Charles raised his palm, the air ringing with the sound of snapping threads. Between his fingers, faint crystalline strands caught the sunlight.
He looked toward the Puppet King. "From the way you looked earlier, I thought you'd try to run. But it seems you're actually in a hurry to die."
In truth, after crossing blades, Charles only looked down on him more.
Among all the enemies he'd faced, many had carried bone-deep malice.
But if an opponent had the resolve to risk their life for their goal—even an evil goal—Charles wouldn't respect them, but neither would he underestimate them.
Just now, though, he'd felt the Puppet King falter in the face of death, crumbling in disgrace.
That told him all he needed to know—this man was nothing but a petty coward, without even the will to stand behind his own malice.
The Puppet King had already healed his wounds. He glared back. "You really mean to kill me, don't you? Then you're no hero at all—you're just a bloodthirsty murderer!"
Charles had lost all interest in exchanging words. He tore down the surrounding threads with a flick of his hand and stepped forward.
"Carnage Opera!"
Just as Charles suspected, the Puppet King was a vile, craven man. Seeing him approach, panic flashed on his face as he swept his arms.
Everything between them—objects, ground, all of it—was sliced apart by a web of razor-sharp threads.
Charles spread his palm, catching the knife-edged strands. His other hand came up, fingers curling, and with a wrenching pull he ripped the web apart.
In the blink of an eye, he was through, closing on the Puppet King.
But from the rubble before him, a giant of metal and stone emerged, swinging a hammer-like fist.
"Deus ex Machina!"
Charles met it with a single punch—the giant's fist shattered instantly. But perhaps because the Puppet King had reinforced it with too many threads, the broken pieces didn't scatter; the fist held shape and kept pressing down.
The Puppet King, crouched within the giant's chest, wore a twisted expression.
By now he had almost forgotten why he'd targeted Charles—he just wanted to kill him in the cruelest way possible.
But instead of seeing Charles crushed, all he saw was an explosion of flame.
Fire erupted from the giant's fist, tracing along the web of red-hot threads running up its arm.
It was the Puppet King's Hell Spider Silk, superheated by Charles's flames until it glowed. The giant's arm blew apart, fire consuming half its body.
Before the Puppet King could react, a crushing force slammed into his chest, knocking him clear of the construct.
The moment Charles destroyed the arm pinning him, he locked onto the man in its chest and sent him flying.
Charles moved to pursue—but a black-armored figure swung a battered battle axe, forcing him back.
He stepped away, eyes narrowing at Ascalid, who now stood between him and his prey.
Sensing the danger to her brother, she had broken free of Stella to come to his aid.
The price was her limp arm.
Escaping Stella wasn't easy; she'd taken a direct punch, shattering the bones completely.
But seconds later her arm was functional again, her aura even stronger.
Regenerative reinforcement—a truly troublesome ability. But every power had its limits.
Charles could already feel the burn of her life force. After that moment of brilliance, only ashes would remain.
For her, he had no words—unlike the Puppet King, she was prepared for this end.
Stella dropped down beside him, visibly annoyed.
And who wouldn't be, when their opponent suddenly ran off mid-battle?
But the Puppet King was smiling—not the smile of a man saved by his sister, but one steeped in malice.
Charles frowned. He saw Ascalid's body stiffen. If his senses were right, the Puppet King's threads had just pierced her, making her his puppet.
In an instant, Ascalid's magic flared.
Ikki Kurogane's "Ittō Shura" destroyed the instinct for self-preservation, unleashing all one's power. The Puppet King could force his puppets into the same state, achieving that same all-out release.
With Ascalid's strength, such a release would be terrifying—but the strain on her body would be equally immense.
Her complete lack of reaction to the control confirmed it—she had willingly allowed it. She had given herself up entirely.
Charles caught Stella's eye and shook his head. "This is her choice. The only thing we can do is free her."
Stella was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm going to smash that bastard's face in."
Charles nodded. "I'd rather you didn't dirty your hands… but fine. Let's go together."
By then, Ascalid had already closed in, battle axe descending.
Boom!
The half-ruined port shook like an earthquake, cracks running from the impact all the way to the crowd kilometers away.
Even the knights maintaining order began to wonder if they should retreat further.
This was the raw power of the world's fourth-ranked Blazer, pushed into an Ittō Shura state.
Ascalid drew her axe back and looked up at the two airborne opponents.
In a blur, she was upon them again, swinging in a horizontal cut.
Charles stepped in, blocking with a punch but driven back by the recoil. Stella darted past him, bringing her sword down and knocking Ascalid to the ground.
He halted his retreat, and the two of them charged for the Puppet King—but Ascalid intercepted again.
"Fafnir Jaws!"
Stella unleashed a swarm of flame dragons to tear at her.
But Ascalid's defense-oriented power, bolstered by sheer magic output, resisted the assault without giving ground—until Charles burst through the flames.
Too many things in this fight had gone against his mood. He activated his Dragon King Martial Body and smashed through her magical defense with a single Iron Fist of the Fire Dragon, sending her flying.
Stella seized the opening, rushing the Puppet King.
"You're the one behind all this, aren't you?"
She didn't wait for an answer—her fist lashed out.
Even Ascalid couldn't block Stella at this range, and the Puppet King certainly couldn't.
The threads around him snapped one by one under the blow's force, and her punch drove him into the ground, every ounce of strength landing cleanly.
If one wanted to understand the phrase "reduced to a mess," the Puppet King's current form said it all—muscles torn, bones broken, all churned together into an unrecognizable mass.
Stella exhaled, then glanced upward.
She'd struck so hard in hopes of freeing Ascalid—but the black knight was still coming at Charles with everything she had.
Then she saw him knock her aside and rush toward her instead.
Before she could ask, he was at her side, reaching into the empty air beside her.
"Really… don't get distracted in the middle of a fight. You'll make me worry."
From his palm came the creak of silk against the scales of his gauntlet—threads rubbing against the armor of Dragonslayer.
She looked at the mangled Puppet King in shock—he was still alive.
Charles couldn't help but note the strange persistence of Blazers, especially Demon-level ones. Whether Nasim or the Puppet King, both were the same—thankfully the ones he knew personally were more sensible.
Flames roared from his hand, igniting the threads. They became firelines, racing toward the ruined body and setting it ablaze.
The twisted mass began reshaping into human form—but now it was a massive torch, screaming shrilly.
After Stella's punch had killed him, the Puppet King had used his world-hating malice to unleash his final, most vicious Blazer art.
"Necro Game!"
The ability to concentrate the control power of a thousand threads into a single person, granting the ultimate in manipulation and destruction.
Unfortunately for him, the strength to control a thousand ordinary people wasn't enough to control even one Charles.
His finale was nothing but a pathetic sideshow by an overreaching clown.
Ascalid walked slowly past them toward the blazing figure.
The "Indomitable" armor dissolved, revealing the slender, almost fragile girl beneath.
Step by step, she approached the burning Puppet King—and, like a moth to a flame, embraced him without hesitation, letting herself burn as well.
Stella reached out a hand, then let it drop, strangely devoid of any joy at victory.
Charles took her hand gently—he knew what she was feeling. This fight had been meaningless from the start. Her sense of loss was only natural.
Watching the two turn to ash, he sighed.
But then his gaze shifted seaward, narrowing. From here, he could clearly see the massive battleships on the far horizon.
It was the White Eagle fleet.
And it looked like this storm was far from over.
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Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
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Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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