In the tumultuous moments when the pol strings burst apart, the very essence of the deva's cultivation, which resided in his core, commenced a chaotic disintegration. The delicate structures within the core, reminiscent of fingers and once organized in a precise syntactical order, began to come undone. Some fragments of the disassembled core were launched into the air, embarking on aimless trajectories, while others collided with the objects within the core—the board, the demon, or the rusted sword. The deva's core, once a harmonious nexus of his inner strength, was now nothing but a disordered scattering of its former self.
Amid this turmoil, one of Armad's ten pol strings unexpectedly ceased to exist. This peculiar occurrence was enough to elicit a slight furrow in Armad's otherwise composed brow. It was a rare distraction, yet his primary concentration steadfastly remained on the figure standing before him, his opponent in this grave contest.
Blood ominously began to seep from every facial orifice of the adversary—eyes, nostrils, lips, and ears were all sources of the crimson flow. It was as if his body was preparing for a final, desperate gambit, as a brilliant light began to build within him and his cultivation levels surged, hinting at the imminent release of a devastating assault aimed at Armad. But just as quickly as this ascent started, it was extinguished. The burgeoning cultivation that promised so much power dissipated into nothingness, along with the luminescence that had just moments before enveloped his form. Now, what clung to him was the blood that had painted his visage into a macabre mask, transforming his appearance into something frightful. Overcome by the turn of events, the opponent succumbed to weakness, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled for breath.
Should Armad choose to walk away now, it was conceivable that his enemy might succumb to his wounds or languish for many months before any semblance of recovery could begin. The true extent of the pain and the toll it took on the opponent's vigor was known only to him. However, it was evident that Armad harbored no such mercy in his heart. The notion of allowing his foe to exit the battlefield with life still coursing through his veins was not part of Armad's code.
With measured and intentional strides, Armad began to close the distance between himself and his defeated opponent. Although the opponent's features were smeared and obscured by the drying blood, there was no mistaking the terror that flickered in his eyes. He recognized the gravity of his predicament. Armad's actions had far-reaching consequences; it was not merely a matter of siphoning off the cultivation from the opponent's core. Armad was endowed with a potent and rare-eyed aptitude that paralleled the fabled capabilities attributed to the esteemed Wilberforce lineage—a power that allowed him to intrude upon and damage the cultivation nested deep within another's core. This dread-inducing ability had not been seen since the days of the younger brother of Emperor Aldaima, a legend who lived and wielded his might over six millennia in the past.
Historical records often mention that the younger brother of Emperor Aldaima was notably deficient in the ability to extract cultivation from the cores of others, a skill highly prized within the Wilberforce tribe. Despite this shortfall, he was endowed with extraordinarily powerful eyes that evoked fear across the Wilberforce tribe—a tribe renowned for its members’ formidable mystical capacities. The terror incited by his eyes was not without merit; his eyes possessed the harrowing ability to obliterate the cultivation contained within an opponent’s core, rendering them powerless.
At present, this deva has had an epiphany regarding Armad’s abilities. He has come to the sudden, chilling realization that Armad has mastered a technique eerily reminiscent of the dreaded eyes powers wielded by Aldaima’s brother. This recognition has led to the understanding that he had severely miscalculated Armad’s potential as a threat. Armad not only boasts eyes that resemble those of the Aldaima’s brother but also displays the extraordinary capability to siphon off the cultivation from the cores of others. In essence, Armad combines the most fearsome talents revered by the Wilberforce tribe, making him a singularly dangerous adversary.
Compelled by the gravity of these insights, he is desperate to communicate the dire situation to Nura Bayajidda. He intends to convince Nura to disengage from the confrontation with the girl and hastily retreat to report back to the commander of the King’s Legion. The urgency of his discovery presses upon him. Yet, when he attempts to articulate his thoughts, his voice fails him; no sound escapes his lips. Even his ability to signal with his hands is inexplicably lost to him. Overwhelmed by fear, he is consumed by the desire to rise and flee, to run endlessly until his life’s end. However, his body refuses to obey; he is rooted to the spot, immobile. The growing terror in his mind escalates with every step that Armad takes in his direction, each footfall seeming to echo the grim toll of a bell, signaling his inevitable march toward the grave.
