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墨書 Inktalez
As the battle raged on, John's hands began to tremble uncontrollably. This was not due to a fear of killing, but rather the intense recoil from the violent clashes between weapons and bones after prolonged high-intensity combat. His once fiery heart gradually turned cold under the shadow of death, as if he could hear a low chant echoing from the depths of hell.
Finally, when John managed to fell the last enemy daring enough to challenge him, an overwhelming wave of nausea surged within him. He instinctively opened his mouth and expelled everything from his stomach. This was not out of fear of killing; it was purely the unbearable stench of blood that made him retch.
Yet those around him, gazing at John standing atop a mountain of corpses, had no intention of attacking. Even in that moment, when he appeared so disheveled and pitiful, they remained unmoved.
John stood there on the mountain of bodies, indifferent to who had won or lost in the rankings of the Hecha Kingdom. He simply stared blankly at the sky, wondering when this game of dog-walking would finally come to an end.
Time passed without him noticing.
Then, from above, that familiar voice rang out once more: "Ding dong! Hahaha, congratulations to you lucky survivors! This brutal brawl has finally come to an end!"
However, as this voice echoed through the air, those engaged in fierce combat below showed no signs of stopping. It was as if they had lost all reason and cognitive ability; their minds were consumed by the mechanical motions of swinging and thrusting.
Seeing the chaos below and the unwillingness to listen, the speaker's expression darkened considerably. Clearly, he was losing face. His brows furrowed deeply, a flash of anger crossed his eyes, and he raised his hand to press down on the mysterious force in the realm below.
In an instant, a colossal handprint emerged from the previously flat ground of the realm, descending with earth-shattering force towards the surface. The soldiers caught beneath it had no time to react; with a deafening crash, everyone within that handprint's range was crushed into a gruesome mass of flesh and blood—a horrifying scene that sent chills down spines.
After such a terrifying blow, those who had been frantically fighting suddenly felt as though they had been doused with a bucket of ice water from head to toe; they were completely awakened. They looked up in terror at the enormous handprint above them, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. Soon after, everyone obediently sheathed their weapons; some even remained still despite having sharp swords embedded in them, fearing they might become the next sacrifice.
At that moment, the voice rang out again: "Now this is more like it! Next, I will officially announce the rankings following this Ten Kingdom Brawl."
As soon as he finished speaking, a massive stone appeared abruptly on the plain. Its surface was smooth as a mirror, meticulously engraved with the remaining numbers for each country.
John widened his eyes as he read the inscription.
"Fourth place: Hecha Kingdom has three thousand seven hundred survivors."
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