"Has it begun?"
On a plain three kilometers east of Horseshoe City, Leon Li, positioned at the center of the Independent 4th Division, slowly narrowed his eyes as he sensed the violent fluctuations of magic in the air.
He knew that, under his arrangements, Colonel Galil was either already dead after defeat or had been captured by John Maslow.
There could be no other outcome.
But the man's sacrifice was not meaningless.
It could help Leon claim victory in this war.
It would allow him to become the one laughing last in this complicated struggle involving four different factions.
Though for Colonel Galil himself, it was indeed rather cruel.
But the world had never been fair.
The strong preyed on the weak, and the weak preyed on those weaker still.
This was the one truth that had never changed since the Age of the Gods.
Compared with the Victoria Kingdom, whose technology had now reached unprecedented heights,
the Empire, which relied entirely on the destructive power of Mage Soldiers and Magic Cannons, the Saga Kingdom, which had grown weaker and weaker since the passing of the Great Sage, its so-called glory becoming more and more of a joke, and even the other nations of the Otto Continent—
all of them were more like obsolete products that should have been eliminated by the times.
At its root, the reason could be described as this: they had chosen the wrong path.
They remained hopelessly immersed in the glory of individual might brought about by the Age of the Gods, yearning to continuously strengthen their bodies or supernatural powers.
In a world even the gods had abandoned, they sought to break their shackles and return to that sole realm which could never possibly be attained.
Wasn't that itself a kind of stubborn ignorance?