Sulaini’s initial reaction was one of utter astonishment. He had long known Armad to be a cautious individual, one who preferred certainty over the unpredictable nature of risk. To the world, Armad might have appeared as the underdog, lacking the cultivation power that his siblings boasted, and often underestimated as the weakest link. However, Silaini knew better than to mistake Armad’s cautious demeanor for cowardice, and he certainly wouldn’t label him a fool or a reckless gambler. It was clear to Silaini that Armad’s unexpected maneuver to appear behind the formidable Kisa was not a rash decision. It was a calculated move, hinting at a grander scheme that only someone of Armad’s intellect could devise.
As Armad materialized on the battlefield, Commander Silaini’s understanding of the situation began to crystallize. The sight of the mystical strings emanating from Armad’s Miyura and extending toward Kisa was more than just a display of power; it was a revelation of intent and capability. Silaini’s emotions ran the gamut from amazement to terror, all stirred by the sight of the pol strings that Armad controlled. These were not mere strings; they were the exalted pol strings, the very same that was the hallmark of the legendary emperor within the vast expanse of the Wilberforce Empire.
Commander Silaini was acutely aware of the significance of these pol strings, a secret that perhaps eluded the grasp of many. These strings were a badge of honor, a testament to one’s capacity to ascend to the highest echelons of power—to be king or crown prince. They were a symbol that belonged to the elite cadre of the Wilberforce tribe, a sign that the bearer was a force to be reckoned with.
Despite Silaini’s deep-seated affection for Armad and his unwavering allegiance to Armad’s maternal family, he had previously accepted a seemingly inevitable truth: Armad did not possess the potent lineage of the Wilberforce bloodline, which he believed was a prerequisite for wielding the pol strings. This acceptance was not borne out of disrespect but rather from an understanding of the rigid hierarchies that governed their world.
Silaini’s fealty to Armad was rooted in a profound sense of honor and duty rather than a quest for power or prestige. He could not, in good conscience, turn his back on the prince. His loyalty was born of genuine respect for the prince’s mother’s character and a personal code of conduct that dictated honesty and faithfulness above all else. To Silaini, standing by the prince was not just an obligation; it was a choice that reflected his values.
Yet, in this moment of revelation, as Silaini’s gaze fell upon the pol strings in Armad’s command, he was forced to confront a reality that contradicted everything he thought he knew. The prince, who had been the butt of many jokes, whose very servants were looked down upon as naive for their unwavering obedience, was now in possession of a pol string. This was not merely an act of possession; Armad was demonstrating his ability to harness the string’s power and launch a formidable attack. If what Silaini was witnessing was indeed the truth and not an illusion, then the tides had turned, and the prince they had all known was no more.
This means that his pol string has reached a level of maturity that renders it suitable for use in combat. This is a notable development, particularly when compared to the elite warriors of the Wilberforce tribe, who typically awaken their pol strings in an undeveloped state. These elite members must invest time and cultivation to nurture their strings to full maturity before they can be wielded effectively in battle.
However, an unexpected sight challenges Silaini’s understanding of reality: the prince, whom he knows so well, is now in possession of a mature pol string, ready to be deployed in an offensive capacity. The realization that the prince is equipped to launch an attack with the pol string is startling and prompts a moment of doubt about the prince’s identity. Yet, despite the initial shock, there is an underlying conviction that this is indeed the prince he is familiar with. What confounds him are the dramatic changes in the prince—the evolution in demeanor and the surprising surge in cultivation power.
But the Silaini’s reaction is not one of mere surprise. He is acutely aware of the urgency of their situation and the strategic importance of supporting the prince in the imminent confrontation with Commander Kisa. The rationale is simple: if they can successfully kill the commander, the morale and organization of the enemy soldiers will crumble, making the rest of the battle significantly easier.
As the battle unfolds, while Armad’s strings are about to get into his body, Commander Kisa demonstrates his ability to teleport, a skill that allows him to escape incoming attacks by moving instantaneously from one location to another. However, this ability is not without its illusions; Kisa’s departure is so rapid that he leaves behind an afterimage, a visual echo that might deceive an untrained eye into thinking he is still present. Commander Silaini immediately recognizes that Armad has been fooled by the afterimage. That was why he continued to escalate his attack by sending not one but five pol strings in rapid succession inside what he thought was Kisa.