This overwhelming sense of doom may indeed mirror the grim reality he faces; all of his cultivation years have been stripped away. Left utterly strengthless, he is incapable of defending himself or taking any action. Assuming he manages to survive this encounter, he will have suffered the devastating loss of three years of cultivation. Even more daunting is the prospect that it could take an entire year before he regains the capacity to execute a substantial skill—provided he can procure a powerful healing potion of legendary efficacy.
The full extent of his injuries, incurred by a mere single attack, is a testament to the profound deception perpetuated by the Wilberforce tribe.
Emperor Ayrion, in all his wisdom, must have been privy to the secret of his son’s formidable power. Yet, he chose the path of subterfuge, opting to shroud this truth from the prying eyes of the world. It was a calculated act of deception, a masterstroke of royal intrigue. Rumors abounded that this very prince was the frail thread in the illustrious tapestry of the emperor’s lineage. However, one must question the veracity of these claims. Where, indeed, could one glimpse the faintest hint of frailty in this prince? What possible weakness could he harbor? The tides within his heart had shifted dramatically; the trepidation that once gripped his soul had been supplanted by a seething rage. He burned with indignation over the Wilberforce tribe’s grand charade.
Imagine the tumult that would ensue if the truth were to unfurl before the world’s tribes. It is conceivable that they, too, would be swept up in a storm of fury akin to that which now raged within the prince. An upheaval of alliances would not be unforeseen, as tribes might band together in a united front against the treacherous Wilberforce, their collective outrage fueling the flames of retribution.
In this charged atmosphere, the second stage Deva came to an inescapable realization: his end was nigh.
These thoughts coursed through his mind with the swiftness of a raging river as Armad’s blade made its silent, deadly approach. The steel of the sword, cold and unyielding, had found its mark at the Deva’s throat. The pointed tip lingered there, menacing and poised.
“You shall meet your demise in anonymity, your name forever unspoken,” Armad declared with a sneer. “But perhaps mercy shall grace your final moments. Speak your name, that I may carry the memory of the first-second stage Deva to fall by my hand.” The mockery in Armad’s voice was unmistakable, his contemptuous gaze piercing. It was abundantly clear to any onlooker that his vanquished foe was beyond uttering even a whisper.
An expectant pause hung in the air, but it was met with nothing but silence. The adversary offered no words, no plea for clemency. With a dismissive shrug, Armad proclaimed, “The choice is yours. You had your opportunity to speak. Let it not be said that I denied you that. Should you find yourself reflecting upon this moment in the afterlife, remember that the fault lies not with me.”
Armad’s provocation was but a facade, a display of dominance over a man already defeated. He sought not the name of his fallen enemy; his true desire was to reaffirm the futility of their ambush and his retribution against those who dared assault his kinsmen on the field of battle. This execution was but the commencement of his vengeance.
Without further hesitation, with a swift and decisive movement, Armad plunged the sword deeper, the blade severing life with cruel precision. As the light faded from Deva’s eyes, Armad stood as a figure of legend. Never before had a warrior of core formation level claimed the life of a second-stage Deva. Such a tale had not been whispered in the annals of history nor the most fantastical of sagas. Yet here it was, unfolding in stark reality, and the harbinger of this unprecedented act was none other than Armad himself.
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One might think that the skirmish between Armad and the second-stage deva would have been a drawn-out affair. However, the truth was that from the onset of their confrontation to the present moment, less than a minute had elapsed.
Armad’s attention then turned towards Nusi’s battle with Nura Bayajidda. Their engagement was far from over, yet there was an abrupt shift in Armad’s demeanor. Moments before, Nura Bayajidda had been dominating the fight, relentlessly pushing Nusi back while inflicting wounds upon her. But now, the tide had turned dramatically. Nusi had managed to trap her adversary amid a copse of giant trees, whose limbs were now assaulting him with a life of their own.
