darknovel Chapter 96 The God of War's One Punch, even a Grand Magister is worthy of taking it?
Chapter 96 The God of War's One Punch, even a Grand Magister is worthy of taking it?
With Lin Fan's permission, Ares's numb face instantly shone with an almost morbidly fanatical radiance.
"Yes, sir!"
He leaped up from the ground—not by jumping, but by an invisible force that lifted him off the ground!
A series of rapid, popping sounds, like popping beans, emanated from his entire body!
Beneath his tattered hemp clothing, a visible crimson aura surged skyward, transforming into a tangible, burning storm around him!
"You bunch of...insects disturbing Mr.'s peace and quiet..."
Ares turned around.
Two crimson flames suddenly ignited in his once empty eye sockets, locking onto Merlin and his two companions, who were now pale with fright.
"Use your wails as a sacrifice for my toilet... no, for the purity of my husband!"
Before he finished speaking, he disappeared.
There were no warning signs, no action.
One moment he was still in the same spot, the next, the bluestone pavement beneath his feet silently turned to dust.
His entire being transformed into a blood-red afterimage that distorted space, appearing directly in front of the Archmage Merlin!
quick?
No, this goes beyond the realm of speed.
Merlin's eyes, once bathed in arcane light, now saw only a torn afterimage.
He relied entirely on his survival instinct, honed through countless battles, to hold his staff across his chest in the final moments before death struck!
All the magic power in his body surged out without reservation!
"An absolute barrier!"
He let out the most desolate roar of his life.
The magical shield that enveloped him suddenly shone brightly, instantly solidifying from a thin, illusory membrane into a crystal-like barrier. Countless intricate defensive runes swirled wildly across the barrier's surface, emanating a heavy aura that suppressed everything.
This is the ultimate defense that made him famous, the confidence that allowed him to face the dragon's breath head-on!
however.
Before Ares, all of this seemed ridiculous and powerless.
"roll!"
Ares let out a beastly growl and threw his first punch since arriving in the yard.
This punch had no technique whatsoever.
On the fist, there was only a blood-red divine power so dense that it had become tangible. That most primitive, savage, and all-encompassing pure violence caused ripples to spread across the surrounding space!
"Thump—!"
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
There was only one heavy, muffled sound that made everyone's heart stop beating.
Ares' fist slammed into the "Absolute Barrier".
Time seemed to stand still for a moment.
The supposedly indestructible magical barrier, radiating runic light, instantly extinguished all its brilliance and runes the moment it came into contact with the fist.
Then, it vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.
It didn't shatter, it didn't explode, it just vanished into thin air.
Ares's fist continued its momentum, piercing through the void and striking Merlin's staff, which was held horizontally in front of his chest.
"Click..."
A cracking sound so faint it was almost inaudible.
The legendary staff, crafted from a thousand-year-old magical wood and inlaid with the "Heart of the Storm" magic crystal, which Merlin cherished as his life, began to crumble into dust from the middle.
"puff!"
Merlin's eyes widened as a large mouthful of blood, mixed with fragments of internal organs, gushed out in a fan shape.
Before he could even fly backward, he was pierced by that incomprehensible, terrifying force, his body went limp, and he crashed straight into the courtyard wall dozens of meters away.
The sturdy wall was smashed open, leaving a huge, human-shaped dent, and spiderweb-like cracks spread across the entire wall.
He slid down the wall to the ground, his bones turning to dust, becoming a true pile of mud, his breath so faint it could go out at any moment.
One punch.
Just one punch.
A great mage, a figure who could rival kings in Europe, was instantly killed by a toilet cleaner.
The courtyard fell into a silence more profound than death itself.
The two young mages were no longer able to think. They knelt on the ground, their bodies trembling beyond their limits, becoming as stiff as stone sculptures.
The Hellfire mercenaries who were digging the pit all stopped what they were doing, not even noticing that their shovels had fallen to the ground. They all stared wide-eyed, their expressions blank.
"Holy crap..." A mercenary's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty. "Is this toilet cleaner... a god?"
"Boss, from now on... will we have to fight over who gets to clean the toilets?"
