The Strongest War God Chapter 1284 – Chapter 1284: Still a King in Prison

Chapter 1284: Still a King in Prison

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

At the same time.

Kyan Yengo snorted coldly. “Do you really think you’re a descendant of a Divine Lord? The true masters of the ruins are us. We are the ones who grew up in the ruins, and we are the true masters of this land. You outsiders, including the Divine Lord, built the Oracle Palace and governed our ruins.

“You’re all outsiders, the so-called gods. Hmph!”

Kyan’s lack of regard for the Oracle Palace was evident.

“You’re facing a period of upheaval,” Braydon Neal remarked calmly. “The transition of power is a chapter in Hansworth’s history that unfolded millennia ago. Imperial authority and divine supremacy cannot coexist. It’s only a matter of time before imperial authority eclipses divine rule.”

Braydon’s composure sent a shiver down the spine of those around him.

“Imperial Lord,” someone murmured, their voice hushed, “this youngster is exceptionally formidable. If he summons another entity like before, it could spell disaster for us.”

“He won’t be able to summon it again,” dismissed Kyan, his tone resolute. “That fearsome forbidden technique—surviving its aftermath once is miraculous enough. To expect a repeat performance is sheer fantasy!”

As the overseer of the Donta Imperial City, Kyan was anything but weak.

From that day forth, one fewer Oracle Palace graced the Donta Imperial City skyline, solidifying the Donta Imperial City’s preeminence.

That day witnessed a series of momentous occurrences.

The Donta Imperial Family dispatched numerous emperors and even divines to purge the Oracle Palace’s descendants of their divine heritage.

The balance of power in the 16th ruin underwent a swift transformation, with the ten royal dynasties under the Donta Imperial Dynasty targeting the gods.

News of Rayha Qhobela falling reverberated throughout the ruins, marking the demise of countless gods, including the warlock emperors.

The Donta Imperial Dynasty surged towards its zenith, as imperial supremacy ascended and the wane of divine authority became undeniable.

Simultaneously, Braydon found himself incarcerated in the Frost Prison—a facility once reserved for the Oracle Palace’s traitors and descendants of gods who had committed grave transgressions.

Now, it housed Braydon.

Ultimately, Kyan refrained from executing Braydon, a lingering fear gnawing at his core.

What was he afraid of?

It was the looming threat of retaliation from the Heavenly Mountain lineage and the legendary Ancestral Land purportedly hovering above the Oracle Palace.

To slay Braydon would thrust them into an irreparable enmity with no room for reconciliation.

For now, he was forced to stay his hand.

Even if an unforeseen turn of events were to happen and formidable figures were to claim Braydon in the future, as long as Braydon drew breath, negotiation remained a possibility.

The Donta Imperial Dynasty could even take a different tack.

They might even offer up Kyan as a scapegoat, putting all the blame of locking Braydon up in the Frost Prison on him.

This could assuage these formidable figures’ wrath while preserving the dynasty’s foundation.

These individuals acted in accordance with their own motives.

Meanwhile, in the northwest reaches of the Donta Imperial City, a mysterious figure cloaked in black observed the day’s events with chilling detachment.

His eyes bore a profound chill.

Raising his hand, he conjured a swirling orb of white mist, summoning the attention of the city’s emperor.

“Hmph, the Oracle Palace has been eradicated, yet remnants of malevolence persist!” declared the arriving emperor, clad in regal attire.

Seizing the black-robed figure, he dispatched him to his underlings for imprisonment in the Frost Prison.

This black-robed figure was Gideon Zavala.

His arrival in the Donta Imperial City and subsequent self-surrender had gone unnoticed.

Now incarcerated within the Frost Prison, Gideon’s fate was sealed.

Eighty miles southeast of the Donta Imperial City stood a towering ice mountain, seemingly sculpted by human hands.

This man-made iceberg, standing 3,000 meters tall, remained blanketed in perpetual snowfall, its temperature ranging from minus twenty to minus thirty degrees Celsius.

It served as the site for numerous prisons, the most notorious being the Frost Prison.

Rarely did its captives find release.

Controlled by the Donta Imperial Family, the Frost Prison harbored a multitude of god descendants, many of whom hailed from the Oracle Palace—either executed or incarcerated.

Among them languished a Divine Priest, confined within the prison’s eighteen floors.

Each floor of the Frost Prison harbored its own perils, the danger escalating with each floor.

It wasn’t merely recent detainees who populated its depths; many had languished within its confines for years.

Braydon found himself incarcerated on the fifteenth floor, a placement chosen with deliberate intent.

The destruction wrought upon the Oracle Palace by Braydon could not be dismissed lightly by the imperial family.

Thus, his confinement on the fifteenth floor was a stern response to his transgressions.

Here, on the fifteenth floor, the biting cold approached absolute zero, instantly freezing anything that dared intrude upon its domain.

The walls and floor were cloaked in frost, lending an eerie chill to the air.

Divided into four sectors, the fifteenth floor was littered with frozen figures, trapped in icy stasis.

Braydon found himself situated in the eastern quadrant, where he beheld an ice-encased elderly man nearby, his features obscured by frost.

“Interesting, we haven’t seen any newcomers in ages!” remarked a mental fluctuation.

“What? A youth like him locked up here?” another voice exclaimed incredulously.

“He must have committed a grave offense,” chimed in a third.

Braydon felt the probing tendrils of their mental power enveloping him, their curiosity piqued by his unexpected presence on the fifteenth floor of the Frost Prison.

Indeed, to be consigned to the Frost Prison, particularly the fifteenth floor and below, signified a transgression of severe magnitude.

Those imprisoned here faced a grim fate; even death offered no reprieve, consigning them to eternal confinement within its icy confines.

Unless one had committed a grievous crime, such a fate would not befall them.

As the air echoed with the crackling of breaking ice, an emaciated figure emerged from the shadows—a barefoot, disheveled old man with a wild gaze fixated on the void pouch adorning Braydon’s waist.

A storage pouch—a rare treasure within the Frost Prison’s confines.

A storage pouch held a plethora of useful items, from food and drinks to clothing and other essentials.

The old man, his bare feet contrasting sharply with his fierce demeanor, issued a demand with a menacing edge.

“Kid, toss over that storage pouch of yours. I might spare your life. Us old timers have been starved for company. We could use some fresh faces to break the monotony, someone to take the brunt of our frustrations.”

His suggestion was nothing short of barbaric.

Typically, individuals sought solace in the company of women to alleviate their frustrations, rarely targeting men.

Those who did were either peculiar or left with no other recourse.

This despicable old man had set his sights on Braydon, intending to do him harm.

Observing him coolly, Braydon’s lips parted ever so slightly as he spat, “Get lost!”

“What?”

The barefooted elder’s eyes widened in astonishment as he unleashed a wave of pressure—a quasi-emperor’s aura.

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Each detainee on the fifteenth floor wielded quasi-emperor-level power, indicative of their formidable status.

One could only imagine the sheer might possessed by those confined to the sixteenth, seventeenth, and even eighteenth floors.

Individuals of quasi-emperor caliber commanded respect in the outside world, poised on the brink of ascension to the emperor realm at any moment.

The inmates of the Oracle Palace were predominantly martial arts practitioners, with the warlock emperors holding the esteemed status of gods.

In contrast, the barefooted elder was a quasi-god, a noteworthy distinction among them.