A sense of anger bit at Armad as he clenched his teeth. It appeared that Nusi had failed to discern a critical detail: her opponent was no longer human, but a robot. The distinction should have been clear to her. Despite the robot’s convincing human facade, the complexity and finesse of its combat style differed markedly. While the original human combatant would have aggressively countered the attacks of the trees, obliterating them with powerful palm strikes, the robot adopted a defensive strategy, agilely dodging and seeking to avoid the relentless blows of the branches.
Amid this chaos, Nusi had not realized a crucial fact: Nura Bayajidda had secretly been replaced by this robot during the battle and had managed to escape from the battlefield unnoticed.
This revelation triggered a flurry of concerns in Armad’s mind, propelling him to scour the battlefield for any trace of the real Nura Bayajidda. His spiritual sense unfurled, blanketing the entirety of the chaotic battlefield in its reach. Despite this, the bedlam of combat made it exceedingly difficult for him to pinpoint Bayajidda’s location.
Armad was preoccupied with two pressing thoughts. The first was the uncertainty of whether Bayajidda had witnessed Ai use those special herbs to awaken her core, as well as Sahau’s. Even if that moment had escaped Bayajidda’s notice, he would undoubtedly have seen the devastating attack Armad had directed against the second-stage deva. Regardless of Bayajidda’s level of prowess, he must have recognized the explosion for what it was: the obliteration of a cultivator’s core. The fact that Armad hailed from the Wilberforce tribe added another layer of significance to the attack. In their tradition, such an attack was not merely physical; it was an assault aimed directly at the spiritual cultivation of the individual. It was an act that transcended the need for explanation, for within the realms of their shared understanding of cultivation, the implications were crystal clear.
Nura Bayajidda’s decision to stealthily retreat from the battlefield came as no surprise. He was painfully aware that any confrontation with Armad was tantamount to courting death itself. As for Armad, he chose not to admonish Nusi. He held a steadfast belief that strength and victory are not solely the province of the physically robust; even she, in her fragility, had the potential to triumph over the robot. To him, the inability to defeat the robot was incongruent with the status of an elite warrior in his ranks.
From the sky, Armad’s gaze swept over the chaos below. His mind was consumed with the pursuit of Nura Bayajidda, to follow him to the furthest corners of the earth and ensure his silence about the battle’s events. However, loyalty to his warriors, who fought and died below, anchored his conscience. If he were to chase Nura now, he might never see his town again, unless it was to gaze upon its ashes.
After a brief period of introspection, Armad dismissed the impulse to hunt down Nura. The surge of power he had recently unlocked convinced him that victory was near at hand, and not a thing of the distant future. The lingering concern was the mysterious disappearance of his used string. Had they been consumed irretrievably in the act of destruction?
“System, what of the string I employed? Is it recoverable, or am I to create a new one? Is creation within my powers?” Armad inquired, his tone laced with a mix of curiosity and urgency.
“Yes, you can create more strings. However, be aware that each act of creation will diminish your reserves of Nagirinki and, subsequently, the vigor of your world. The strength of your adversary is a crucial factor; the string’s consumption is directly proportional to its power. You faced a foe in the second stage of the Deva, one with substantial years of cultivation, necessitating the use of an entire string. Lesser adversaries would require far less; a solitary string could dispatch hundreds of them,” the system elucidated with technical precision.
Digesting this information, Armad felt a sense of clarity descending upon him. He was ready to proceed. “System, I command you to utilize my Nagirinki to generate fifty pol strings.”
The system paused momentarily, perhaps processing the request or calculating the consequences. After a brief interlude, it replied with the affirmative, “It is done.”
Armad possesses an intimate understanding of his Nagirinki, surpassing that of anyone else. His mastery over it is such that he wields the power to create a world that intensifies his attacks while simultaneously weakening those of his adversaries. Despite the formidable advantages this world grants him, Armad finds himself in a dire situation where even these enhanced abilities seem inadequate for him to triumph in the current battle. In this crucial moment, he realizes that the true key to victory lies within his ‘pol string,’ a skill that he believes will assure his success. For Armad, the stakes are high, and the potential destruction of the world itself is a secondary concern to the absolute imperative of winning this battle.
