CHAPTER 722: HIGH LEGEND AUTOMATONS

"Kill!"

"Forward!"

"With the Hero of Wrath!"

"Let’s butcher them all!"

The battlefield trembled as the Legends of Graecia roared with everything they had—every breath in their lungs, every shred of strength in their souls. Fueled by fury and the unrelenting momentum of the Hero of Wrath, they swallowed their Legendary Berserker Potions and surged through the shattered wall and into the Void Heart Fortress.

Their battle cries echoed like thunder as they clashed with the defenders within. Streets of dark stone and twisted metal became rivers of fire and blood.

At the vanguard was Vlad.

His eyes were sharp, absolute. There was no fear. No hesitation. No mercy.

Everything in him screamed pure wrath.

The moment he entered the city, he saw them—hordes of Guardian Vorometallicae, followed by their overseers, the Sage-class defenders. These were no mere soldiers. These were mind-bound protectors of the Void Heart Fortress.

Brainwashed beyond identity, they believed the survival of the Fortress mattered more than their own lives, so even though death was the only thing that awaited them if they faced the True Depravita of Wrath, they would not stop moving forward.

Within seconds, thousands charged at him. The street ahead became a wall of twisted bodies and jagged armor, a wave of ore, bone, and metal screaming for his death.

Vlad’s eyes glowed bright—then blazed.

Twin beams of focused, burning energy erupted from his gaze. The laser cannon formed from his vision split the wave of Vorometallicae in half, incinerating hundreds in a blinding instant. But he wasn’t done.

He launched himself forward, fists tearing through armor like paper. Each punch shattered spines and hearts. His hands transformed into bladed knuckles, slicing Guardians down by the dozen. His feet cratered the earth beneath them as he sprinted, smashing through bodies, hurling blood in every direction.

A Sage Voroe descended from above, twin swords of energized bone arcing downward—but Vlad caught them mid-air. With a growl, he twisted the Sage’s arms until they snapped like branches and plunged his fists into its torso, ripping it in two.

He didn’t slow.

Another Sage launched an orb of freezing darkness toward him. He swiped it aside with a blast from his palm and turned the attacker to ash with twin lasers from his eyes. Blood, metal, and screams filled the air as Vlad carved his path toward the towering spire at the city’s heart—the core tower of the Void Heart Fortress.

But he wasn’t alone in this slaughter.

Across the battlefield, the Legends of Graecia fought with unwavering purpose. Spartacus shattered buildings with every swing of his sword, turning Vorometallic warriors into debris. Elder Damian unleashed vortexes of golden fire, incinerating waves of enemies who dared approach Vlad’s path.

Maximo stood like a god among men, engaging multiple Legendary Vorometallicae at once, ensuring none could reach the Hero of Wrath.

Even as they bled and faltered, they fought to shield Vlad. Every Legend knew what he was trying to do—and every one of them gave their all to make sure he had the chance.

Vlad’s body was slick with black Vorometallicae blood. His muscles tore with every strike, then regenerated in the next second. His lungs burned from the strain. But he didn’t stop.

The tower was just ahead. Less than three hundred meters.

"I just need to tear it down," Vlad growled, blood dripping from his lips. "If I do... the war will be ours!"

That thought surged through his mind just as three figures emerged from within the core tower.

They didn’t run.

They launched.

Like silver comets, they streaked toward him, faster than anything he’d seen. Vlad barely had time to raise his fists. He channeled the power of his Primal Necklace into his arms and braced himself.

The blow landed.

A cataclysmic impact rocked the city. Vlad was hurled backward like a ragdoll, flying thousands of meters and crashing through buildings in his path. Glass, stone, and blood rained through the air.

His bones creaked and snapped. His lungs nearly collapsed from the shockwave. But he grit his teeth and rose from the crater where he had landed—just in time to see one of the attackers smash into the spot he had just vacated, turning it into molten slag.

Vlad narrowed his gaze.

The trio were humanoid—each nearly seven meters tall, their bodies encased in platinum armor, polished to a mirror finish. Their movements were perfect. Cold. Mechanical.

"Automatons?" Vlad muttered.

It was the only word that made sense. He sensed no soul force, no aura. They weren’t alive.

"They can’t cast spells or abilities... which means they lack a soul. That’s good news."

But even as he reassured himself, he glanced down at his arms—still trembling from the force of that strike.

If not for the Divine Treasures’ energy cloak and his Depravita Constitution, his arms would’ve been shattered.

"They have physical attributes powerful enough to overwhelm a High Legend," he realized grimly.

That was deeply concerning.

The Vorometallicae were never known for their use of automata or puppeteering arts. To develop something like this meant something darker was at play—perhaps help from an outside force.

But none of that mattered now.

Vlad shook his head. His eyes sharpened.

"The only thing that matters is destroying them and tearing that tower down."

All those thoughts flashed through his mind in less than a second.

Then his heart thundered.

"THUMP!"

It beat like a war drum, faster and louder with every second. His chest became a storm of burning wrath. His aura expanded. Waves of molten fury burst outward, reshaping the ground and the sky around him.

The Automatons took a step forward.

So did Vlad.

His knuckles cracked. His breath steamed with rage. The air around him turned to static, and his blood surged like lava in his veins.

He would reach that tower. He would tear it down.

There was pure and absolute resolve in the eyes of the True Depravita of Wrath. He had fought long enough the Vorometallicae to know they were a pest that must be erased.