"You... you... how dare you speak to me, the prince, like that?"
Prince Sak of the Metz Empire was enraged by Drogba's provocation. As a prince of a super empire, second only to the emperor, he commanded thousands of armored soldiers and numerous experts. His status was extremely noble. A mere warrior of a subordinate King, as insignificant as an ant, dared to point his finger at him and speak to him like that. This enraged him so much that he could barely speak, and his usual elegant demeanor as a prince of a great empire vanished.
"Hehe, Your Highness, please calm your anger. It's not worth it. This lowly commoner from Chambord, although a Moon Class expert, is now half-dead from injuries. I only need one move to twist his head off and let Your Highness kick it around like a ball to vent your anger."
A bearded expert from the Metz Empire emerged from behind Sak, his tone arrogant and his smile brimming with confidence.
He had initially been intimidated by Drogba's fierce and unparalleled aura, but now he couldn't wait to jump out. He could see that Drogba had been seriously injured in the previous battle. After all, [ The Bitter-Faced Death God ] Aiermu was a veteran Moon Class expert of the [ Wind-Racing Horse ] mercenary group, while Drogba was just a newcomer. Although he had made a stunning debut and killed his opponent, he was indeed seriously injured and had no strength to fight again. This was a perfect opportunity for him to take advantage of the situation.
"Fine, prepare him properly, don't let him die too easily. I want this lowly commoner to bleed to death while screaming in agony." Prince Sak of Mace gritted his teeth.
"Your Highness, rest assured, I will make this lowly commoner regret ever being born." The bearded man readily agreed.
He stepped out, and his aura suddenly burst forth. Strands of sky-blue flames blazed, enveloping his entire body. The sound of rushing water echoed in the air, like the surging waves of the ocean, clearly indicating that he was also a Moon Class expert.
Given Drogba's current unsteady state, where he can barely stand, it's completely unrealistic for him to fight another veteran Moon Class powerhouse.
In the VIP seating area, a handsome young man with short, golden hair, as striking as a god, sighed softly. He glanced at the back of the young King, who had already stepped onto the top of the nine-story, thirty-six-step platform. Knowing that he should intervene in this situation, he turned and smiled slightly at the two pretty girls in emerald green outfits behind him. Just as he was about to stand up, at that moment—
Whoosh!!!!! Bang!!!!!
A sharp whistling sound pierced everyone's eardrums. Above the sky, a streak of azure light, like a star falling from the heavens, plummeted down with a long tail of light, crashing heavily onto the stone slabs of the ground with a thunderous boom.
As the smoke cleared, everyone stared intently, and they were all speechless with astonishment.
After a moment of deathly stillness, all eyes turned instantly to [ War Pirate ] Meierbeili, their gazes filled with pity.
Meierbeili himself was trembling uncontrollably at this moment, his eyes bloodshot. He was enraged and filled with grief, which drove him into a frenzy, his face contorted in anger.
Because the other expert from the [ Wind-Racing Horse ] mercenary group who was engaged in fierce combat in the sky, that black-robed ice mage with a cold expression and a voice as hoarse as rust sawing wood, was dead!
The manner of their death was extremely gruesome.
He was shot down from the sky by a strange, jet-black arrow that gleamed with a faint silver light, pinning him to the ground alive. The arrow pierced his left chest, shattering his bones and heart, and nailing this ice mage, who had been terrifying just a dozen minutes before, to the corpse of [ Bitter-Faced Death God ] Aiermu.
The strong have fallen!
The two top warriors of the [ Wind-Racing Horse ] mercenary group, the most trusted right-hand men of [ War Pirate ] Meierbeili, Zongheng the continent for decades, their names synonymous with ruthlessness and Bloody. Their arrogance was legendary; they had fought thousands of battles, large and small, and countless powerful figures had perished at their hands. Who could have imagined that today, they would be caught off guard in the 'small ditch' of Chambord City, losing their chance to escape and both falling to their deaths?
A deathly silence.
This is a huge blow to the [ Wind-Racing Horse ] mercenary group.
After this battle, the strength of this mercenary group, which claimed to be the largest within a million-mile radius, has decreased by at least 40%.
