Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 215: LOSING WILL TO FIGHT

The war commander rose to his feet, eyes darting anxiously between Bishop Kelly and Prince Jason, determined to protect them at all costs. Yet even as he stood tall, a cold wave of dread washed over him. One attack—one hundred arrows unleashed in a single breath—and one hundred of his finest soldiers lay dead. Just like that. His heart tightened with a shiver of helplessness.

"Reload! He got lucky last time, but luck won't save him again! Avenge your fallen brothers!" the war commander roared, desperation thick in his voice as he sought to rekindle the faltering spirit of his knights.

Along the castle walls, archers nocked new arrows, their fingers trembling with a mixture of grief and rage. Mages prepared their incantations, hands glowing with power fueled by the death of their comrades. The air pulsed with deadly intent; this time, there would be no mercy.

"Ready! Fire!" The war commander's command cut through the tension like a blade.

Arrows and spells shot upward in a deadly arc, their shadows dancing across the stone walls before hurtling toward Greg with terrifying precision.

"When will you guys learn?" Greg muttered under his breath, but this time he did not stand still. His footsteps were slow, deliberate—a calm stroll, as if the impending barrage was nothing more than a light drizzle in a city park.

The rain of arrows and magic slammed into the ground around him, sending shards of stone and dirt flying. Each projectile, no matter how expertly aimed, fell short—none even brushed against his skin.

A stunned silence fell over the watchers. Was it mere luck? Or was this some twisted ability? Whispers rippled through the crowd; this was not the first time Greg had emerged unscathed from impossible assaults. Many knew deep down it had to be an ability—but accepting such an overwhelmingly broken power was terrifying. It challenged their very understanding of the rules.

Greg's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he approached the massive castle gate. "When someone visits you," he said softly, voice laced with mock courtesy, "the proper thing to do is open the door."

"Explode," he commanded in the dragon's tongue.

The massive gate shattered into splinters, the force of the explosion rattling the knights waiting behind it. Shock flickered across their faces—they had braced for a blade, a charge, perhaps a siege ram, but not this. Explosive magic? Wasn't he just a swordsman? What was this dark sorcery?

Regaining their senses, the knights surged forward, a wave of steel and magic converging in an attempt to stop Greg's advance.

"Gurgle…" The air thickened as spheres of water materialized, encasing the faces of the frontline knights. Panic flared in their eyes as the crushing pressure robbed them of breath.

One by one, the knights dropped, collapsing to the cold stone in a silent chorus of suffocation. Not a single one could muster strength to strike back.

Greg's advance was relentless. Without haste, he moved among the remaining foes—engulfing some in abyssal flames that turned armor to ash, suffocating others with icy water spheres, or cruelly drawing out their souls with tendrils of abyssal water. Each death was swift, merciless, and final.

The knights' morale shattered completely. They stood frozen, paralyzed by dread. To them, Greg was no mere mortal—he was an incarnation of death itself. To confront him was to invite annihilation.

Slowly, with terrifying composure, Greg ascended the castle stairs, unbothered by the chaos behind him, until he stood face to face with the war commander, Bishop Kelly, and Prince Jason atop the castle wall.

"What are you all doing? Attack! Attack!" Bishop Kelly's voice cracked, trembling as he barked orders at the soldiers who quivered in place, their spirits crushed under the weight of recent losses. Their comrades had died so swiftly, pitifully—none had even managed to land a single blow before succumbing.

"Mages! Archers! Fire your spells!" the war commander shouted again, fury boiling over, yet beneath it lurked a shadow of fear. This was unlike any enemy he had faced. Demons had not shaken him so deeply, nor had Brian. This being before him… he was a god—no, something beyond godhood.

"I said—"

"Silence." Greg cut off the war commander in the ancient dragon tongue, sealing his mouth with invisible force.

Shock froze the war commander mid-sentence. He struggled, but no sound escaped his sealed lips. Suddenly, the terror that had consumed the knights who died before Greg's hand began to crystallize in his mind. It all became horribly clear.

The soldiers' morale plummeted from shattered to utterly broken. Those still clinging to the hope of a last stand lost even that sliver of courage. Frozen in place, none dared move a muscle.

"Chair," Greg said quietly.

Behind him, a magnificent throne of black obsidian and dark gold shimmered into existence, crafted with an elegance that drew every eye. Calm and regal, Greg settled onto it, fixing his cold gaze on Bishop Kelly and Prince Jason.

The two men stared back, their faces drained of color, confidence evaporated into the chilling air. They could not believe how quickly everything had fallen apart. Their once-proud arrogance was gone, carried away like dust on a bitter wind.

"Hmmm," Greg mused, eyes narrowing as he turned to Bishop Kelly, "Now that I take a good look, it was you, wasn't it? The one who spoke about me working under the demon god?"

Bishop Kelly's stomach knotted painfully. If only he could turn back time, he'd slap the foolishness from his younger self's face for ever making a monster like Greg his enemy.

"It was his idea," Bishop Kelly hissed, betraying Prince Jason with ease. "I only followed orders."

Jason's eyes widened in disbelief. The bishop's honorable facade shattered in an instant, replaced by ruthless pragmatism.

Bishop Kelly's gaze hardened as he met Jason's stunned look. Shameless? So be it. Better to live without honor and seize any chance to erase shame than to die with principles. He wasn't the Oracle yet. Giving up his dream wasn't an option. Damn Jason for dragging him into foolish promises that insulted such a terrible being. Oracle? He couldn't be one if he was dead.

Greg leaned forward, voice cold as ice. "I see. So it was him. But he wasn't the one who spoke those words, was he? Or perhaps you—a bishop of the great Celestial Temple—are merely his puppet?"