Despite the increased onslaught, Commander Silaini is still in the dark about Armad’s plan of attack. Yet, he perceives a tactical advantage in Kisa’s reliance on teleportation. The speed at which Kisa teleports has a critical downside: it leaves him without a defensive posture, creating a fleeting but exploitable opening for Silaini to strike.
Commander Silaini, with resolve and tactical acumen, refuses to waste this precious moment. He tracks where Kisa reappears and launches a ferocious stab aimed near the commander’s heart, an attack designed to be lethal.
Commander Kisa, endowed with the skills of the Kilebayans, is not entirely unprepared; he senses Silaini’s impending attack. Yet, the velocity of his teleportation is such that he hasn’t yet fully materialized at his intended destination. Trapped in transit and without the means to defend himself or counterattack, Kisa is resigned to the grim realization that there is no feasible way to avoid the imminent and deadly stab from Commander Silaini.
He knows that the only method he can use to evade the fatal blow of the stabbing attack is to preemptively ensure the blade does not reach his heart. That is why uses every strength within his body, channeling his cultivation to react with swift precision. In an instinctive maneuver, he twisted his torso, leveraging his cultivation to contort to his right side. This pivotal movement is designed to avoid a direct hit to his heart, situated on the left side of the chest. Instead, the blade’s trajectory is redirected, piercing his lung on the right. The sheer force behind Silaini’s thrust propels the sword through the lung, exiting Kisa’s back, which tragically triggers an immediate hemorrhage, causing blood to spill forth from Kisa’s mouth and nostrils.
In the heat of battle, Armad has expended all five strings of his formidable arsenal, finding himself bewildered by the unfolding scene. His visage reflects utter astonishment as the target of his aggressive onslaught is revealed to be nothing more than a transient illusion—a mere image left behind by the enemy’s extraordinary speed of teleportation, which now begins to dissipate into nothingness. The swiftness of this technique is such that it eludes Armad’s grasp of reality, far surpassing his capabilities.
Throughout his journey in the realm of cultivation, Armad has come to understand a fundamental truth: the landscape of power is vast, and irrespective of one’s might, there will invariably be someone who commands a skill of even greater magnitude. This epiphany strikes him with renewed clarity as he witnesses the teleportation prowess of the commander, which outshines his technique known as Kaban Shisu—a skill that otherwise amplifies his teleportation strength by thirtyfold. As the realization sets in, Armad ponders whether the Kaban Zishu, a skill touted by the mysterious system, could endow him with a comparable level of velocity should he choose to harness it.
Despite this moment of doubt, Armad harbors no remorse for his choice of the Pol String skill. His conviction remains unshaken; he steadfastly believes in the superiority of Pol String over Kaban Zishu. Nonetheless, he cannot help but entertain the possibility that should fate grant him another chance, he might seize the opportunity to explore the potential of Kaban Zishu.
Currently, the pressing concern that demands Armad’s full attention is the conquest of Commander Kisa. The commander’s capabilities eclipse those of the second-stage deva, a formidable foe Armad has vanquished before. Should he fail to contain Commander Kisa, and the commander succeeds in disseminating intelligence regarding the Pol String, Armad cannot bear to contemplate the disastrous outcomes that might befall him.
It is conceivable that the second-stage deva lacked the perceptual acuity to detect the Pol String, a shortfall of power on its part. In stark contrast, Commander Kisa has not only observed the string but also grasped its profound implications.
Previously, Prince Ikenga may have not deemed it necessary to personally intervene in Armad’s affairs, nor did he see the need to rally the big tribes against him. However, with the emergence of the Pol String and its implications now laid bare, the stakes have escalated.
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Armad fully grasped the perilous situation he was entangled in, and he was acutely conscious of his power’s extent. Nevertheless, he was honing his abilities and was determined not to reveal his full potential to his lethal adversaries. He aspired to maintain their perception of him as the weakest contender, hoping they would underestimate him. This was a strategic choice that extended to Prince Ikenga and the council members of Wilberforce, whom he also wished to convince of his apparent frailty, especially about the imperial lineage. Armad planned to bide his time, waiting for the opportune moment to unveil his true might and seize everything destined to be his, turning the tables on all who doubted him.
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Armad watched as five of the fifty mystical strings he commanded vanished from sight. He was painfully aware that if these strings had successfully enveloped Commander Kisa in their explosive embrace, the commander would not have lived to tell of it. However, the strings’ disappearance was not entirely in vain; Armad’s attack had inadvertently provided Commander Silaini with a crucial opening. Silaini had seized the moment to thrust his sword into Kisa’s chest—a critical blow that may not have been delivered had it not been for Armad’s calculated distraction. Despite the seeming waste of his precious strings, Armad harbored no resentment. This was the nature of the battle, unpredictable and costly.