Just as everyone was exclaiming in surprise, a ball of azure light suddenly flickered in the square.
As the flames faded, Fernando Torres [ Son of the Wind ], appeared beside Drogba. He was in much better condition than the [ Black-Haired Berserk Fist ], except for a layer of pale blue ice covering his legs from the knees down. The rest of his body was completely unharmed. His golden hair flowed freely, and his tall, slender figure made him exceptionally handsome under the moonlight, like a moon spirit, radiating a divine aura.
A wave of barely suppressed uproar finally erupted in the square.
The noise grew louder and louder until finally, almost everyone could no longer suppress their shock and disbelief. They openly began whispering among themselves, disregarding Meierbeili and the others' feelings.
Prince Dominguez of Zenit seemed unfazed by this, his eyes slightly narrowed as if lost in thought. His crippled puppy, Oka, in his arms, stared wide-eyed around, full of energy and curiosity. Paris, the Alluring Witch and stunningly beautiful woman, had a twitching mouth, her bright red lips parted in an "O" shape. Beside her, Granero, the " Red Beard," unconsciously rubbed his face, plucking each hair of his precious beard.
The mysterious man in the golden mask of the [ Fire Blood Mercenary Corps ] sat steadily in his seat. The ornate, openwork golden mask concealed his expression, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking. However, behind him were three muscular, shirtless, burly Giant warriors carrying giant axes and wearing only tight leather pants. All three pairs of eyes were filled with eager excitement. Clearly, the bravery of the Chambord warrior had aroused the fighting desire of these three martial arts fanatics.
Prince Gourcuff of the Bordeaux Empire had nothing but excitement in his eyes. Behind him, four young noble knights in magnificent armor, their faces pale, buried their heads in their chests, feeling extremely guilty and not daring to look at the god-like young King in the arena.
In the Holy Church's seating area, the priests Mazzola and Luciano were both pale and bloodless, drenched in sweat, their backs soaked through. Beside them, however, the elderly priest with white hair and beard had regained his composure, maintaining a confident expression and a calm smile, as if watching a play, not yet awaiting the climax!
In the center of the square.
The sudden change of heart made the Moon Class expert from the Metz Empire's expression turn extremely ugly, and he stopped his approach.
He might be confident in dealing with a seriously injured Drogba, but with Torres standing by his side, the 'bearded' man was in a bit of a dilemma. He wasn't exactly a tough guy, which was why he stepped in to take advantage of Drogba's serious injury earlier. Now, seeing this situation, he naturally hesitated.
"Pah! This thing dares to talk about taking my head?" Drogba sneered with utter disdain upon seeing this.
Torres, with his flowing blond hair, stood proudly. Although he didn't say anything, the slight curve of his lips revealed a hint of mockery and sarcasm.
"What are you all standing there for? Kill him!" This scene humiliated and enraged Prince Sak of the Metz Empire, who roared furiously.
The bearded man's face flushed and paled in turns. He bared his teeth, looking like a prisoner being led to his execution. He glanced at the two powerful figures from Chambord City opposite him, hesitated for a moment, and finally blurted out, "Two against one doesn't make a hero. If you've got the guts, fight me one-on-one!"
"Hahahahahaha!!!" Upon hearing this, Drogba was stunned for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed loudly, his laughter unable to conceal his disdainful mockery.
Torres simply shook his head slightly, a hint of barely suppressed amusement flashing in his eyes.
"What? What are you laughing at? You're scared?" The bearded man was quite the character, completely letting loose this time. He didn't seem to care about losing face at all, utterly abandoning the dignity of Moon Class expert, and provoked even more, saying, "If you're scared, then get lost! I don't deign to fight two wounded soldiers!"
First update.
Thanks to: A Loli Half a Pound for his continued donations, and thanks to: Titan God, Fly in the Glass, A Few Bottles of Clouds and Zongheng, King of Chinese Literature, kkiedaer, Doomsday, Riding the Wind at Will, You Know You Understand, White Rabbit Prince, Sleepless Night, Silent Watching, and You Ran Qing Shui for your support.