The head gardener swallowed hard, unable to utter a single word. He felt incredibly fortunate at that moment; he was just a gardener, and this job was truly a blessing.
In the corner, Loki's sweeping movements became incredibly stiff.
The broom in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Merlin... that old codger, his status in the magical world is equivalent to Odin's status in Asgard.
Although his actual combat strength is significantly weaker than Odin's, he is definitely a genuine god-level powerhouse.
just now.
Was he punched into a piece of junk by that muscle-bound idiot Ares?
When did this idiot become so strong?
Loki's gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the twelve Saints who were sitting cross-legged, their bodies shimmering with golden light.
He remembered that these people... also received "overtime pay" from the gentleman.
So what is their current strength...?
Loki dared not think about it.
He felt his heart pounding.
He suddenly lowered his head and, with unprecedented devotion and focus, began to sweep away every grain of dust beneath his feet.
I love my job.
Work makes me happy.
Work is the only and best destination for God!
In the arena, Ares slowly withdrew his fist.
He glanced at the unconscious mud in the corner, then at the two young mages on the ground who had lost control of their bladders in fright. A rare hint of dissatisfaction and disappointment flickered in his empty eyes.
too weak.
This level of garbage doesn't even qualify him to warm up.
The KPIs definitely won't be high.
He shook his head, and like dragging two bags of garbage, he grabbed the two young mages by the ankles, one in each hand, and dragged them next to the pile of "fertilizer" of the Iga Jonin, arranging them neatly.
After doing all this, he clapped his hands, turned to face Lin Fan, knelt on one knee again, and reported in a loud voice:
"Sir! The trash has been cleared! Please give your instructions!"
The entire process was efficient, professional, and demonstrated a deep respect for the cleaning work.
Among the Gold Saints, Aries Mu slowly opened his eyes and used his spiritual power to transmit a message to his companions: "Did you see that? Ares's state of mind has reached a state of perfection. His punches are only for 'cleaning,' untouched by killing. This is the true meaning of 'scrubbing the toilet,' the embodiment of 'the Way.'"
The other Saints all looked like they suddenly understood.
That's it!
Treat fighting as work, and killing as cleansing!
They understood!
Just then, a series of heavy, rhythmic footsteps came from the alley outside the courtyard.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
The sound had a metallic quality and a hydraulic hiss, like a steel behemoth approaching step by step.
Immediately afterwards, a cold, ruthless metallic voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, resounded through the air.
"Warning! This area has been taken over by the North American 'Gene Council'! Attention, personnel inside! We have detected extremely unstable high-dimensional energy reactions! Disarm immediately and open the door for inspection! Repeat..."
The sound stopped abruptly.
"Boom—!"
The already dilapidated gate of the courtyard house, along with half of the wall, was smashed to pieces from the outside by a brute force!
Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, seven or eight super soldiers, each over two and a half meters tall and covered in jet-black, streamlined exoskeleton armor, charged in, wielding menacing energy weapons.
Leading the group was a white general without a helmet, with a square face, cold eyes, and a dazzling star on his shoulder.
He was General Armstrong, the commander of North America's most elite "Alpha" squad.
They charged into the courtyard in standard combat formation, but the scene before them stunned them all.
In a corner of the courtyard, there was a group of unconscious mages and a group of ninjas buried in the ground.
A group of burly men wielding hoes and shovels were staring at them with the look of utter disbelief.
An incredibly handsome blond young man is sweeping the floor.
A burly man, reeking of blood, was carefully wiping... a toilet brush with a white cloth.
Twelve warriors, clad in golden armor and resembling figures from mythology, sat cross-legged.
And there was the young man, calm and harmless, lying on the recliner in the middle of the courtyard.
General Armstrong's tactical brain, aided by a supercomputer, completely crashed in that instant.
The threat assessment system in his tactical goggles did not issue an alarm; instead, the screen went black. Then, a line of blood-red gibberish flashed wildly before finally coalescing into a line of cold text.
Error: Unable to resolve target.
[Error: Threat unable to be assessed.]
[Final instruction: Abandon all thought and escape immediately.]
Estimated survival probability: 0.00%
General Armstrong's forehead was instantly soaked with cold sweat, which soaked his temples.