Chapter 446: Charlot Mecklenburg! You Destroyed Black Phoenix City and Killed My Emperor

Cresto exchanged a single strike with Georgia Hadrian. Though his hands were left numb from the clash, he steadied himself with a long howl and launched back into the fray.

Known as the “Light of the Holy Mountain,” Cresto was one of the two among the Five Strongest who had achieved their prowess solely through personal effort, catching up to the legendary “Three Heroes of the Empire.” If not for the dazzling brilliance of the old Earl Bretagne...

Ah, and above Bretagne, there was the even more extraordinary Zimourman Axel Robin.

And then came prodigies like Antonio, who shone particularly brightly.

It wasn’t just Cresto. Even someone as wildly unhinged as Midaphis Axel had been overshadowed by their presence.

In any other era, figures like Cresto and Midaphis would have been towering legends.

But they were born in the wrong time.

Cresto felt an unending surge of power coursing through his body, provided by the energy of the Radiant Holy Kingdom, leaving no room for thoughts beyond defeating his opponent. He sought to overcome this terrifying enemy—one who could rival Bretagne, even surpassing Zimourman in renown of late.

Georgia Hadrian, after defeating Viscount Constantine, had built his momentum to a peak. He believed no adversary could stand against him, not even one who had brought a legendary warship onto land.

On the battlefield, apart from them, the most striking presence was the Black Dragon. Having slain three Saint-ranked opponents, it was now entangled with two more of equal standing. Yet, the old lizard showed no fear, deliberately drawing the fight in erratic directions to slowly shift the tides of battle.

Charlot's Saint-rank allies, whenever overwhelmed, retreated into the divine radiance of sacred buildings marked by Charlot. These marks allowed them free passage through the protective barriers. Georgia Hadrian and his Saint-ranked subordinates had no such advantage.

The clash between the two sides raged into the night! Georgia Hadrian showed no sign of retreat, swearing to vanquish his foes without yielding an inch.

Facing a city that symbolized his homeland, Georgia Hadrian, a Black Phoenix Count of royal lineage, let out a long cry like a phoenix's lament and roared:

"Charlot Mecklenburg! You annihilated Black Phoenix City, seized my homeland, and murdered my emperor. Today, I will take your life!"

"Though your worthless life is far from enough to repay this debt!"

From the start of the battle, Georgia Hadrian’s gaze never left Charlot. To him, this day was destined for one outcome—Charlot’s death!

No one could stop him—not even the gods.

Charlot clenched his fists tightly. If he were a Saint-ranked fighter, even at the lowest tier, he would have soared into the sky to challenge Georgia Hadrian to a life-and-death duel. But he was not Saint-ranked and could not even leave the ground.

Charlot growled under his breath, “One day, I’ll make you regret killing my men!”

But Georgia Hadrian did not answer. He had already plunged back into battle.

Suddenly, a cry rang out as Viggo fell from the sky.

Charlot sprinted toward him and stretched out his arms, catching the Flame Combat Energy Knight.

Viggo was gravely injured but still clung to a sliver of life. Charlot gently laid him on the ground and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll save you.”

Viggo, full of shame, muttered softly, “I won’t die. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Charlot waved for medics to carry Viggo away. By this time, at least ten figures were missing from the sky—both his men and Georgia Hadrian’s. The losses on both sides had already surpassed those of a major battle.

Although Saint-ranked individuals often decided the outcome, they rarely fought to the death. Saint-ranked fighters usually retreated from unwinnable battles, their mobility allowing them to avoid fatal blows. Additionally, most shared ties of kinship or familiarity across nations, making outright killings rare unless it was a war of extinction.

The skies above Black Phoenix City were crisscrossed with dazzling lights, more spectacular than fireworks to its ordinary citizens. While fireworks faded in an instant, the radiance of Saint-ranked combat energy seemed eternal.

The battle stretched late into the night.

Even Charlot could barely discern the fight’s details in the sky anymore. But he refused to relax. Every defeated enemy Saint-ranked fighter who fell was hauled aboard the Radiant Holy Kingdom.

This legendary warship thirsted for their blood and life force.

Every corpse placed on the ship vanished without a trace.

Below the ship’s deck, the divine entity Eumibella suddenly opened her eyes. They grew brighter, radiating waves of luminous brilliance. She murmured softly, “Pendragon... Pendragon... Pendragon...”

A moment later, her whisper changed. “Charlot Mecklenburg... Charlot Mecklenburg... Charlot Mecklenburg...”

Then came another name, spoken in a low chant: “Amon, Amon, Amon...”

When she called out “Amon,” a young figure composed of radiant light appeared, speaking gently: “Mother, did you call for me?”

“Pendragon is my father. Charlot Mecklenburg is my husband. Amon is my son!” Eumibella exclaimed, her voice trembling. “I remember! I remember everything!”

“Amon, go assist your father.”

The radiant youth smiled tenderly. “Yes, Mother.”

“But I lack the strength.”

Eumibella murmured softly, “I will lend you mine... I will lend you mine...”

The boy’s radiant form suddenly flared, its brilliance intensifying.

Charlot felt a sudden warmth in his arms. He retrieved a diary, suddenly recalling that he had one final trick. He had exchanged two scrolls of Agmirlas’ Labyrinth and over ten ancient paintings of the Foreign God of Chaos’s true visage from Tumisan.

Though these labyrinths had consumed countless cities, Charlot had yet to use them. The paintings, too, remained untouched.

Charlot muttered to himself, “Is this a reminder to use them?”

He pulled out an ancient painting and gently tore it apart.

Tumisan had claimed the paintings were useless, but Charlot knew otherwise.

As the painting tore, countless labyrinthine corridors emerged, suffused with a sinister aura.

Charlot no longer cared about the consequences. He needed power to fight, no matter the cost.

He did not notice the final line on the last page of the Radiant Holy Kingdom’s Logbook:

“Father, I can help you.”

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