The Elven Cultivator

Hydras are a warrior race among the Sea Race.

Their status among the Sea Race is similar to that of warriors among the Beastmen; they are the most elite fighting force of their people.

Every adult Hydra possesses strength of at least the Silver Tier, and a few exceptional individuals can even reach the Golden Tier.

On the Dawn Continent, the Sea Race typically lives in coastal waters and the deep sea, rarely appearing on land.

This is partly because their bodies are better suited for underwater environments, making movement on land inconvenient.

Furthermore, the Dragon Race's control over the Sea Race is even stricter than over the land-based races. Many sea regions are blockaded by the Dragon Race, making it difficult for the Sea Race to leave the water.

Only in a coastal city like Bishui Port could one see a small number of Sea Race members moving about.

Even so, seeing a Hydra here was a rare event.

Anton's gaze lingered on the three heads for a moment, and he marveled inwardly.

In truth, he had detected the three of them lying in ambush long ago with his Divine Sense.

Although they were cleverly hidden and had suppressed their auras well, such disguises were useless before his Divine Sense.

He simply chose not to expose them.

Now, seeing Marcus take the initiative to force these three out into the open, Anton felt a sense of amusement.

This Dragon Race officer was far more perceptive than he had anticipated.

Fortunately, he didn't sense an aura similar to Zhuo Gu's or the Great Elder's from him; the officer likely hadn't awakened the Power of Law yet.

Three groups of people had gathered in the vast courtyard, creating a strange atmosphere for a moment. Only the Hydra's three heads were still chattering away incessantly.

Then, all three heads turned to look at Anton in unison.

"Hey," the middle head asked Anton, "are you here to cause trouble for Everett, too?"

Anton was quite interested in this Hydra. Hearing the question, he went along with it and nodded. "That's right."

"You have a grudge against him?" the left head asked curiously.

Anton shrugged. "He framed me for a crime and had me on the wanted list for decades."

"Why would he do that?" This time, it was the right head that spoke.

Anton glanced at Everett, whose expression had changed drastically, and said with a scornful smile, "That involves a certain secret organization..."

Seeing Anton and the Hydra chatting as if no one else was there, completely ignoring him and his men, Everett had long since turned pale with rage.

When he realized their conversation was about to touch upon the Ring of Annihilation, he grew anxious and quickly interrupted, "Enough nonsense! Your Fallen Dragon Association attacked White Sail Pier, and now you dare to attack our guild headquarters! Fortunately, Lord Wilder anticipated your actions. None of you will escape tonight!"

After speaking, he turned to Wilder, his ferocious expression instantly becoming one of utmost respect.

"Lord Wilder, I must trouble you and the other two lords to deal with those three from the Fallen Dragon Association."

"As for Canglan... I'll take care of him myself!"

As Everett finished speaking, the two men who had been standing silently beside him since his appearance both took a step forward.

One of the two was burly and powerfully built, clad in a suit of fine Scale Armor.

The other was slender, dressed in a gray robe, with a slightly aged face, and held a short staff in his right hand.

Evidently, these were the two Golden Tier masters mentioned in the intelligence reports who were always with Everett.

Wilder gave Everett a deep look and waved his hand, tacitly agreeing to his proposal.

Everett felt a wave of relief and turned back to Anton, a cold sneer returning to his face.

"I thought you were already dead, which is why I had the wanted notice rescinded. I never expected you to not only be alive but to walk right into my hands. How foolish."

"Since you're so eager to die, I'll be happy to oblige."

In Everett's eyes, Canglan had only been at the Silver Tier over sixty years ago. Even if his talent was outstanding and his luck was good enough to have broken through to the Golden Tier over the years, he would be a Lower Gold at best.

Meanwhile, his side had over two hundred skilled fighters, plus two Golden Tier combatants. Dealing with Canglan would be more than enough.

Anton, however, had no interest in wasting words with him. With a thought, a cold glint leaped from his chest and hovered in the air before him.

This blatant disregard, as if Everett didn't even exist, fueled the rage in his heart.

"Take him down! I want him alive!"

Everett waved his hand, his expression icy. He decided that before interrogating Anton, he would torture him thoroughly.

Leon, Long Sword in hand and expressionless, stepped out from the crowd. In a flash, he lunged toward Anton.

Meanwhile, the Hydra was still muttering to itself.

"Should we help him? The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"You have time to worry about others? Those three high-blooded Dragon Race members look tough."

"Heh, if you're scared, let me handle them!"

The Beastman at their side finally couldn't take it anymore and growled, "Shut up! Stop arguing!"

After a pause, he couldn't help but add, "Besides, you're three-in-one! It doesn't matter which one of you fights!"

The middle-aged man watched his two companions speechlessly, silently cursing his superiors. 'Why did they have to pair me with two dim-witted clowns?'

'Dealing with these two is exhausting.'

"Alright, stop fooling around."

The middle-aged man interrupted his companions' conversation. His gaze fell on the Dragon Race members opposite them, and his expression turned grave.

"Let's focus on the mission."

The Hydra and the Beastman exchanged a glance, both composing their expressions, drawing their weapons, and assuming combat stances.

Seeing this, a cold sneer flashed across Wilder's face.

