Lord of the Truth

After several weeks—

Mid Sector 101— Southern Border

Bam Bam BAAAAM

"Send 300 Terra Knights to reinforce the eastern wall immediately!" Alexander shouted, his voice booming from atop a towering high tower that overlooked the battlefield. His piercing eyes scanned the chaotic frontline, calculating every move of the enemy.

Without hesitation, he turned sharply toward the east, drew his blazing bow with practiced precision, and—swooo—a devastating storm of poison-laden wind struck that exact spot with deadly accuracy!

Ba-doom

Alexander clutched his chest and collapsed onto one knee, a grimace crossing his face. "Ghh—"

"General!!"

His aides, who had been observing the battle on his behalf from different positions around the tower, immediately abandoned what they were doing. They rushed toward him, their faces etched with worry, trying to check if he had been injured by the exertion or from the backlash of the powerful poison wind attack.

"General, please! You must stop leading the attack personally! You refuse to take a moment, and you refuse to pause even for a short break to refine a new Affinity Elixir. This kind of strain on your body and mind is extremely dangerous! You are risking everything!"

Alexander straightened himself with the pride and composure of a seasoned commander, brushing the dust off his kneecap as if nothing had happened. His eyes immediately returned to the battlefield, scanning the aftermath of his latest strike. "…We'll rest once this assault is over. Only then."

The eastern front had calmed slightly.

Alexander's arrow, imbued with his mastery of the Poison Wind Law, had killed nearly a hundred soldiers outright. Beyond that, it had corrupted a 50-meter radius, creating a temporary gap in the enemy formation and significantly weakening the momentum of their assault.

Of course, this cleared area would be restored within minutes by enemy forces, but for the defenders, this small window of opportunity was invaluable. It allowed them to regroup, reinforce, and prepare for the next wave of attackers.

There was a massive difference between the Poison Wind Law when wielded by Alexander himself and when used by the Special Forces. His Majesty, had deliberately limited the Special Forces' ability to manipulate poison-infused wind to just 3%—a safeguard to prevent an overwhelming display of power that could draw too much attention from enemy eyes.

He had even designed their uniforms with a green ornamental piece around the wrist, purely for deception, so that anyone witnessing their abilities would mistakenly assume the ornament was the source of the poison rather than the soldiers' control over the wind.

Alexander, however, was unrestricted.

Robin had entrusted the generals with fully merged laws: Alexander, Victoria, Martin, and Elizabeth.

Each of them could manipulate the proportion of their merged law at will—up to 50% or more—allowing their powers to reach an entirely different magnitude.

Every arrow fired by Alexander carried devastating force.

Every sweeping strike of Martin's halberd sent shockwaves through the enemy ranks.

Every thunderous swing of Elizabeth's scepter shattered the battlefield.

And every thrust of Victoria's sword cleaved through ranks with precision and power.

To their enemies, this was unfathomable. The sheer destructive force was unlike anything they had experienced. Yet for the Special Forces, such power was familiar; they had grown used to it. As a result, most opponents did not even flinch, assuming this level of devastation was routine.

At that moment, Alexander and his army were defending the last fortress on one of their assigned planets. Behind them lay another fortress, constructed swiftly using a rapid array and reinforced by fifty skilled Soul Masters.

The fact that the forces beneath World Cataclysm were incapable of flight proved extremely advantageous in this scenario. Without the fortress, the planet would have fallen into enemy hands long before midday.

Here, on this planet, unfolded the largest ground battle across the entire southern region.

Above them, in the sky, a massive aerial battle raged. Members of the Maizer family clashed fiercely with several human families loyal to the True Beginning Empire. Four Nexus States were involved, their immense power twisting the winds and tearing through clouds. Even above that, warships engaged in combat, firing beams and launching missiles in chaotic, deadly arcs.

The sky itself seemed to tear apart with the intensity of the clash. Yet on the ground, Alexander's forces paid it little heed; they had far too many threats directly in front of them to worry about the spectacle above.

Had Alexander summoned reinforcements from even one of the dozens of planets assigned to his command, he could have easily repelled the current wave of attackers. However, doing so would have meant abandoning the planet that sent the call for aid, leaving it vulnerable to enemy forces.

Marshal Fargus… even Alexander could not fully understand the logic behind it.

Was Fargus placing them in such a high position because he trusted them, assigning them nearly half of the war-torn planets to protect?

Or was he simply conserving his own forces, delegating dangerous assignments to those he considered expendable?

Half of the planets…

Half of the responsibility…

All resting in the hands of Alexander and his generals.

Fargus commanded nearly ninety fleets, while Alexander had only thirty under his direct control, and yet Alexander was holding the line, defending half of the war zone entirely on his own!!

And still… even losing a single planet, not even one, was entirely unacceptable.

Marshal Brontor understood this completely. He knew that the new support army would never give up even a single grain of sand, never allow a single inch of territory to fall. Unlike Marshal Fargus, who continued his unpredictable pattern of advance and retreat, Brontor had sent an extremely fierce wave against Alexander here, designed to crush that unyielding resolve, to break the legend of the army that never retreats, to shatter its indomitable spirit.

That maneuver had already cost him two planets to Marshal Fargus… but Brontor knew that if he could succeed here, the reward, the strategic advantage, would be far greater, potentially decisive for the entire southern sector!

"Those who are refining the Elixir… are they not finished yet?!" Alexander barked through clenched teeth. "We must deploy the entire army if we hope to repel today's aggression. If we succeed, only then will we enjoy a brief respite of at least three days… and perhaps even seize the opportunity to mount a devastating counterattack!"

"General! Something is approaching the northern wall!!" one of the observers shouted, pointing to a distant, rapidly moving spot. Alexander's eyes immediately locked on the threat. Using the Main Wind Law, he purified the air in front of him, cutting away dust, smoke, and haze, allowing perfect visibility of the incoming force. As soon as he saw it, his expression twisted sharply.

"…."

At least three hundred thousand enemy soldiers were racing toward the city at this very moment. The front ranks were cavalry riding enormous six-legged felines, charging with unstoppable momentum. If they continued at this pace, even the walls reinforced by dozens of Soul Masters, brimming with protective enchantments, would not withstand the initial impact of their sheer force.

It was evident—the prolonged assault on the city until now had been a deliberate strategy, meant to exhaust the defenders, to drain their strength and focus, preparing them for this exact moment.

Alexander ground his teeth so hard that the words barely emerged from his throat, raw with frustration and urgency, "…Prepare the transport ships. We are going to retrea—"

"Something is descending from above, General!" another observer shouted, pointing toward the sky.

"…?!" Alexander's eyes narrowed instantly. There it was—a craft the size of multiple fighter jets combined, sleek, black, moving faster than anything the eye could easily follow. Unlike typical fighter vessels, it lacked the usual four forward cannons; instead, it was reinforced with multiple layers of advanced shielding, each layer visible as a shimmering surface in the sunlight, reflecting a faint bluish glow.

"…Isn't that a Shadow Swords craft? What… what are they doing in an open battlefield?!" he muttered in disbelief, momentarily stunned.

Swooo The craft streaked past the city, heading directly toward the massive wave of advancing soldiers with terrifying speed.

Kshhh The craft's gate swung open mid-flight, slicing through the air, and something—no, someone—leapt from it.

"…Who is that?" Alexander advanced cautiously, inching toward the edge of the northern wall, his eyes fixed on the descending figure. Every fiber of his being braced itself, sensing the immense power radiating from this single person. "White hair…"