Warlord

"What is wrong with you?" In the War Academy training grounds, the three-meter-tall Doom and Harlan were sparring.

Doom had a momentary lapse in concentration, and the stone sword in his hand was struck by Harlan, cleanly snapping into two pieces.

"Distracted by your father's return?" Harlan sheathed his longsword and ended the duel with a warrior's salute.

In the two months since he began teaching Doom swordsmanship, he had never once defeated his master; winning by a stroke of luck brought no joy of victory to his face.

"I sensed something. It is very far away, but I can clearly feel its existence."

Doom never hid anything from Harlan, clearly describing the sensation that had suddenly appeared in his soul.

"Your brother?"

Harlan's words made Doom ponder for a moment before he shook his head hesitantly: "It should... not be my brother."

Although the connection was faint, Doom could clearly feel that the star flickering in his soul was not as powerful as he was.

It could not be identified as a "brother"; to be precise, it was a connection between a superior and a subordinate.

"As for you—" Doom stared at the sweat beads rolling down Harlan: "Your progress over these past few months is illogical."

Harlan was over a hundred years old. In the Guardian Domain, where the average age was over three hundred, he was in his prime, but he had already passed his peak; his physical functions were inevitably declining due to war scars and other reasons.

The process might be prolonged due to personal factors, but the fact of the decline was undeniable.

Doom noticed that Harlan seemed to be experiencing a second spring, often giving him surprises when they sparred.

"I would like to know the answer to that myself." Harlan gave a bitter, helpless smile; for a warrior, strength was something to be proud of.

But what if that power came inexplicably?

According to the regulations of the Warrior Law, anomalies that defied common sense were subject to investigation.

The Nul People were descendants of the Gold Men; this made them powerful, but it also caused them great suffering.

Because their genetic code had not been maintained for a long time, the genes of the Gold Men's descendants had been degenerating, even leading to uncontrollable genetic mutations.

The Night Watchers and the citizens of the Guardian Domain had relatively stable genes and rarely suffered mutations due to genetic collapse.

However, there were specialized investigative agencies that kept a close watch on every citizen, conducting regular genetic testing and inspections.

This was to prevent genetic collapse and the subsequent chain reactions.

Harlan had been investigated many times. His physical functions, which had been in a state of decline, had returned to their peak over the past few months, and he had even grown a few centimeters taller.

The uneasy Champion Swordsman, as required by the Warrior Code, frequently examined his inner self, strictly guarding against psychological problems that might accompany the anomalies.

"So annoying!"

A perfectly ordinary sparring session ended in Harlan's irritable impatience.

The frustrated Champion Swordsman felt it was unfair: "Why don't those inspectors, who look at everyone like they're a mutant, come to investigate you?"

"In just one year, you've grown to three meters tall, and you're still growing."

"I only grew a few centimeters, and they pounced on me like wolves and tigers, treating me like an unstable bomb."

"That is their duty." Doom said with a look of admiration, speaking very earnestly: "The duty of a genetic inspector is not easy."

"I know, I know." Harlan was even more annoyed.

He did not understand how that lively child had become the old-fashioned person he was now.

Thinking of the past, Harlan looked at Doom carefully again, truly unable to connect him to the fair-skinned, red-lipped youth from before.

Now, he had short, clean black hair, a well-defined facial contour, and an air of majestic dignity. His thick eyebrows were like ink, his black eyes were piercing, his nose bridge was high, and his jawline was long and straight—heroic enough to make one want to worship him.

His strong upper body was bare, every line of his muscles clearly visible, and his skin possessed a healthy, hazy glow.

The serrated muscles on his flanks were arranged in layers, and in the center of his bulging pectoral muscles, the blood-red mark on his chest remained mysterious.

His abdominal muscles were clearly defined; such a perfect human physique would be difficult for even the best master sculptor to replicate in its sense of power.

After looking him over carefully, Harlan smiled triumphantly. He sometimes had to admire himself; in the face of such a god-like existence, he still lived like a person, able to treat him as a friend and brother.

The teachers at the school, when they saw Doom, would have such respectful expressions that they almost buried their heads in the ground.

