The Strongest War God - Chapter 1446

Chapter 1446: I am No Saint, How Can I Speak of Righteousness
Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

He aimed to develop the divine pill to reach the pinnacle of success.

It was clear it would demand an immense amount of resources.

The frost bears served as the spirit herb Braydon Neal cultivated.

Essentially, in this world, everything could be harnessed into the power of the five elements, then transformed into yin and yang, eventually birthing primordial chaos Qi.

This path encompassed righteousness, malevolence, and the demonic.

Suddenly, Braydon awoke to the realization that his path couldn’t be shared with outsiders, let alone accept disciples.

His journey involved sacrificing the lives of common folk to fuel his cultivation with primordial chaos Qi.

Alternatively, it could involve sacrificing entire worlds, or adopting a more righteous approach by absorbing spirit herbs to aid in cultivation.

Reflecting on his past, Braydon softly admitted, “I may not have intended to sacrifice living beings, but it seems I’ve already taken that step.”

The frost bears, whether demon or spirit beast, were simply one of many creatures in this realm.

Braydon fell into a contemplative silence.

His gaze turned icy as he murmured, “As a child, I was a marquis. By nine, I ascended to the wargod realm. My hands have been stained with blood from a tender age.”

Recalling his reckless youth, he confessed to ruthless acts, eliminating entire families and their kin without hesitation.

“When I was stationed in the northern desert, my thoughts were dark. To safeguard the border, I resorted to poison, eliminating 300,000 elite soldiers of Wolanda. With a potent toxin, I eradicated all vegetation and livestock across a 300-mile stretch.

“My hands are stained with a lifetime of bloodshed. I am no saint; how can I speak of righteousness?”

…

Braydon’s eyes gleamed with unwavering determination, a conviction upheld through lethal means.

Nearby, fierce battles raged on the mountain peak, yet none dared to entangle Braydon.

Even Lyndal Cadogan and his cohorts treaded cautiously around him, acknowledging his formidable might.

Amidst the chaos, one figure stood out–Lyndal, possessing five hundred Frost Grass stalks, asserting dominance in the pursuit of the Heart of Frost.

His monopoly on resources left little opportunity for others to vie for the coveted treasure.

Conan Yokley, representing the prestigious Golden Dragon Pavilion of the Spirit Sea, followed closely behind, his demeanor icy and focused.

His strength was formidable, likely on par with Lyndal and not inferior to Malachi Zadroga.

Among the others present, three men and two women bore severe injuries.

Conan beckoned, “Lorena, lend me a hand. Once I’ve secured the Heart of Frost and present it to my master, rewards will surely flow. You’ll receive a generous 20% share.”

Wrapped in a blue dress, Lorena Seymour’s delicate frame oozed blood from her lips, indicating grave wounds.

Hailing from the renowned Martial Arts Sect, she stood as a direct disciple of a Martial Arts Grandmaster.

Despite being in the saint realm, she had bested an eminent saint realm expert, proving her mettle.

However, all present had vanquished foes from the formidable eminent saint realm, with Braydon even claiming the lives of several eminent saints.

Despite internal reservations stemming from conflicts between their masters, Lorena understood the necessity of collaboration.

With the collective decision looming over them, failure to unite would result in elimination, forfeiting all accumulated Frost Grass.

Holding a stash of 90 Frost Grass stalks, her entire wealth hung in the balance.

Even the prospect of a single 10,000-year-old Frost Grass could incite fierce contention, given its rarity and potency among spirit herbs.

All the major factions were constantly in need of supplies.

In this moment, Lyndal spoke with a gentle tone to Lorena, “Lorena, consider surrendering and being eliminated. Hand over the Frost Grass, and I’ll compensate you for your loss with other items afterward.”

It was clear that Lyndal possessed the strength to overpower several contenders, and his offer was a gesture of goodwill toward Lorena, perhaps even an act of positive karma.

Yet, despite this gesture, all seven contenders hailed from the same generation.

None were willing to admit defeat or bow down to another.

Lorena hesitated.

She couldn’t bear to lose the Frost Grass or owe Lyndal a favor.

Glancing back, she spotted Braydon standing atop an iceberg in the distance, akin to a banished immortal observing the scene.

“Braydon Neal!” she called out, drawing everyone’s attention, including a frown from Lyndal.

Braydon’s reputation for formidable battle prowess preceded him.

After a moment, Braydon responded, “What’s the matter?”

“Help me,” Lorena pleaded. “The reward is 60 Frost Grass stalks. Will you consider it?”

Knowing she couldn’t prevail alone, Lorena opted to involve Braydon, hoping to disrupt the situation and level the playing field for the others.

However, Braydon remained silent, prompting Lorena to press further, “I have 90 Frost Grass stalks. That’s all I possess. I can offer you something else in return!”

“Lorena!” Conan’s expression shifted abruptly, as if he had anticipated something.

As expected!

Lorena fixed her gaze on him. “Conan Yokley’s hands are stained with the blood of the Neal family!”

Boom!

At the summit of the ice mountain, a surge of killing intent permeated the air.

The white-robed youth advanced with dominance.

“Brother, you pledged not to intervene in today’s affair. If you wish to get involved, you’ll need Frost Grass,” Lyndal’s expression shifted slightly.

“I’ll provide him with his Frost Grass!”

“Coen Stone from the Stone family slaughtered members of the Neal family!” Lorena persisted in dragging Braydon in.

“Lorena!” The young man from the Stone family nearby reacted with a change in expression.

According to the family’s intelligence, Braydon possessed formidable combat prowess.

He was not someone to be trifled with.

With resolve, Coen surrendered, offering a storage ring. “I forfeit and accept elimination. Here’s the Frost Grass. Farewell!”

“Did I agree to let you go?” Braydon stepped forward, his voice calm.

Whoosh!

In an instant, Braydon teleported in front of Coen, causing his expression to sour.

“Braydon Neal, I battled that Neal family member on equal terms. It was a contest among peers, determining victory, defeat, and even life and death!”

Braydon raised an eyebrow as the Yin-Yang Eight Trigrams manifested behind him, its myriad configurations reflecting his formidable strength.

“The Son of Heaven Combat Technique,” Braydon uttered, unleashing his power.

It had been ages since he last employed this forbidden technique.

Only now, having honed it to this extent, did Braydon truly grasp the dreadfulness of Son of Heaven Combat Technique.

The Nine Strike Technique.

Instantly, it could amplify his combat prowess ninefold.

With a determined step forward, five figures materialized before him.

It seemed this was Braydon’s limit; his combat power amplification was so immense that only five figures could manifest when utilizing the Son of Heaven Combat Technique.

Yet, even five were more than sufficient.

Braydon thrust a punch, and the five figures surged forth.

As the first figure merged into his being, his strength doubled with a horizontal slash of his left hand.

Doubled.

As the remaining figures fused with him, his power multiplied by fivefold.

Another horizontal slash, unleashing a staggering 50,000 times his peak combat strength.