Translator: CinderTL
Roland abruptly halted, his breath catching in his throat.
The scorching air seared his throat, and blood and sweat blurred his vision, yet he instantly locked onto the figure.
The man was exceptionally tall, his slender frame radiating power.
He stood with his back to the entrance, as if scrutinizing the twisted core.
His pure, bright silver armor fit snugly against his body, its lines flowing and elegant, shimmering with a cold luster even in the dim light. This was no ordinary battle armor.
Despite wearing heavy plate and wielding a longsword with a chilling glint, his posture remained upright and composed, lacking the warrior's roughness.
He looked more like a noble standing in a banquet hall than a warrior before a core of destruction.
Yet the icy, judgmental aura surrounding him instinctively tensed Roland's nerves.
"It's you, Mr. Roland..."
Sensing Roland's presence, the figure slowly turned. A lock of dazzling golden hair fell over his shoulder guard.
His features were sharply defined, with a straight nose and thin, tightly pressed lips, as if sculpted.
"It's been... no..."
The figure glanced sideways at the chaotic battlefield below and shook his head slightly.
"Perhaps I should say... we meet again?"
"You are..."
Hearing the familiar tone in the figure's voice, Roland frowned deeply.
He quickly searched his memory but couldn't recall a matching face until
"Silver light shines eternal, Mr. Roland."
The figure gently touched his breastplate with his left hand and performed an ancient, elegant bow, speaking softly.
"Thank you for guiding me home earlier."
Hearing these familiar words, Roland suddenly realized.
"Van Buren... sir?"
"Indeed, Mr. Roland, as you can see."
Van Buren lowered his head to examine his body, a wry smile passing over his handsome face.
"It seems my companion has regained his strength. Before my soul could reach the soul wall, it was dragged back to the mortal realm. Truly..."
His voice was filled with helplessness and clear dissatisfaction.
But Roland had no time for these irrelevant ramblings.
He tightened his grip on his sword hilt, his body tensing, and asked in a low voice,
"So... you're here to stop me?"
"No, you misunderstand."
Van Buren's crimson eyes locked onto Roland's. After a moment, as if confirming something, he nodded gently.
His voice deepened, almost to a whisper, as if speaking to himself.
"Mr. Roland, I once believed that death was the ultimate end."
"But what has transpired since... like this very situation... has clearly shattered that conviction. And in you, I sense..."
The holy knight's gaze sharpened, his face contorting with undisguised disgust.
"...the aura of someone I once knew."
"Coupled with your strength, far beyond your years, I've been wondering if you might... be an old acquaintance who has crawled back from the abyss of death?"
"After all,"
Van Buren's right hand slowly moved towards the hilt of his sword.
"In my era, humans with the Dragon Bloodline were exceedingly rare. I imagine that hasn't changed, has it? So I intend to verify this."
"But rest assured,"
He added, his tone brooking no argument.
"The verification process will be swift. It won't keep you long."
"If I'm mistaken, I will offer you a solemn apology. But if I'm right..."
As Van Buren's finger lightly tapped the sword hilt.
The next moment, an indescribable pressure descended.
Hum! Crack!
The space shattered like fragile crystal.
The scene of the High Tower.
A brutal will forcibly erased and overwrote the stones, dust, and twisted core from Roland's perception.
The solid ground beneath his feet vanished instantly, not into an abyss, but through a violent displacement.
The dizziness was fleeting. By the time Roland's senses reoriented, the summit of the High Tower was no longer in view.
He stood on an endless, desolate battlefield.
The lead-gray sky hung low, solidified into an iron curtain.
Cracked, scorched earth stretched to the horizon, stained with dark brown patches that exuded an ancient, heavy aroma of rust and dust.
The air itself seemed thick and sluggish, as if burdened by the weight of its own existence.
Most soul-shaking were the weapon remnants scattered across the battlefield.
They grew from the earth's wounds, piercing the scorched ground at unnatural angles.
Broken greatswords, rusted spears, massive shields dented and scarred, warhammers half-buried with only their bloodstained heads showing...
And countless bizarre weapons, their strange forms gleaming with a cold, metallic light.
None of them were illusions.
The deep scars of battle and the erosion of ages were clearly visible on each one, together setting the tone for this realm's cold, cruel, and absolute reality.
A whimpering wind swept through this steel graveyard, its gusts sharp as blades, stirring up small dust devils.
The chilling cold was thick and heavy, permeating every inch of this Domain.
The moment the wind touched Roland's body, he suddenly sensed something was amiss.
The burning pain in his lungs vanished.
The fatigue in his muscles receded like a ebbing tide, leaving no trace.
He instinctively lowered his head.
His blood-soaked clothes were now pristine and new, not a single wrinkle in sight, as if they had never witnessed the brutal battle.
Only then did Van Buren's unfinished words slowly reach his ears.
"Rudolph, you who blaspheme against God, today is your day of death!"
Van Buren's voice no longer echoed but resounded directly within this space, like a divine decree.
He stood atop a small hill of piled broken weapons not far away, his gleaming silver armor exuding an undeniable presence beneath the overcast sky.
His crimson eyes gazed down at Roland, not with mere scrutiny, but with the detached authority of absolute control over this domain.
"This is the domain of my will, where laws manifest."
The cold, gleaming longsword in his hand had been unsheathed at some point, its tip firmly pointed at the scorched earth. The very motion seemed to draw the invisible killing intent of the space into a cohesive force.
"Verification begins now."
The instant the words fell, his figure vanished from the summit of the weapon pile.
Not as a afterimage of high-speed movement, but as if the space itself had responded to his will, he materialized directly ten paces in front of Roland.
No warning, no probing.
The gleaming silver longsword transformed into an icy, piercing light that tore through the frozen air, carrying an absolute, judgment-like will as it thrust straight for Roland's heart.
Where the blade passed, even the wind's mournful sigh fell silent, as if space itself were submitting to the strike.
Pure! Direct! Fatal!
This sword strike discarded all artifice, as if aiming to crush its target with absolute strength and speed.
Facing this incomprehensible attack, Roland's pupils snapped shut as his body, inexplicably restored to peak condition, reacted instinctively.
The Nameless Breathing Technique suddenly activated.
In the next moment, scorching Battle Qi surged through his entire body as he fiercely swung his tightly gripped longsword upward.
Clang!
A deafening clash of metal reverberated across the battlefield.
Blinding white light erupted violently at the point of impact between the two swords.
A violent shockwave radiated outward from the pair, whipping up countless dust motes and fragments of weapons from the ground.
In this Domain constructed from will and law, the collision of pure strength erupted with earth-shattering force.
(End of the Chapter)
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