Chapter 281: The Prince of the Graham Empire

The vast complex of buildings shimmered coldly under the morning light. Black banners fluttered atop the towering walls, symbols of the Graham Empire's unshakable dominance. In front of the majestic city gates, a white eagle soared through the sky, circling above the battlefield like a deity overlooking its prey.

Outside the city, the sound of war drums thundered. A battalion of soldiers stood fully armed, eyes burning with the fierce desire for victory. They had one goal—to break through this colossal city and take the head of that man.

"Whoever brings me Prince Fred's head will be richly rewarded!"

The soldiers roared, their fighting spirit surging like a tidal wave as they charged toward the city gates. But in the middle of the battlefield, a young man was already standing. He wore a white shirt under a black waistcoat, his tall figure radiating a calm yet deadly aura. His tie hung loosely around his neck, artfully disheveled. His black hair reflected the sunlight like dark ink, and a single tear-shaped mole beneath his eye added a trace of cold allure to his handsome face.

"…Mere insects dare to threaten my life?"

Fred chuckled coldly, disdain dripping from his low voice. He tightened his grip on the slender sword in his hand. The blade trembled slightly, reflecting the soldiers' mixed expressions of rage and fear. Without hesitation, Fred stepped forward—and in an instant, he became a blur, shooting into the enemy ranks like an arrow.

"Stop him—!"

Before the command could be finished, blood had already splattered through the air.

Fred's sword sliced through the air like a silver lightning bolt, cutting down everything in its path with brutal precision. His movements were fluid and graceful, every swing of his sword accompanied by the sound of flesh being torn apart. He moved through the crowd like a phantom, his steps light yet deadly, leaving a trail of lifeless bodies in his wake.

The soldiers had thought he was just a reckless lone fighter, but now they realized—he wasn't human. He was a storm. A storm of death that no one could stop.

The battle raged on. Screams and wails mixed with the metallic scent of blood, staining the pale morning light crimson. Fred stood alone, one man and one sword, unyielding and merciless.

The battlefield was soon flooded with ability users. Lightning crackled, flames roared, and fierce gales tore through the air. Brilliant streaks of energy lit up the battlefield, converging toward Fred's figure as if determined to consume him.

But—

Hiss—!

The moment the energy neared Fred, it shattered into nothing. Furious flames, cutting wind blades, and roaring lightning—all of them disintegrated before even reaching him, torn apart by the invisible pressure of his sword's aura. Not even the slightest trace of energy could approach his body.

Fred remained standing, unmoved. His left hand calmly brushed his sleeve, while his right hand held his sword with effortless grace. His movements were so refined, so elegant—yet each swing of his sword unleashed a storm of death across the battlefield.

Ability users attacked him from the sky and the ground, casting deadly spells with unpredictable precision. But Fred didn't even bother to look at them. His sword flashed, and with terrifying accuracy, he cut down every foe.

Buzz—

The sword in his hand glowed coldly. His figure seemed to merge with the blade as he danced through the enemy ranks, leaving behind a trail of crimson destruction.

Suddenly, he stopped. His sword traced a perfect arc through the air before sliding back into its sheath with a sharp click.

The crisp sound echoed across the battlefield, and for a moment, the world fell into a deathly silence.

The soldiers charging toward him suddenly felt their vision blur. Then—

Splurt!

Blood erupted into the air!

The soldiers didn't even know what had happened. Their bodies, still mid-sprint, were cleanly sliced apart. A lightning ability user had charged toward Fred at blinding speed, his body merging with a streak of lightning—too fast to be seen by the naked eye.

But—

Shing!

A single sword flash.

The next second, the ability user's body was neatly cut into pieces, lightning still flickering through the severed limbs.

The faster they moved, the faster they died.

More soldiers rushed forward—only to meet the same fate. The air was filled with the sound of cutting flesh and the metallic scent of blood. Bodies exploded mid-air, scattering blood and limbs like a crimson storm engulfing the battlefield.

Boom!

Blood flowed in rivers, severed limbs littered the ground, and tens of thousands of soldiers were reduced to ashes in a matter of moments.

The battlefield fell into silence.

The commander's hands trembled violently as he stared at the massacre before him. His elite army—thousands of trained soldiers—had been annihilated in mere seconds. Cold sweat poured down his face as the chilling truth set in. He had brought an army to face one man—and that man had slaughtered them all without breaking a sweat.

Meanwhile, the man responsible for this carnage calmly adjusted his tie. His clothes were spotless, not a drop of blood staining them. With an air of effortless elegance, he turned toward the city gates, his figure tall and unyielding.

As Fred stepped toward the gate, his voice—calm and lazy—finally broke the silence:

"Go back and tell your emperor—"

He paused, his gaze sharp as a blade, his thin lips curling into a cold smile.

"Send as many as you like. I, Prince Fred, will kill them all."

With that, he walked through the gates without looking back. His figure, tall and regal like a god, disappeared into the depths of the city. Behind him lay a battlefield soaked in blood and strewn with corpses—a scene of hellish carnage.