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Every single high-layer warrior on the field was thoroughly pinned, unable to move a single finger under the crushing pressure.

Chief Vane looked through the dust, his eyes shifting from his own locked knees to the middle of the field where Malphas was currently being thrown into the dirt again.

Suddenly, a terrifying, reality-shattering thought broke through Vane’s panic.

"Wait..." Vane whispered, his voice trembling so hard his teeth clicked together. "If... if the pressure is this heavy... if none of us can even lift an arm... how the hell is Malphas still able to roll around and fight back?"

The realization hit him like a cold bucket of well water.

Malphas wasn’t moving because his latent potential was superior to theirs. He wasn’t avoiding the fatal hits because his Layer 4 core was breaking the boundary of the aura.

Sol was letting him move.

Sol had deliberately let him be, keeping the heavy, paralyzing weight firmly locked onto everyone else on the battlefield while keeping the space around Malphas just light enough for him to struggle.

He had intentionally left the monster enough room to twitch, to roll, and to use his life force... not so he could defend himself, but so he wouldn’t die too quickly.

He wanted the Malphas to utilize every single ounce of his strength just so he could break it, destroy it, and grind it more thoroughly.

It wasn’t a battle. It was a slow, calculated torture disguised as a fight, executed by an angry god who wanted him to feel the absolute despair of his own fragile meat before he was permanently erased.

...

On the other hand, Malphas’s brain screamed as the same cold, sickening realization began to crawl up his spine.

The red light of his survival madness instantly turning into a cold, suffocating terror. He looked up at Sol’s black silhouette, the realization of his own total helplessness washing over him like freezing well water.

He wasn’t a warrior fighting for his life; he was just a prey inside a trap, being played with by a predator that could kill him whenever it pleased.

"No..." Malphas whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to back away, his one good hand clawing frantically at the white gravel. "You... you aren’t a human... What kind of monster are you?"

Sol didn’t answer and just looked at him coldly, his eyes staring up at him with a slow, terrifying smirk that carried no human warmth.

Sol took a slow, heavy step forward, his boot crushing the skull of a Zharun warrior beneath his heel.

"You think your Layer 4 power is saving you from my blade?" His rasping tone lingered, echoing in the clearing like the growl of a beast. "You think you’re fast enough to dodge a fatal hit from me?"

He let out a short, chilling chuckle that made the surrounding Zharun warriors shudder.

"I am letting you move, you giant sack of trash, thuu, even calling you trash is insulting the trash," Sol whispered, his eyes locking directly onto the pale leather flap pinned to the giant’s head. "If I drop the full weight of my dominion on you right now, your heart would rupture before your knees could hit the mud.

But that would be way too easy for a rat like you. Death is too peaceful a release for someone who wears a young girl’s face as a hat."

Sol’s face went completely dark, the smoldering white-hot fury inside his core burning even brighter.

"I want you to feel every single ounce of your fragility," Sol continued, his tone dropping into an unyielding sheet of ice. "I want you to struggle, to run, to use every single drop of your pathetic latent strength, just so I can break every bone in your body one by one.

I am going to destroy you so thoroughly that your ancestors won’t even recognize the meat you leave behind in the dust."

Malphas’s spirit completely broke.

The proud warrior who had worn a human trophy to mock his enemies felt an ancient, primal terror wipe out his mind.

With a frantic, terrified shriek, Malphas turned his back on Sol and tried to run with his broken body.

He didn’t care about the Zharun tribe, he didn’t care about Chief Vane’s plans, and he didn’t care about the secret alliance.

He just wanted to get away from the black reaper who was turning the field into his personal hell.

He used his remaining hand to push past his own frozen squad-mates, his rush kicking up wild clouds of white limestone dust as he sprinted toward the rear.

Sol calmly watched him run, but didn’t run after him.

He simply tilted his body forward, his form vanishing into a blurred black line that crossed the distance instantly.

He appeared directly in front of the running coward, blocking his path like a solid mountain wall.

Before Malphas could even change his direction, Sol’s left hand shot out, his fingers locking around his throat with the force of a plier.

With a single, brutal downward jerk, Sol slammed Malphas’s seven-foot body straight into the hard baked clay of the plain.

SMASH.

The impact was so immense it cracked the clay wide open, creating a shallow ditch where his spine hit the stone.

Malphas coughed up a huge gout of bright red blood, his eyes rolling back as the wind was completely knocked out of his lungs.

Sol stepped onto his chest, his foot pressing flat against the giant’s fractured ribs, forcing him to stay pinned to the dirt.

He slowly raised the Dreadwing Blade, the sapphire edge humming its high-frequency song of death right above Malphas’s wide, terrified eyes.

"Let’s start with the legs," Sol said flatly.

SHUCK.

With a short, efficient thrust, Sol drove the blue blade straight through Malphas’s right knee joint this time.

The high-frequency edge didn’t just pierce the hide; it completely liquefied the tendons, the kneecap, and the bone marrow on contact.

Malphas let out a long, curdling shriek of pure agony that echoed off the entire battlefield, his body convulsing violently under Sol’s foot as his left leg went completely limp, turning into nothing but a loose sack of wet meat.

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