Despite the violence of the encounter, Kisa’s demeanor was unyielding. Blood streamed from his mouth and nose, yet there was no hint of weakness in his stance, no sign of heavy breathing to suggest exhaustion. To any onlooker, Kisa was the epitome of a seasoned cultivator: a man who had weathered the storms of the past and was now navigating the trials of the present. The rigorous paths he had trodden to rise to the rank of a commander in the King’s Legion were a testament to his exceptional fortitude, a testament that few individuals worldwide could hope to emulate.
The title of commander of the King’s Legion was befitting for Kisa, a warrior of unparalleled skill and experience. Yet, on this day, Armad had steeled himself for the ultimate confrontation, resolved to defeat Kisa regardless of his formidable reputation.
In the heat of battle, Commander Kisa clutched the hilt of the sword impaled in his chest, while Commander Silaini pulled at it with all his might, intent on retrieving his weapon. Despite Silaini’s efforts, the sword remained stubbornly in place. With a monumental effort, Kisa finally wrenched the sword from his flesh and let it fall to the ground as he retreated with a swift backward leap. His wounds continued to bleed, yet he showed no sign of capitulation.
Upon regaining his footing, Kisa drew a deep, deliberate breath and surveyed the battlefield, his gaze shifting from Silaini to Armad. His thoughts remained a mystery, his internal cogitations hidden behind the stoic mask of a warrior. His eyes, unwavering and inscrutable, bore the mark of a warrior of the highest esteem—a combatant who had lived through countless battles and had mastered the art of concealing his emotions, allowing only the barest trace of his inner turmoil to surface.
“Why can’t you provide me with the same pills you use for healing? Let me chew them so I can recover from this wound—a wound that you are responsible for, no less. Once I’m healed, we can sit down and resolve our differences,” Proposed by Kisa, the commander tasked with the duty of safeguarding Armad, now stood before him, a traitor to his charge. His voice, calm and almost casual, belied the gravity of his betrayal.
Armad did not respond verbally, his head shaking in silent disbelief. Beside him, Silaini’s mouth dropped open, a physical manifestation of the shock that gripped them both. They had never anticipated such a request, such audacity, from Commander Kisa. The insinuation that his injury was a trivial matter to be brushed aside was absurd. Despite the commander’s steady tone, the severity of a wound that carved a path through the chest and lung, exiting the back, was no minor issue. The lack of distress in Kisa’s demeanor was astounding; no one could sustain such an injury without concern.
The strategy at play was reminiscent of the lessons from “War Tactics” by Muhammad Aminu, which posited that showing fatigue to your adversary meant conceding half the battle to them. With that in mind, Kisa’s stoicism made sense—it was a calculated display meant to conceal his vulnerability, a tactic of war intended to maintain an advantage.
Armad, having seen through this charade, moved with a swift decisiveness. He positioned himself at Kisa’s side, signaling an end to any further discourse. To Armad, Kisa’s words were nothing more than mockery, and it was time for action. Silaini, intuiting the shift in Armad’s stance, also moved into position, flanking Kisa to his left. They formed a circle around the commander, their steps measured and deliberate as they inched closer, keenly aware of the gravity of the moment.
Armad did not hold any weapon in his hand, he knew that a conventional duel would not favor him against Kisa. However, as he advanced, a multitude of pol strings emanated from his Miyura, targeting Kisa with precision. Armad had deployed all fifty-two of his pol strings in this singular attack, a full display of his capabilities, meticulously orchestrated to ensure that Kisa would not escape their grasp.
Silaini, recognizing the silent communication between him and Armad, unsheathed an additional sword. With a sword in each hand, his readiness for combat was unmistakable. Their actions spoke louder than any words could—their intent was clear. There would be no escape for Commander Kisa, no mercy shown; they were resolved to see this conflict through to its bitter end.
As they approached Kisa, the resonance of the system’s voice reverberated in Armad’s ears, and a stark realization dawned upon him. The system had effectively sapped 90% of his Nagirinki reserves, limiting his ability to manifest more than five strings at a time. This revelation served as a stark warning, urging him to exercise prudence in the utilization of his pol strings.
