Clown wore a triumphant grin, the kind born from bloodlust and confidence. Victory felt close—so close he could taste it. The frozen bombs hovered midair, primed to detonate upon contact. And Greg, distracted and wide open, seemed doomed.
Until two words shattered that illusion.
"Time freeze!" Greg roared, his voice resonating in the ancient and commanding tone of the dragon's tongue.
Instantly, the entire battlefield within a hundred-meter radius came to a standstill. The world paused. The bombs halted in mid-flight, their unstable forms suspended like deadly ornaments. Clown's grin froze in place, his crazed laugh echoing eerily in the silence. The flames, the shadows, even the particles in the air ceased to move.
Only Greg and his divine clones remained active.
The spell had cost him everything—his entire mana reserve gone in an instant. His body trembled under the strain of invoking a high-tier draconic command. But it was worth it.
