MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The expressions on Warlord Raelith and Warlord Brontagar's faces darkened further, their brows furrowing deeply as their minds raced like lightning, frantically seeking a way to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation. The portals had been sealed, to prevent the Forsaken Cult from stepping through and invading the military base directly.

Until now, Anthony's demeanor had remained composed, almost unnervingly calm. Unlike the Warlords or the Hands, he had not unleashed his aura in any dramatic display. He had no need for theatrics.

"I'll take three of them," Anthony said, his voice low and measured, yet it crashed through the atmosphere like a volcanic eruption, rumbling in the ears of all who heard.

"Major Anth— " Warlord Raelith began, but Anthony's voice cut through his words like a blade.

"This is the only way," he stated, still eerily calm, never once turning to face the Warlords.

"Besides, don't insult me by comparing me to others my age. You know nothing of my power, or what I'm truly capable of. This isn't the time for sermons or empty counsel."

Without another word, Warlord Brontagar surged forward toward his fellow Titan, while Warlord Raelith streaked toward the Elf. In the blink of an eye, the four figures disappeared, vanishing into the chaos of battle.

Anthony hovered in the air with steady ease, his gaze steady as he regarded the trio before him, a Demon, a Human, and a Dragon.

"Gentlemen, shall we?" he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There was anticipation in his voice, he welcomed the coming battle. Unlike the Warlord vampire dispatched by the Second Supreme Monarch, the opponents before him bore the true weight and presence of Warlords.

His eyes shifted to the Human cultist. With quiet authority, he spoke just three words:

"Handle the Dragon."

The Dragon barely had time to process the words before its vision was filled with blinding steel, no, a Hammer, descending with brutal finality. It struck his face with catastrophic force, the impact echoing like thunder across the battlefield.

In the next breath, the Dragon's massive form was hurled through the sky like a shattered kite caught in a storm's fury, trailing destruction in its wake.

The Dragon and Demon were momentarily stunned, completely caught off guard. They hadn't anticipated their own comrade would obey so swiftly, so absolutely, without even a flicker of hesitation. The abrupt betrayal shattered their expectations.

But how could they have known? How could they understand that Anthony possessed the ability to control any human with a bloodline inferior to his own?

Reacting instinctively, the Demon lunged without pause, giving Anthony no opportunity to speak. He had already drawn his conclusion, that Anthony had employed some form of mind manipulation. What other explanation could there be for such complete control?

With a snarl, the Demon's claws lashed out, aiming for Anthony's eyes, moving with a speed that nearly defied the laws of light itself. Yet Anthony remained composed, utterly unshaken. He hadn't been taken by surprise. His mind had already run the calculations; he had foreseen this moment before it even came to pass.

Anthony's form blurred to the side, tearing through the air with blinding speed, as if the sky itself were no different from solid ground beneath his feet.

The Demon's claws raked through the space where Anthony's eyes had just been, violently shredding the fabric of the atmosphere. But the Demon adjusted instantly, almost as if he had anticipated the dodge. His elbow snapped outward, hurtling toward Anthony's chest with the momentum and brilliance of a falling star.

Yet Anthony's response was effortless.

His palm moved with calm efficiency, intercepting the blow with insulting ease. The moment their clash met, the very air between them ruptured, exploding outward in a concussive blast that cracked the silence of the sky.

The Demon's brow furrowed, his expression tightening with confusion and growing unease. He couldn't comprehend how Anthony was keeping pace. According to their intelligence, the boy was merely a human of the Ecliptic mana rank, nineteen years old at most. By all accounts, he shouldn't possess such impossible speed, nor such overwhelming force.

Even if Anthony had recently ascended to the Zenith rank, it should have changed nothing. No Zenith, regardless of race, should be capable of performing what this human was doing now.

And yet here he stood, a supposed boy, meeting him blow for blow.

Unthinkable.

He, a high-ranking Demon who stood just beneath the Demon Monarch themselves, was being matched by a human child.

As if reading the Demon's thoughts, Anthony's voice rang out, measured, yet laced with disdain.

"Don't place me on whatever scale of power you're accustomed to."

The words had barely settled in the air when an explosion of movement followed.

Before the Demon could so much as blink, a brutal impact detonated across his jaw, Anthony's forefoot had crashed into his face with terrifying force, snapping his head violently to the side.

In an instant, inertia seized the Demon's massive frame, hurling him backward. Denial flooded his mind, but reality answered with pain. Agony tore through his skull as he was launched across the desert, his body crashing into a dune with a thunderous boom.

The force of the collision carved a sinkhole into the earth, and sand exploded skyward like a tidal wave, while a tremor rippled outward, an earthquake unleashed upon the barren landscape.

With a thunderous blast, an overwhelming aura surged from the sinkhole, sweeping away the surrounding sand and shaking the air itself. From the crater, the Demon rose slowly, a deep frown etched across his face.

Without warning, abyssal-black flames erupted from his body, devouring the air around him in shadowy heat. A massive claymore materialized in his hands, its edge humming with malevolence.

In the next breath, a surge of Sword Intent burst forth, raw, violent, and unrestrained, as his eyes locked onto Anthony with murderous precision.

But Anthony remained still.

He didn't smile. He didn't speak.

He simply stared, calm, impassive, unreadable.

Another boom roared beside the Demon, stirring a violent sandstorm. Neither Anthony nor the Demon so much as flinched; both had already anticipated its cause.

From the swirling dust, the Dragon emerged, striding forward with slow, unbothered grace. Clutched in his grasp was the broken corpse of the Human Cultist, lifeless, limp, discarded like refuse.

Anthony raised a single brow in quiet surprise. He hadn't expected the Dragon to finish his battle so swiftly. He had anticipated at least some resistance, a meaningful clash. It seemed, perhaps, his expectations had been too generous.

The Dragon remained silent. With fluid motion, two gauntlets materialized in his hands and locked into place around his forearms. The moment they clicked shut, his Intent spilled outward, razor-sharp, heavy, and soaked in lethal promise.

A faint smile tugged at Anthony's lips as he took in the scene before him, the black flames, the gauntlets, the killing intent saturating the air. He tilted his head slightly and spoke, his voice laced with mock amusement.

"Why so serious, gentlemen? This is war, not a vendetta. Nothing personal, you know?"

His eyes gleamed with quiet taunt. "Or did you come here expecting to swat a few flies and stroll home victorious?"

He gave a small, almost pitying shake of his head before turning his gaze toward the broader battlefield, where chaos raged across the desert. A flicker of thought crossed his expression, his smile curled wider, evolving into a grin that carried the weight of something far more cunning.

"Let's raise the stakes… shall we?"