Although the system’s cautionary message was not unfamiliar to Armad, his mind was consumed by a profound animosity towards the commander. This deep-seated hatred had eclipsed all other concerns, causing him to disregard the presence of other adversaries lingering on the battlefield. His singular focus was fixated on exacting vengeance upon the commander, believing that only through the demise of his nemesis could he find peace and closure.
The intricate tapestry of events that had unfolded, from the savage assault by wild tribes to the tragic assassination of the prince whose essence now resided within his being, all bore the unmistakable mark of the commander’s machinations. Armad was acutely aware that it was the commander who had orchestrated the captain’s heinous act of betrayal, deliberately stoking Armad’s desire for retribution. This calculated move was designed to divert the attention of the king’s legion, leaving the town vulnerable and defenseless—a scheme that Armad had astutely pieced together through a combination of received intelligence and his innate acumen.
Before departing from the illustrious capital city of Wilberforce, Commander Kisa had solemnly pledged before Armad’s father and maternal kin to safeguard Armad throughout his perilous mission. However, the solemn oath of protection had been callously forsaken, as Kisa emerged as the very person who would ultimately betray him.
Instead of simply retreating to the comfort of his origins in Wilberforce, Kisa opted to unleash a relentless barrage of adversaries upon Armad. Beginning with the barbaric tribesmen sent to eliminate him, Kisa escalated the conflict by rallying the surrounding monarchs against Armad, orchestrating a multifaceted assault on his stronghold. Yet, unsatisfied with these indirect tactics, Kisa himself descended upon Armad, intent on delivering the fatal blow. This unrelenting onslaught left Armad seething with a potent blend of fury and betrayal, his once-noble intentions tainted by the overwhelming desire for retribution.
Amidst the maelstrom of emotions that ravaged his psyche, Armad remained oblivious to a crucial truth: the lingering wrath of Prince Armad, whose essence had intertwined with his own, fueled his burning animosity towards Kisa. The prince’s undying vendetta against the commander, sealed with his dying breath, now merged seamlessly with Armad’s righteous fury, creating a volatile concoction of resentment and determination.
“You shameless curs, do you truly believe yourselves mighty enough to withstand the onslaught of the King’s Legion? Come to your senses!” The voice of Commander Kisa boomed across the battlefield like rolling thunder. Each syllable he pronounced carried the weight of his authority, his words not merely uttered but transformed. They twisted and turned into spells, and from these spells sprang forth seals, shimmering into existence and hovering ominously in the air. Suddenly, as if conjured by some unseen force, magical barriers began to coalesce from the void, encircling him in a spectacle of sorcery. Sequentially, like the unfolding petals of an arcane flower, twelve mystical walls appeared, each wall spinning in a delicate orbit, creating a layered bastion around the commander.
Amidst the concentric revolutions of these formidable magical defenses, Commander Kisa stood firm, an indomitable figure. While Armad and Commander Silaini found themselves repulsed by a formidable energy. Kisa didn’t remain idle within the sanctuary of his walls. His fingers intertwined, right thumb pressing to the left pinky, initiating a ritual of complex gestures. He wove his fingers through the air, tracing invisible patterns that hardened into seals, all the while murmuring spells under his breath, spells that were not meant for ears other than his own.
A subdued echo arose from Commander Silaini, a prelude to his urgent warning, “We cannot afford to let him complete this summoning. This seal he’s weaving—it’s one of escape and evasion.”
Armad, upon hearing these words, turned to face Silaini. Although he acknowledged the caution, his steely eyes betrayed a singular focus—the downfall of Kisa.
To the way Kisa talks, Armad’s intent gaze might suggest a straightforward clash of arms was imminent. Contrary to such expectations, however, the scene unfolding was one of strategic retreat. The formidable commander, known for his might, was attempting to flee the confrontation.
Silaini, well-versed in the mystical arts, recognized the seal Kisa was so feverishly working to complete. It was an ancient skill, a spell of displacement that would allow the caster to slip away from the melee and reemerge far from the dangers of the immediate battle. If Kisa succeeded in his rite, his disappearance from the field would come as no surprise.
Yet, what truly captured Silaini’s focus was not solely the imperative to thwart Kisa’s escape. He was acutely aware of Armad’s formidable capabilities, having observed the devastating potential of Armad’s ‘pol string’ skill. The ramifications of failing to prevent Kisa’s withdrawal were unthinkable.
With clarity of purpose and a surge of adrenaline, Silaini summoned all his might, channeling it into a powerful strike. His attack was not just a mere physical onslaught but a calculated strike imbued with his magical prowess, aimed squarely at the walls that Kisa had meticulously erected.