Chapter 342: Brutal Move

Mishnar’s expression sank completely.

"How... how is this possible?"

The sect’s other Elders were in absolute shock. Among the Sorcerers, Priam would have to face... there were fifty Celestials!

All of them bore Celestial Marks on their foreheads, pulsing with overwhelming golden energy.

Fortunately, they were still Mage Masters. If they were Sages, the battle would be completely impossible — the army wouldn’t even be able to move.

"Hahahaha! I really love that look on your face, brat! Now you understand what I meant before, don’t you?!" Shakwi laughed sinisterly.

At that moment, Mishnar didn’t even pay attention to his taunting. It was no wonder the Sorcerers had started this war so abruptly.

Something enormous had happened in their territory. Their population had exploded, and somehow, dozens of Celestials had appeared out of nowhere.

Historically, only one Celestial had appeared among them every half dozen generations or so. The Ironweald Sect, on the other hand, had never had anything this good, nor did they go looking for Celestials far from the southern region just to kill them.

There was a rule left behind by the Sovereign Goddess: One must never do evil. Assassinating or stealing out of greed would create dark karma. If anyone from the central sect dared to do such a thing... there was no way to escape, and that person would be killed without mercy in retaliation.

Returning to the Sorcerers, one possible reason they had launched this conflict was to use the sect’s disciples as whetstones to train their own Celestials through real combat.

"Elder Leader Mishnar, what are we going to do?! If this continues, all the young ones will be slaughtered!" the Elders pleaded in anguish.

"There’s nowhere to run. At this point, retreat is impossible. The number of Philosophers on their side is within expectations; we’ll deal with them. As for Priam..."

She turned and looked at the young man, feeling a flicker of hope.

His expression remained absolutely serene. There wasn’t the slightest trace of panic.

Priam was like an unshakable rock. Even in the face of a mountain of terrifying enemies, his heart didn’t waver by even a fraction of an inch.

The Sorcerers didn’t advance immediately. They simply stared coldly at their opponents, like predators cornering their prey.

They weren’t in any hurry. After all, victory seemed inevitable, and the other two target planets would be attacked simultaneously.

"Run!"

No one knew where the first shout came from, but a dozen disciples from the allied sects suddenly turned around and shot toward the skies.

Mishnar’s face darkened instantly. The Elders watched in stunned disbelief.

After the initial rout, thousands of others began following them. Faced with fifty Celestials, their fighting spirit simply collapsed. Their survival instinct spoke louder.

"Bunch of cowards!" Mishnar roared, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to execute them right there.

"Save your blade. Dogs that run at the slightest growl would only get in our way."

Priam’s cold, commanding voice rang out.

Mishnar stiffened for a second and slowly lowered her hand. She knew that executing her own troops now would only create more chaos and serve as nothing more than a joke for the enemies.

Even so, the escape had destroyed the morale of those who remained. Even Mishnar could feel the weight of what seemed like a hopeless situation.

Priam took a step forward.

"Those whose legs tremble in the face of danger, keep running. The battlefield is the sanctuary of the brave — the weak are nothing more than fertilizer for the soil."

"Seeking the summit of the world is like raising your fist against the very laws of the universe. If the mere shadow of death makes your souls waver, what right do you have to aspire to immortality? Cowardice is the true chain that imprisons you."

Channeling his Ether, Priam projected his voice with overwhelming authority. The sound wave cut through the planet’s entire atmosphere, echoing powerfully in the ears of the deserters desperately climbing toward space.

There was no anger or panic in his tone. It was solemn, sharp as a blade.

Many of those fleeing stopped in midair, paralyzed by the pressure of that voice. When they looked down, they noticed something bizarre: not a single disciple under Priam’s direct command was blinking. None of them were retreating.

Priam gazed into the vast sky and continued.

"Mark my words: every one of you who turns your back today will seal your own fate. This shame will become a merciless inner demon within your minds, a poison that will rot your souls from the inside. You will never see the light of a new Rank again."

"Of course... fleeing will give you your lives. A mediocre and diminished existence, crawling around in the shadows until old age consumes you. For those of us who remain, this ground may very well become our grave. But those who emerge alive from the blood and chaos today... will become heroic and terrifying figures in the future."

Priam paused briefly. The silence that followed across the planet was suffocating.

"Those who aspire to the top, stay by my side. Those who would rather crawl just to survive, get out of my way before the carnage begins and the gates of hell close forever."

Upon hearing those words, more than half of those who had fled gritted their teeth, overcome by a wave of shame and fury, and turned back.

"Hell! I’m not a coward!" a young Mage roared.

A female Sage stomped her foot on the ground. "I’m going to butcher those bastards! Even if I fall here, I’ll take as many of them with me as I can so my bloodline can be proud of me!"

