed by Jax, stalked them like a phantom. His black blade didn’t just cut flesh—it severed command. A mage shouting orders found his throat slit mid-word. A knight in rune-armor was decapitated before completing his cast. The Guardian’s weapon devoured their magic and returned it in brutal swings; their wards exploded back into their own ranks.
Then came the titans. A stone colossus, led by a prince of rock, descended, each step splitting the earth. The bare-fist disciple, her body etched with golden runes, sprinted straight at the giant. Against all reason, she vaulted onto its knee. Her fists glowed, hammering its joint until the titan groaned. Crack after crack split its leg, and with a final barrage, the limb shattered. The giant toppled like a collapsing fortress. Soldiers who had relied on its shadow were crushed or torn apart by the disciples’ counterattack.
On the left flank, the undead surged—floating skeletons and necromancers chanting in unison. The eighth disciple opened her mouth again. This wasn’t a scream—it was a note that unraveled necromancy itself. Skeletons turned to dust. Summons dissolved. Necromancers clutched their heads as their own spells rebounded, their shadows consuming them in implosions of darkness.
And yet, the enemy had divine artillery too. An archbishop far behind raised his staff, summoning "Purifying Light," a beam that erased blessings. The hymn disciple began to chant. A barrier of resonance bloomed above her, reflecting the beam. The holy ray bent back, scything through the archbishop’s own army. His face froze in horror as his attack shredded his knights instead.
The battle became chaos incarnate. Blood, fire, and faith turned the battlefield into a living storm.