The Strongest War God Chapter 1278 – Chapter 1278: When I am Freed, You Will All Die

Chapter 1278: When I am Freed, You Will All Die

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

How could one unleash powerful thunder techniques?

“It’s the enlightenment realm. He’s entered the enlightenment realm, connecting his body to heaven and earth. The mental prison can’t confine him, nor sever his ties to the world.”

Waga Yeboah murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Sever his ties to the world!” Faki Yamba erupted in fury.

The three Divine Priests launched another assault, but their efforts were in vain.

“You three colluded to eliminate me,” Braydon Neal murmured softly with closed eyes.

The seemingly innocuous words carried a chilling weight.

Even in the enlightenment realm, he retained his intellect, articulating his understanding of the situation outside.

Was he truly in the enlightenment realm?

“You’re still aware?” Jitu Masilela hoarsely inquired. “Was everything today deliberate?”

Braydon remained silent, his eyes still shut tight.

Did the Oracle Palace remain uncertain of his intentions?

In an instant, dark clouds amassed in the sky, heralding a deluge of lightning.

Bolts streaked down like silver pythons, targeting the golden prison.

Yet, Braydon had not summoned the thunder to strike down the three Divine Priests; instead, he sought to shatter the prison.

Boom!

The heavenly lightning collided with the golden barrier, relentlessly assaulting the three-meter-thick structure crafted by the trio of ninth-level warlock emperors.

The continuous barrage induced a palpable sense of dread.

Jitu bellowed in frustration. “Strengthen the prison! Don’t let him escape!”

As Braydon snapped back to awareness, his resolve remained undiminished.

What was his objective?

Jitu and his cohorts couldn’t discern his intentions, but they were resolute in their determination not to let Braydon break free.

With each surge of their mental power, the golden prison fortified its defenses, resisting the relentless onslaught of thunder.

Despite the ferocity of the storm, the sturdy structure appeared impregnable.

Braydon sat cross-legged within the cell, the Northern King Sword resting horizontally before his chest, suspended in the air before him.

His focus was entirely consumed by the state of enlightenment—a realm of path comprehension.

What was martial arts?

It was the solitary path to grasping the essence of heaven and earth, the most fundamental force in existence.

Braydon’s quest was to unravel the mysteries of the world and unearth his own imperial path.

Having lingered in the quasi-emperor realm for several days, he was now delved into the depths of the imperial path—a task not inherently arduous.

The true challenge lay in determining his next steps.

Should he choose a single imperial path, he could instantaneously ascend to the emperor realm.

Yet, the quandary lay in how many paths a mortal body could traverse—an enigma no one could resolve without firsthand experience.

Seated in meditation, Braydon’s form radiated with a golden luminescence.

Jitu’s shock and ire were palpable.

“You want to enter the emperor realm?” he exclaimed incredulously.

“In order to break free from the mental prison, he wants to forcefully enter the emperor realm. What provocation could drive such intense animosity and unyielding hostility?”

Waga echoed the sentiment, yearning for clarity amidst the chaos.

What had spurred Braydon’s murderous intent?

If it stemmed from baseless motives, what fueled such violence?

Only Rayha Qhobela held the answers.

The three peak emperors persisted in strengthening the golden prison, determined to quash Braydon’s aspirations.

Yet, Braydon’s golden-shrouded form remained undeterred.

His mental power surged forth, carving a pathway—an embryonic manifestation of the imperial path, emerging gradually from the skies.

Braydon neared the threshold of the emperor realm, his ascent spurred by the formidable suppression of three ninth-level emperors.

If news of this were to spread, it would undoubtedly rouse the entire Donta Imperial City from its slumber.

Within the confines of his prison, Braydon’s eyes fluttered open, emerging from the enlightenment realm.

As he rose to his feet, a myriad of golden lights enveloped his form, radiating outward in a dazzling display.

The realm of success is the realm of emperors.

Beyond the prison’s confines, the imperial path materialized, hovering majestically in the air.

A hundred meters away, Braydon stood poised atop the imperial path, a regal figure against the backdrop of the night sky.

At the end of the path awaited a weapon—a sword, the prototype being the Northern King Sword.

Tonight marked Braydon’s entry into the emperor realm.

With the title of Sword Emperor, a new emperor ascended to the throne.

It had been prophesied that Braydon’s ascent to the emperor realm would empower him to challenge even quasi-divines.

Braydon’s path to the emperor realm diverged from the norm; he was neither a martial arts emperor nor a pure vitality emperor, nor did he attain enlightenment through the body.

Instead, his cultivation was rooted in the art of the sword.

The sword at the end of the imperial path signified the path of martial arts one was walking.

As Braydon assumed his mantle of emperor, his aura expanded, commanding respect and awe.

Standing within the golden prison, he remained composed, his lips parting slightly.

With a gesture of his left hand, his fingers alighted upon the golden barrier, eliciting fissures that marred its once-impermeable surface.

Jitu’s apprehension mounted as he observed Braydon’s ascension to the emperor realm.

An inexplicable chill coursed through his body, prompting him to cry out, “Everyone, attack! Unleash your mental power and subdue this youth!”

Failure to quell Braydon’s rampage today would inevitably result in wholesale slaughter once he emerged wielding his sword.

The order was issued, and over 90 gods from the Hall of Edicts converged, each a warlock emperor harnessing mental power.

Their mental power paths varied, evident in the diverse manifestations that lined the path’s end—lush grass, blazing flames, miniature mountains, and hexagonal ice cubes.

Their combined assault swiftly reinforced the golden prison, its integrity swiftly restored.

“Has the Great Divine Priest not arrived yet?” Waga murmured, his tone laced with concern.

“I fear we won’t be able to suppress him,” Faki concurred in a hushed tone.

Such sentiments, if made public, would evoke widespread alarm.

After all, they comprised three Divine Priests alongside over 90 gods—how could they fail to subdue a fledgling emperor?

The gravity of the situation was not lost on them; they understood the peril posed by a martial arts prodigy—an entity capable of quelling even the mightiest martial arts practitioners with ease.

Despite the concerted efforts of the assembled emperors, Braydon remained resolute, his white robes dusted with snow as he stood defiantly within the prison.

His calm proclamation pierced the air, laden with an unmistakable aura of menace, “When I am freed, you will all die.”

His words reverberated with lethal intent, sending a shiver down the spines of many gods present.

Who would dare underestimate the proclamation of a descendant of the Divine Lord?

In the midst of the bewildered crowd, Braydon’s form shimmered with a radiant white glow, reminiscent of a vibrant rainbow.

Harnessing the power of all eight techniques, he summoned forth the martial arts banished immortal—a culmination of his martial prowess and skill, honed over the past year.

Having long recovered from the battle at Machusa, the martial arts banished immortal emerged stronger and more formidable than ever.

As the luminous energy coalesced within Braydon, a figure materialized, bearing an uncanny resemblance to him.

Coldness emanated from the banished immortal’s furrowed brow, exuding an aura befitting its legendary status.

Jitu’s expression betrayed a flicker of fear, while Waga stood in stunned disbelief.

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Faki’s nerves were stretched taut with apprehension as they beheld the peak achievement of martial arts civilization—the martial arts banished immortal—in all its glory.

“End them,” Braydon uttered softly.

The banished immortal said indifferently. “Their demise is warranted. They dared to threaten my son. Such transgression cannot go unpunished.”

Braydon gazed at the banished immortal.

Where did the banished immortal get a son?