CHAPTER 103: TRUE HEROES

Under a torrential rain that beat furiously against the ground littered with corpses and blood, two figures advanced toward the center of the field.

They were old men. One was from the legendary Medici Clan. The other was from the proud Abraham family.

Each step they took made the air rumble. Their auras, dense like signs of war, made the ground shake, silenced the crowd, and stopped the breath of everyone present.

At that moment, those watching them felt a strange sense of security... as if, while they were there, nothing could touch them. But at the same time, an inexplicable weight pressed down on everyone’s chest. It was a mixture of respect, nostalgia, and loss.

Because those backs, curved by age but firm as steel, were not common. They were the backs of those who had carried entire eras of history. They were mountains. Titans that time had failed to bring down.

And as they watched them advance, everyone understood something:

They were about to witness a final battle.

Colson’s body was completely covered in living wood armor, as if the forest itself had claimed him. A sharp, elongated mask closed over his face, and a spear sprouted from his hand, carved from branches. Glowing leaves and twisted horns like deer antlers sprouted from his back.

Meanwhile, Milson’s body began to transform. His muscles tensed, his back broadened, and he grew five centimeters taller. His hair, once black as night, turned a deep blue, like the darkest waters of the ocean. A long, serpentine tail sprouted from his waist, covered in iridescent scales that shimmered with a wild aura.

At the same time, overwhelming pressure erupted around both of them. Colson and Milson’s auras rose violently, breaking through the limits of rank 7 and reaching rank 6, Peak Level. It was not a natural evolution. Both had activated a forbidden art: a technique that burned years of their lives in exchange for immediate power.

"Who would have thought... that at the end of it all... I’d end up fighting alongside you?" Colson said, with a bitter, weary smile. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes burned with a fierce fire.

"Same here..." Milson murmured calmly. "But it’s not so bad. At least... We’ll pave the way for those who come after us."

A sword made entirely of condensed water appeared in his hand. The blade emitted a constant hissing sound, like a river. Its aura became so dense that it distorted the air around it.

Without another word, Colson and Milson lunged toward the beasts at full speed.

Within seconds, the first monsters began to fall. Silver wolves and lightning boars were struck down one after another, their bodies hitting the ground with a dull thud, and their blood mixing with the water pooled in the streets.

Colson swung his spear with precision. Each thrust was direct, each sweep cutting through the air and flesh alike. It seemed as though his weapon had a life of its own. The shadows of his movements were barely visible.

Milson, on the other hand, moved with brutal elegance. His sword traced perfect arcs, as if he were dancing amid a bloody choreography. The beasts fell around him like disposable extras on a stage where he was the center of everything.

Their steps were steady, their attacks clean. There was no hesitation, only forward momentum.

With each passing second, they grew faster. More lethal.

Finally, when most of the lesser beasts lay dead, they both stopped. Their eyes turned forward, where two Viscount-ranked beasts watched them.

They were also preparing to attack.

The four-meter-long lightning boar, a beast of Viscount rank, growled furiously. Sparkling plasma spheres began to form from its fangs. Without wasting any time, it launched them directly at Colson and Milson.

Boom!

Both veterans reacted instantly, dodging with precision. The plasma balls struck the ground, causing explosions that reduced everything to rubble and ash.

At the same time, the silver wolf moved. Its gigantic body vanished in a flash. Its claws, now longer and sharper, reappeared beside the two men, striking with brutal force, ready to tear them in two.

But in that state, Colson and Milson were no longer ordinary humans. Their perception, sharpened by the secret art, allowed them to dodge by pure instinct.

Colson didn’t stop. He ran straight toward the wolf, climbing up one of its legs at full speed. He used the momentum to deliver a clean thrust with his wooden spear, driving it directly into one of the beast’s eyes.

The wolf howled in pain and swept him away with one of its hind legs. Colson flew through the air, crashing into what was left of a house.

BOOM!

The impact echoed throughout the city. A stream of blood spurted from Colson’s wooden helmet. Several of his bones were broken instantly... but he didn’t stop.

He stood up, swaying. And then he let out a hoarse, powerful laugh.

"HAHAHAHA! This is life! One last battle, defending my clan with my blood! I couldn’t ask for a more dignified death than this."

Milson, who stood a little apart, smiled slightly as he listened.

"You’re still as loud as ever..."

Without wasting any time, his gaze locked onto the four-meter-long silver wolf, wounded and furious. Then he lunged at it without hesitation. It was time to take advantage of the slightest advantage they had. If he managed to eliminate one, everything would change.

He ran nimbly through the rubble, jumped over a collapsed wall, and then onto the roof of a ruined house. From there, he propelled himself directly toward the beast’s back, which roared, blind with rage after losing an eye.

But something wasn’t right.

A chill ran down his spine, and his instincts screamed danger. Milson spun in midair, dodging by pure reflex. A ball of plasma flew past and exploded against the silver wolf of viscount rank, engulfing it in blue flames. The creature let out a howl of agony.

Everyone watched in complete silence.

It was like witnessing heroes from stories, fighting not for glory, but for survival. For something greater.

Some couldn’t hold back their tears.

Not out of sadness, but because of the weight of what they were seeing.

From atop one of the roofs, Michel watched the scene unfold. His eyes reflected calm, but a small smile appeared on his face, neither quite mocking nor respectful... but rather a quiet mixture of both.

It was the first time he had ever witnessed such a fight.

He could feel it, with every blow, with every breath: the thin line between life and death.

And then he muttered, in a low voice, as if talking to himself:

"Fighting with broken bones, without strength or time... just to pave the way for those who come after them. Heh... Those old men... they’re the last true heroes."