“Heave-ho, heave-ho. That’s the feeling. I really should have brought a camera.”
Mo worked hard to plant the Emperor’s Blade he had knocked unconscious into the ground, almost as if he were planting a tree.
Then he pressed his palms together and recited a few lines to the Blade buried in the soil, his expression devout.
“I’ve planted you in the dirt. Now grow again.”
It was a pity that all the Blades he had planted were unconscious.
Otherwise, it would have been even more interesting.
What?
You want to know why the Emperor’s Blades were planted in the ground?
What happened during the battle?
Well, there wasn’t actually much to say.
It wasn’t that the Blades were weak.
They were genuine elites among elites, possessing flawless coordination, extraordinary combat experience, and impeccable individual qualities.
If the Imperial Guard possessing the “nation” that Mo had encountered yesterday was at the upper end of the Big Cup power level, then this group of early-version Emperor’s Blades was at least at the lower end of the Big Cup level.
After all, the “nation” was merely a means available to the Imperial Guard.
What truly determined their strength was their indomitable will.
But clearly, everyone had seriously underestimated Mo’s strength.
Including Mo himself.
Having never fought against truly powerful opponents before and spending years bullying weak Infected Patrol Squads, Mo had always believed that his strength on this land should only be around the Medium Cup level—far below that of an ordinary Wendigo.
But that wasn’t the case.
After the initial exchange with the Emperor’s Blades, Mo immediately realized that something was wrong.
Even without the “nation,” a complete squad of Blades should have possessed enough strength to defeat a Wendigo.
After all, not every Wendigo was a Big Daddy.
That was precisely why the Emperor had sent them.
Yet when Mo faced the Blades’ perfectly coordinated encirclement, he felt completely at ease.
In his eyes, the Blades’ greatswords and Arts were all predictable.
Every attack they launched could be clearly seen by Mo.
Under such circumstances, dodging and countering their attacks was simply too easy.
One had to understand that in the powerful nation of Ursus, the Emperor’s Blades almost represented the pinnacle of individual combat power.
Otherwise, they would never have qualified to become vessels for the “nation.”
And yet, a casual strike from Mo could actually send one of the Blades flying.
What terrifying strength was this?
The Blade who had been repelled stared incredulously at the greatsword in his hand, which had been slightly bent by the impact.
At the same time, Mo stared blankly at the Blade he had just knocked back.
Both sides were stunned.
And in that moment of mutual astonishment, Mo finally realized—
He seemed to be unexpectedly powerful.
The corners of his mouth curled upward, his hideous bones forming a strange arc.
Then he picked up the spear that had already been cut in half by the Blades and launched a storm of attacks against them, completely ignoring the damage they inflicted on him.
“Destroy! Let everything be destroyed!”
“Come on! Let me see your limits!”
“Your struggle will only make me more excited!”
“Your power is still far from enough!”
Mo swung the heavy spear recklessly.
Under his tremendous strength, the weapon cracked through the air like a whip, producing a deep humming sound.
When it struck the Blade in front of him, the impact sent the Emperor’s Blade flying straight into the sky, as though he were being sent to keep the Administrator company. Follow the newest chapters on novelping dot com.
A moment later, accompanied by Mo’s grimacing laughter, the Emperor’s Blade crashed back onto the ground.
The enormous impact caused their consciousness to collapse.
There was no doubt about it.
Mo had won.
He had defeated the Emperor’s Blades.
But that victory had come at a price.
The Emperor’s Blades were, after all, genuine elites.
They had destroyed all of Mo’s equipment and inflicted countless wounds of varying severity across his body.
The most dangerous wound had nearly pierced straight through his chest, missing a heart-to-heart exchange by only a hair’s breadth.
But the person left standing at the end was the victor.
Victor.
Victor.
Wasn’t that simply whoever remained standing on the battlefield?
“Super Big Cup!”
“I am the Super Big Cup!”
Mo stood in the middle of the battlefield, excitedly raising his arms and shouting.