"A bunch of rats hiding in the gutter. Just because you succeeded with a few sneak attacks, you think you have enough power to stand against us? How laughable."

"Today, I'll make you understand that rats will always be rats. The moment you dare to peek out, you deserve to be crushed!"

The two high-blooded Dragon Race members standing behind Wilder also sneered contemptuously and drew their weapons.

Just as the battle was about to erupt, a sudden, bloodcurdling scream shattered the standoff.

Both sides instinctively turned toward the sound, just in time to see Leon's body go stiff and fall backward.

A thin, bloody hole had appeared between his eyebrows at some unknown moment. Its edges were smooth, as if pierced by something incredibly sharp.

His face was frozen in a mask of terror and disbelief, as if he had witnessed something utterly impossible.

'What happened?'

The middle-aged man, the Beastman, and the Hydra were all stunned.

'Didn't the intel say Leon was a Lower Gold Warrior with vast combat experience? How is he dead already?'

'What in the world just happened?'

The three high-blooded Dragon Race members were also horrified.

Wilder's gaze fell on the silvery-white light hovering in front of Anton, a look of shock and uncertainty in his eyes.

The light was less than a meter long and as thin as a strand of hair, yet it emanated a heart-stopping sharpness, as if it could slice even a person's gaze.

"Stop him!"

Everett suddenly shrieked, his voice so sharp it almost cracked, like a rat whose tail had been stepped on.

Duncan was the first to react. He swung his short staff, and the sapphire embedded at its tip suddenly erupted with a brilliant, cold light.

Fifth-Circle Magic: Ice Crystal Tomb!

In an instant, the moisture in the air condensed wildly. Countless tiny ice crystals materialized from thin air, like billions of gleaming, cold needles, shooting toward Anton in an overwhelming barrage.

The surrounding guards and Mercenaries snapped out of their daze and charged at Anton.

"Kill!"

"Get him!"

The dull thrum of bowstrings and the hum of elemental energy sounded almost simultaneously. A rain of arrows mixed with Magic spells descended from all directions, weaving a dense, inescapable net of death.

Anton's expression was calm; he stood as still as a mountain.

He didn't even lift a finger. The silvery-white sword-light hovering before him simply trembled.

A clear, piercing cry of a sword rang through the night sky, making everyone's eardrums ache and their chests tighten.

The next moment, the sword-light shot forward.

Fast.

So fast it surpassed the limits of everyone's vision.

The silvery-white light streaked across the night sky, leaving a trail as thin as a hair. Like a fleeting shadow, it slammed into the oncoming ice crystals. With a gentle stir, the sky full of ice crystals shattered with a ROAR, turning into a cloud of fine white powder that scattered everywhere.

The sword-light then continued unabated, weaving through the crowd like a bolt of lightning.

At times, it was like a meteor crashing to earth, piercing through a Caster and their shield mid-cast.

At times, it was like a fish darting through water, winding through the crowd and kicking up a spray of blood with every turn.

At times, it was like thunder splitting the sky, sweeping from east to west. Wherever it passed, weapons broke and armor shattered. No one could block its edge.

The sword-light galloped through the crowd, moving as if through an empty realm.

It had no weight and was not bound by any physical laws. It could turn, accelerate, and change direction at the mere whim of Anton's thoughts.

It was so fast that it left countless afterimages in the night sky, as if hundreds of sword-lights were dancing in the courtyard at once.

But in reality, from beginning to end, there was only that single silver gleam.

This was the power of a Sword Cultivator.

Once a Sword Pill achieves Spirituality and merges with the Divine Soul, wherever the Sword Pill goes is reflected in the user's mind, ensuring it never loses its target.

Furthermore, the flying sword is controlled by Divine Sense. As long as it is within the range of the Divine Sense, it can arrive in an instant, faster than a flash of lightning.

This is the principle behind a flying sword killing enemies from hundreds of miles away.

A High-tier Sword Cultivator's Divine Sense can cover millions of miles. Even if an enemy is millions of miles away, their life can be taken with a single thought from the sword.

Right now, Anton's Divine Sense was fully extended, covering the entire courtyard. It was his attack range, with no blind spots.

The guards and Mercenaries couldn't even see the sword-light's trajectory before their lives were taken.

In contrast, their attacks couldn't even break through the True Essence shield protecting Anton's body.

It was a completely one-sided slaughter.

In just a few breaths, the once-dense crowd had been reduced by more than half.

Corpses littered the ground. Blood flowed between the cracks of the stone slabs, forming small, dark red streams. The thick stench of blood filled the air.

The guards and Mercenaries finally broke.

Someone was the first to drop their weapon and run, and fear spread like a plague.

"Run!"

"He's not human! He's a devil!"

"I don't want to die!"

The remaining guards and Mercenaries scattered, scrambling madly for the courtyard exit. They pushed and trampled one another, their wails, screams, and cries mixing into a cacophony of terror.

But the silvery-white sword-light was like a maggot on a bone, pursuing them relentlessly and reaping every life without mercy.

In a matter of moments, not a single person was left standing in the courtyard.

A dead silence fell over the area, broken only by the CRACKLE of the torches and the faint sound of flowing blood.

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