Although these were fiery words of self-affirmation, there was no denying that everyone there was a prodigy in their homeland.

They had never experienced such suffocating despair, but now, as they stared into the abyss of death, they were set ablaze by the unshakable determination of the Ironweald Sect’s disciples.

Of the 99,000 allied troops, half had initially fled. However, driven by shame, thousands returned, consolidating a contingent of 75,000.

Now, their total strength amounted to 225,000 combatants against 300,000 Sorcerers with 50 Celestials. As for the true cowards who continued fleeing, no one bothered to stop them as they desperately boarded their Flying Warships.

Priam showed a faint smile.

He held no resentment toward those who left; no one had the right to decide another person’s fate. The cowardice and selfishness of those men and women did not define them completely — they simply showed where each person’s limit lay.

To those who remained, Priam directed a magnetic, composed gaze:

"Those who chose to stay, hold your heads high. If you survive the baptism of this massacre, the top of the world awaits you. If you fall, you’ll fall as legends, and your bloodlines will bear your names with the utmost pride."

His soft voice, though imbued with unquestionable authority, resonated within everyone’s souls. The soldiers clenched their fists and nodded, their eyes burning with fire.

Dandara snorted proudly beside Priam. She would have said things very differently, being more aggressive and merciless. But... Priam had done it another way, igniting their courage.

The suffocating atmosphere of fear had completely vanished. The army was sharp, hungry, and absolutely focused. In a matter of moments, Priam had transformed trembling cowards into warriors ready for purgatory. Losing 25,000 useless soldiers was a negligible price to pay for tempering a stronger army.

"Not bad, not bad... What a beautiful motivational speech," Shakwi’s hoarse, guttural voice echoed from within the mist. "It’ll certainly be poetic to watch that same fire go out while our blades tear your throats apart. Just imagining your desperate face makes my flesh tremble with impatience... hehehe!"

Priam looked at him with an emotionless gaze.

"Save your breath, old man. Swords were made to cut, not for idle chatter."

In perfect unison, the metallic sound of hundreds of thousands of weapons being drawn tore through the air.

"Archers, prepare!"

At Dandara’s thunderous command, Daraen and more than 50,000 disciples drew the strings of their longbows to their limits.

"FIRE!"

A massive rain of projectiles cut across the skies toward the horde of Sorcerers.

*BOOM!*

Before they even reached the ground, the arrows exploded in midair, releasing a thick, dark-purple smoke that cascaded down like a toxic waterfall over the enemy vanguard.

"AARGH! You disgusting bastards! There’s poison in the smoke!"

Screams of agony erupted instantly. Desperate, thousands of Sorcerers swallowed high-level antidote pills, only to fall into absolute panic when they realized their elixirs had no effect whatsoever against that corruption.

"SECOND VOLLEY! FIRE!" Dandara’s voice echoed mercilessly.

Another rain of arrows cut through the poisonous mist — this time, dry-tipped, piercing projectiles.

Howls of excruciating pain filled the battlefield as blood and chunks of flesh flew in every direction.

The sect’s Elders, watching the spectacle from afar, were left speechless. This wasn’t a battle; it was a systematic slaughter.

"Spread out! Get out of the range of this damned smoke, now!" Shakwi roared, beside himself.

But he had underestimated the lethality of the poison. Most of those caught in the purple mist rotted from the inside out before taking ten steps. The luckiest ones collapsed dead shortly after crossing the edge of the smoke.

Before the two forces even collided head-on, thousands of Sorcerers already lay on the ground as disfigured corpses.

Priam nodded slightly, satisfied. That was the Calamity Poison — a gift provided by Mo Lan.

Mishnar and the veteran Elders were stunned. In a matter of seconds, nearly 20% of the enemy troops had been wiped out!

They were only the weaker Sorcerers, but even so, it had been a brutal and impressive move.

"Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!" Shakwi roared, driven mad with hatred.

Avoiding the contaminated zone, the black tide of Sorcerers advanced like a furious tsunami.

"ADVANCE!" Mishnar roared, leading the thousand Philosopher Sages straight into a direct clash with their enemy counterparts.

The rest of the Sorcerers charged at full speed, led by the imposing 50 Celestials.

"Lotus Formation!" Dandara ordered, restructuring the defensive lines.

At the same time... Priam smiled enigmatically.

*Woooosh!*

Beside him, the very fabric of space twisted violently.

Far away, Mishnar suddenly halted her advance, feeling a chill run up her spine. Her eyes widened as she looked back...

And witnessed a Philosopher-level Sorcerer emerging from nowhere right in the heart of the disciples’ formations!