And those young girls, with their feigned reserve, stole glances in a way that made one unable to help but laugh; in truth, the crimson on their faces and their trembling legs had already betrayed everything.

"Your father is coming back soon, and you and I should be able to follow him to the battlefield."

Speaking of this, a look of anticipation erupted in Harlan's eyes. With the return of King Norwick, he should be able to take Doom and him along this time.

During his time in the Guardian Domain, except for the first few days of rest, the Champion Swordsman had been paying attention to news from the front lines every moment.

He thought that one day he could accompany Doom back to the battlefield to kill the enemy together.

Doom's abilities were indeed terrifying; with his powerful learning and comprehension skills, he had already completed the warrior assessment two months ago and become a Night Watcher.

From enrollment to graduation—no one expected that in seven months, a child less than a year old would complete the decades-long curriculum of the Gold Men descendants.

"I don't have much expectation for the battlefield; I am more concerned about my father's health."

Doom shook his head. Going to the battlefield was only a matter of time, but his father's condition worried him.

Ever since he sent his father off on his expedition, the news sent back by the royal messengers had not been optimistic. His father's physical condition was very poor, his mental state was getting worse, and the accompanying physicians could not find any disease or genetic degeneration.

Harlan, standing to the side, fell silent. As a personal guard, the more he learned about Doom, the more he understood him.

For Doom, the battlefield held no danger; honor was a fruit ripe for the picking, devoid of any difficulty.

Only his family remained the softest part of his heart, the thing he cherished most.

"My brother is coming!" Relying on his extraordinary senses, Doom immediately detected a familiar aura approaching rapidly.

Flano Norwick looked anxious, sweat beading on his forehead as he hurried toward them.

Something had happened!

Both their expressions darkened; they could read an unusual tension and urgency on Flano's face.

Harlan quickly summoned several apprentices to help him don his power armor, bringing him to his peak state.

Doom erupted with astonishing speed, rushing forward to meet his brother.

"Doom!" Flano looked frantic, gasping for breath as he grabbed his brother's arm. "Hurry! Father has returned, and he is waiting for you in the council chamber!"

Doom's pupils constricted sharply; he realized the gravity of the situation. A king's triumphal return should rightfully take place along the Triumphal Avenue, the symbol of victory.

Choosing to return in secret meant something major had gone wrong!

"Go ahead, don't worry about me!" Flano knew Doom's speed and realized he was a total burden, so he urged him to leave.

"Harlan, go with my brother!" Doom nodded heavily, instructing his armored guard before bursting into a sprint, moving at subsonic speeds.

When Doom arrived at the council chamber, the remaining civil and military officials were waiting in a heavy, silent atmosphere.

King Norwick sat slumped against his throne with his eyes closed, a needle inserted into the veins of his left hand to inject life-sustaining fluid. His complexion was ghastly.

The once tall and imposing monarch was in a wretched state; his face was unnaturally gaunt, his eye sockets sunken, and his high-bridged nose resembled a barren mountain peak. His hair, now a mottled white, hung from his head like withered grass.

The moment he saw his father, Doom's eyes trembled. He could not fathom how his once strong and majestic father had deteriorated to this state in just a few short months.

Dropping to one knee before the throne, Doom took his father's right hand, feeling only frailty and an intense, unnatural cold.

"Mm... Doom is here." After a long silence, the monarch seemed to stir. He looked at the son kneeling before him, awakened by the warmth radiating from the young man's palm.

His eyes held pride, a steady gaze, and an unshakable resolve: "You shall be invested as Warlord to continue the hunt for the remaining orcs."

Doom's eyes widened in surprise, but he did not question the order. None of the officials present offered any opposition; it was clear this was a decision they had reached together.

Warlord was a wartime title, granting the holder supreme command during combat.

An attendant stepped forward with a tray, presenting a sword and a seal, bestowing upon Doom the authority to command the Night Watchers.

"You will have only half the army!" Norwick's weary voice drifted over, slowly spelling out the arrangements for his son.

"I understand. I will end the orc war as quickly as possible." With a resolute gaze, Doom accepted the sword and seal, embracing the power granted by his father and taking up the responsibilities of a son.