The Strongest War God - Chapter 1350

Chapter 1350: Second Master Fallen

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

No one could dim his radiance.

In that moment, the battlefield once again erupted into chaos.

The giant ape unleashed its full might, succumbing once more to its frenzied state.

Brandishing a thousand-meter-long bronze staff, it swept across the world with devastating force.

In their previous encounter, Braydon Neal had been subdued by this onslaught.

Despite Braydon’s formidable combat prowess and capability to kill the giant ape in a single strike, the ape remained a formidable adversary.

One mustn’t forget the lethal potential of the giant ape’s bronze staff, capable of reducing Braydon to mincemeat upon contact.

Both were intent on delivering a decisive blow to the other.

Braydon unleashed the full extent of his power, with the 3,000 imperial paths multiplying his strength by 3,000 times.

Such amplification at the same realm was nothing short of terrifying, emanating an overwhelming pressure that enveloped the giant ape.

Would Braydon employ his domain?

Surprisingly, he did not.

Abandoning his weapon, he hovered in the sky with an air of calmness, his voice resonating like a bell of bronze.

“Spirit Summoning Art, summon…”

Braydon’s essence, energy, and spirit surged to their pinnacle.

Just as he was poised to act, the giant ape’s nerves were on edge.

The fear instilled by the Spirit Summoning Monarch Art, cultivated by the Seventh Sovereign Lord, ran deep within the bones of the creatures in the 3,000 ruins.

“What?!” The artifact spirit of Star Tower was stunned. “The Origin Source Forbidden Art? How did it end up in your possession? If not for that, how could Master have perished?!”

The Artifact Spirit was incensed and demanded answers regarding Braydon’s cultivation technique.

Was his master’s death somehow linked to the Spirit Summoning Monarch Art?

But Braydon had no time to respond.

Another figure was approaching from the distant sky.

“Brother!” A distraught young man, emanating an imperial aura, swiftly flew over.

His eyes were red with tears as he cried, “Brother! Luther is fading away!”

Luke Yates had arrived, having searched tirelessly for his brother.

Luther Carden was gravely injured, his life hanging by a thread.

Braydon had anticipated this.

Zunde Royal City was under siege from all sides, assaulted by aborigines, spirit beasts, and plant demons alike.

In such a fierce conflict, casualties were inevitable.

Even the sons of the Northern Army were mortal, vulnerable to fatal injuries.

Luke appeared agitated as he approached, drawn by Braydon’s aura, his voice trembling with distress.

The precarious state of Luther’s life weighed heavily on his heart.

What kind of injury had Luther sustained?

Braydon was in the dark.

However, Luther was on the brink of death and desperately wanted to see his brother Braydon one last time.

Yet, he hesitated to disrupt Braydon’s affairs.

Despite this, the determined youth ventured out in search of his brother, hoping that Braydon, who had protected them since childhood, could find a way to cure Luther.

Unexpectedly, Luke appeared with urgent news, stirring Braydon’s emotions.

His eyes flashed red, brimming with murderous intent.

In a low voice, he uttered, “The 16th ruin’s aborigines, plant demons, and spirit beasts are courting death! If Luther perishes, I’ll bury all life in the 16th ruin with him!”

Enraged, Braydon commanded his forces to attack.

Three figures emerged from Braydon’s body: a martial arts banished immortal garbed in white, exuding an aura of purity; an ancient martial arts banished immortal radiating arrogance; and the serene Green Lotus.

Their simultaneous appearance signaled Braydon’s intent to confront and eliminate the giant ape.

Green Lotus boldly initiated the attack, activating his domain to its fullest extent.

With a sweeping gesture, he unleashed immense power throughout the area.

The trio of banished immortals encircled the thousand-meter ape, igniting a fierce battle.

In a swift move, Braydon seized Luke and swiftly departed for the royal city, leaving the chaos of battle behind.

No matter how the giant ape roared, it couldn’t deter Braydon’s advance.