Now that was more like it.
In an era of inflation, stats should be given generously.
Being stingy with them was simply unsightly.
Mechanic monsters?
Who wanted to play mechanics with you?
Stats were the hard truth.
And the truth only existed within the range of cannons!
What mechanic could possibly be stronger than endless stats?
As long as the stats were high enough, he could even wipe out a Behemoth!
After his excitement subsided, Mo gradually calmed down.
He soon realized that things weren’t actually as good as he had thought.
Once the Blades realized that their attacks couldn’t directly inflict fatal damage on him, they immediately changed their strategy.
Instead of trying to kill Mo, they focused on restricting his movements.
They targeted his joints, leaving numerous wounds that severely affected his mobility.
Furthermore, the pain that Mo had suppressed during the battle returned all at once after the fight ended.
Mo couldn’t help but wince.
At this moment, Mo was practically a mobile sprinkler, riddled with holes.
Wherever he walked, blood splattered onto the snow.
Faced with the overwhelming pain and his inability to move properly, Mo chose to lie flat.
Literally.
Mo simply lay down on the snowfield.
Fortunately, the sun was still hanging high in the sky.
Since that was the case, he might as well sunbathe.
It was warm.
Very comfortable.
Relying on his Super Big Cup physical constitution, the wounds on Mo’s body soon began to heal.
As he looked at the Emperor’s Blades lying unconscious around him, a wonderful idea suddenly occurred to him. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Why not plant the Blades in the ground?
And so, we arrive at the scene from the beginning.
The battle between the two sides had created quite a commotion.
Especially after Mo completely let himself loose, the noise became particularly intense.
Even from the distant camp, the Infected could hear Mo’s wild shouting.
Naturally, they realized that enemies had come to their doorstep.
The Infected immediately grabbed whatever weapons and tools they could find and prepared to rush over to help.
Roman was delighted to see that the Infected had developed such a strong willingness to fight.
However, he also understood one thing very clearly.
An enemy capable of creating such a tremendous commotion was definitely not someone they could handle.
With no other choice, Roman left the Infected in the camp and went ahead alone to scout the battlefield.
He waited until the fighting had completely subsided before carefully poking his head out from his hiding place.
Then he saw a scene he would never forget for the rest of his life.
The originally flat snowfield had been transformed into a battered, uneven wasteland by the fierce battle.
Broken weapons and shredded pieces of armor were scattered across the scorched earth.
The invading enemies lay collapsed throughout the battlefield.
Under the blazing sunlight, the victor stood at the center of the battlefield.
His armor was so thoroughly damaged that its original shape could no longer be recognized.
He raised his arms toward the sky and shouted, letting out a roar of incomprehensible meaning.
It was an utterly shocking sight.
Until his wounds suddenly burst open, spraying blood everywhere like a human sprinkler.
Roman couldn’t help but cover his forehead.
As expected of Mo.
His style was always so unique, absurd, and comical.
With a helpless sigh, Roman was just about to walk over and take a closer look when he saw Mo slap his own butt and lie straight down in a pool of blood.
Roman’s head began to ache even more.
He had no choice but to turn around and return to the camp to call for help.
When Roman eventually brought several people back to the edge of the battlefield, he discovered that Mo was digging holes in the ground like a corpse that had suddenly crawled back to life.
He was burying the defeated enemies one by one.
Then, after finishing each hole, he would press his palms together beside it, seemingly reciting some kind of prayer.
The Infected who had followed Roman had never seen anything like this before.
They stood there completely dumbfounded.
Then one of them seemed to silently send a question mark.
“?”
The Infected looked at Roman.
Then they looked at the insane Mo.
Then back at Roman.
Then back at Mo.
They repeated this several times, their faces filled with utter confusion.
This time, Roman genuinely didn’t know what to say.
He simply sat down on the ground and stared blankly into the distance.
His eyes reflected a profound emptiness.
It was the expression of a man who had completely lost the will to live.