The Marquess of West Berlin had high hopes for his Swordsmanship Chief.
Not only was Sweat young and exceptionally talented, with strength that had already reached the Ascend Step, but what was more important was loyalty!
Sweat had an incomparable loyalty to him, to the West Berlin Family.
Therefore, Sweat was one of the most important tools he had left for his daughter.
He believed that it would take only about 10 years for Sweat to touch the threshold of 'Ascend Step,' and by that ti, his daughter would also be starting to take over the West Berlin Family.
And when Sweat truly beca an 'Ascend Steper,' his daughter would also be able to truly control the West Berlin Family.
Then, Sweat would be his daughter's right-hand man, as well as a 'known card' laid out on the table for the West Berlin Family—well-known to everyone, yet feared.
Any attack against the West Berlin Family would first target this card, and then his daughter!
But now!
Sweat was actually dead!
Feeling the dissolution of one side of the 'Lionheart Ceremony,' the Marquis could not help but falter.
And it was at this instant—
A brilliance lit up on the side of West Berlin.
It was not bright.
Although it was light, it felt deeper than the black of night, and even more...
Evil!
Yes, evil!
It was a kind of evil that made one want to scream madly with every breath, dragging all living creatures around it into hell, and the light was bright as if it emanated from hell itself!
Any person of firm will would instinctively back away upon seeing that light.
But many others would be drawn to such light.
In fact, between the shifting shadows, several hundred people had already walked towards it.
The mont these people touched the light, their bodies began to lt away.
Skin ulcerated.
Flesh roiled.
Organs spilled out.
Even the hardest bones beca the foundation for this 'ritual.'
Those bones burned.
Within the green flas, specter after specter appeared.
All of them were those people who had been lured there.
In this mont, they tore at each other.
They devoured each other, and almost instantly, a skeleton far beyond imagination appeared.
The skull was twenty ters in size.
Flying in midair, its jaw opening and closing, it spewed green flas towards the Marquess of West Berlin.
"You should die!"
The gaze of the Marquess of West Berlin skipped the giant skull, looking towards the twelve figures that no longer hid because of the ritual's execution.
'Rapids Squad'!
The 'Rapids Squad' established by Delpock of the 'Inland River Cult' and compiled on the 'Ateil Trail'!
The Marquess of West Berlin was aware of this squad.
But he had never taken it seriously.
Because, to him, the squad was very weak.
Even their strongest mber hadn't reached the Ascend Step.
The majority were at the Arcana Level, with only one person at the Great Arcana Level.
Such power was considered incredibly remarkable in the eyes of ordinary Mystic Side Persons.
But in the eyes of the Great Nobles, it really wasn't anything special.
Only those who truly reached the 'Ascend Step' deserved the full attention of the Great Nobles.
But such negligence had caused the Marquess of West Berlin extrely unnecessary losses—he had just witnessed, in re monts, at least four hundred people dying in this kind of ritualistic mystical arts.
Of course, that was not important!
What was important was whether there were any more rituals like this within the territory of West Berlin?
If there were...
Where?
More importantly, why had he not discovered such a ritual beforehand!
To arrange such a ritual could not have been done silently, it must have been planned over a long ti, so... traitor!
At this thought, the Marquess of West Berlin grew even angrier.
Watching the gigantic skeleton head charging towards him, the noble Lord Count raised his hand—
Kill!
Kill, kill, kill!
Without reservation, the secret technique of the West Berlin Family, "Iron Blood Mutual Killing," was unleashed to its extre.
In an instant, space itself seed to thicken around the Marquess of West Berlin, as if filled with an invisible liquid.
This liquid turned into waves, ceaselessly crashing all around.
Transforming into sothing like tendrils, Yula, whose attack thod was her hair, scread shrilly at the earliest hit.
Then, it was the turn of the enormous skeleton head.
Despite its ferocious montum and green flas spewing from its mouth, the seemingly stalwart and difficult-to-deal-with skeleton head shattered on impact.
Crack!
Just like glass being smashed.
Watching this scene, the Marquess of West Berlin didn't show a trace of joy from his victory.
On the contrary, his complexion drastically changed.
Not good!
...
Sweat watched Gleisa, breathing heavily with sweat beading at the tip of his nose. The initial thought of retreat unconsciously faded away.
Seize him!
Capture Gleisa!
Even the Old Lion would not ignore the safety of his eldest son!
By capturing the eldest son of the Old Lion, the West Berlin Family would gain a significant advantage in facing Inner Bay!
One thought after another burgeoned from the depths of his mind.
Suddenly, the heart of the Marquess of West Berlin's Swordsmanship Chief ignited with fervor.
His loyalty to the Marquess of West Berlin made the Swordsmanship Chief ready to give it a try.
However, the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin did not rashly advance.
He circled Gleisa in a swift, fight-ready dance.
He wanted to wear down more of Gleisa's physical strength.
As seconds and minutes passed,
When sweat inundated Gleisa's forehead, and his punches slowed by more than a mont, the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin stopped evading and began his attack—he lunged straight at Gleisa's body.
He had discovered just then that the Old Lion's eldest son, though his attacks were bizarre, never moved his body during each strike.
It seed...
He couldn't move!
This was the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin's speculation.
And when the Swordsmanship Chief noticed the look of panic on the face of the Old Lion's eldest son as he charged at Gleisa, he knew his guess was spot on.
Without further hesitation, the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin struck with his sword when he was less than a ter away from Gleisa—
Clang!
The blade was frosty, the sword light like the moon.
A perfect crescent-shaped slash.
This strike could sever steel.
Even a knight clad in full armor would be cut in half.
But Gleisa was not.
The eldest son of the Old Lion stood there, unhard.
On the contrary, Sweat was cut in half at the waist.
The Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the eldest son of the Old Lion before him.
"You, you..."
"Foolish!"
Without giving his opponent more ti, Gleisa decapitated the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin.
Ignoring the bloodstains on his golden coat, Gleisa picked up the head of the Swordsmanship Chief of West Berlin who died with his eyes open. Looking at the head in his hands, a bolder plan began to take shape in his mind.
"Defeat?
No, that can't be!
I refuse to accept this kind of failure!"
With a longsword in one hand and the head in the other, Gleisa's voice grew increasingly loud and triumphant—
"I will turn defeat into victory!"
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