In a striking turn of events, a phenomenon occurs: within 10 seconds, an additional 50 ‘pol strings’ emerge, identical to the nine that already exist. They materialize seamlessly from Armad’s Miyura, a mystical and potent symbol on his forehead. While ordinary people can only perceive the visual representation of the Miyura, Armad’s perception extends beyond the ordinary; he can see the very essence of the strings as they come into being, a testament to his extraordinary abilities and connection to his powers.
Mahamuda Aminu’s “The Tactics of War” stands as a seminal work in military strategy. This book, notably its first edition released by Zinaria Publishing, serves as a crucial text for the Wilberforce Academy, where future strategists are trained in the art of warfare. Aminu’s treatise advocates for a swift and decisive method to achieve victory in conflict: the systematic elimination of the enemy’s command structure. The strategy begins with the assassination of the highest-ranking officer, followed by their immediate subordinates, methodically dismantling the chain of command. The rationale is simple yet profound; without their leaders, the rank-and-file soldiers are likened to shepherdless sheep, disorganized and vulnerable, allowing for their swift neutralization.
This strategic wisdom, gleaned from the capital city of Wilberforce, is not merely academic for Armad; it is a practical guide that he resolves to implement. Seizing the moment, he uses his ability to teleport and positions himself directly behind Commander Kisa, who is soaring in the sky. Commander Kisa, a distinguished member of the King’s Legion and tasked with protecting Armad, has become the target of Armad’s ire. The betrayal by Kisa, perceived or real, has not gone unnoticed. In Armad’s world, where loyalty is paramount, treachery is the ultimate sin, capable of stoking a fury deep within him. It is this sense of betrayal that fuels Armad’s anger, an anger that has now found a focus in the form of Commander Kisa.
Perhaps if the betrayal had come from any other member of the king’s legion, Armad might have been less incensed. But it was Kisa, a commander that Armad had once placed his trust in—who had turned his back, not just figuratively but literally, by drawing a weapon with the clear intent to end Armad’s life. For Armad, there was no deeper cut than this treachery, and his thirst for retribution was unquenchable. To him, Kisa was no longer just an enemy; he was a target whose elimination surpassed the importance of any other battle engagements at hand.
Armad’s response to the betrayal was swift and decisive. When he teleported behind Kisa, it wasn’t to engage in a drawn-out duel. His choice to forego the use of his sword was a testament to his confidence and his intimate knowledge of the combat arts; he knew that against a mortal who had mastered the skills of the Kilebayans—a set of techniques known for their lethal precision—simplistic maneuvers would be utterly ineffective.
Armad’s strategic mind had already taken in the battlefield dynamics. He had observed the powerful Commander Silaini, another of his elite servants, having to summon the advanced skill of Bridale to pose a real threat to Kisa. It highlighted the formidable nature of the Kilebayan's skill, revered and feared for their potency, and reserved for those of high command in the Wilberforce Tribe—specifically the King’s Legion.
However, Armad possessed something far superior—the pol string technique. This was not merely another combat skill; it was an extraordinary power, one that transcended the conventional arts of war. Armad was convinced that against the pol string, no matter what skills or defenses his adversary employed, the outcome would be fatal.
Armad’s first deployment of the pol string was as precise as it was deadly, targeting the spinal column to infiltrate Kisa’s core, perilously close to his heart. This initial assault was not borne out of uncertainty but was a deliberate act to test Kisa’s defenses. Armad had already extrapolated from his encounter with the second-stage deva that a single pol string might not guarantee a kill to Kisa. Without hesitation, he released another pol string, and then another, each one a silent whisper of death.
By the time he sent the fifth pol string, Armad had turned the space within Kisa’s core into an arena of destruction.
The entire sequence of events From the instant he let Nusi permission to continue combat against the robotic adversary, to the moment he appeared behind Commander Kisa, unfolded in the span of a mere three seconds—a brief but eternally significant moment that showcased Armad’s lethal efficiency and unwavering resolve.