Zunde Royal City lay shrouded in smoke, its ground soaked in blood.

The sky bore witness to the soaring baleful aura, the cries of resentful souls, and the chilling wind that swept through the battlefield.

For ten long months, the cruel conflict raged on, claiming countless lives on both sides.

The landscape was littered with the bodies of fallen spirit beasts, yet amidst the chaos, Zunde Royal City stood as an immortal monument in the 16th ruin—unyielding and indomitable.

As Braydon carried Luke into the city, he was greeted by Tanner Lynn, regimental commander of the first legion of the Northern Army, who stood atop the city wall.

With surprise and reverence, Tanner hailed Braydon as “Commander” prompting all the men of the Northern Army to bow in respect.

But the toll of the battle was evident.

The city was filled with countless casualties, their bodies shrouded in white cloth.

Amidst the somber atmosphere, Braydon inquired about Luther’s whereabouts, his heart heavy with concern.

“Second Master…” Tanner’s voice trembled with emotion, his youthful face reflecting the weight of the tragedy.

Maddox Johnstone, a hidden agent of the Northern Army, knelt before Braydon and offered his respects, his voice hoarse with grief.

“Where is Luther?” Braydon’s query hung heavy in the air, echoing the collective anguish of all who awaited news of their fallen comrade.

Surrounded by a palpable aura of dread, Braydon was stunned by the gravity of Maddox’s words.

With a hoarse voice, Maddox delivered the grim news: “This morning, Second Master sustained severe injuries… he’s already…”

In the brutal crucible of war, even the Northern Army’s pillars had fallen, despite the absence of the looming threat of a quasi-divine.

Such was the unforgiving reality of the battlefield—a realm of merciless carnage.

Braydon’s complexion drained of color at Maddox’s revelation, his legs threatening to give way beneath him.

“Luther!” Luke’s tear-filled eyes mirrored the anguish etched on Braydon’s face.

“Take me there!”

Braydon’s resolve was firm.

He needed to see Luther, alive or otherwise.

In life, one must bear witness; in death, one must pay respects.

Unified by their shared experiences of peril and triumph, the sons of the Northern Army rallied in the city lord’s mansion of Zunde Royal City.

Draped in white cloth, the mansion mourned the passing of a great figure.

In the quiet sanctum of the city lord’s mansion, the men of the Northern Army convened, their presence a testament to their shared bond and unwavering solidarity.

Each leader, each elite, stood united in somber reverence.

Within the bright sanctum, a coffin cradled the form of a young man dressed in pristine white—a stark contrast to the pall of death that hung heavy in the air.

With eyes closed in serene repose, Luther lay as if in tranquil slumber, his features untouched by the turmoil of the world.

In the solemn atmosphere of the sanctum, the reality of Luther’s demise was palpable.

As Braydon returned, his presence drew immediate attention from Jonah Shaw and the others, prompting heartfelt calls of “Brother!”

Harvey Lay, kneeling before the coffin, silently offered prayers.

They were bound not only by blood but also by the profound bonds forged through shared experiences.

Braydon approached the coffin in silence, his gaze fixed on the figure at rest within.

With a soft voice, he addressed the slumbering form, “Luther…”

“He’s gone,” Harvey’s voice trembled with grief, his eyes betraying the weight of sorrow.

The news of Luther’s demise struck a painful chord.

The tragic circumstances of Luther’s passing echoed in the recounting: felled by the attack of a divine plant demon, his life extinguished by a fatal blow.

Despite their comrades’ presence on the battlefield, rescue had been futile.

As Braydon beheld the lifeless form, a heavy silence enveloped the sanctum.

Death, once claimed, could never be undone, casting a profound pall over the gathering.

Amidst the somber reflection, memories of Luther’s mischievous antics flooded Braydon’s mind, evoking bittersweet recollections of their shared childhood.

In those formative years, it was Luther and his brothers who had shaped his world, their camaraderie defining his earliest memories.