[371] The Might!

Hatred. Rage. Jealousy. Resentment. Despair. And finally, death.

All these emotions, the raw essence of negativity, were absorbed by August like an insatiable vortex.

This wasn't a petty quarrel involving hundreds or even thousands. This was a war involving hundreds of thousands, with lives lost every passing second.

Amidst the chaos, August stood at the epicenter of this macabre dance of death, devouring it all with reckless abandon—even the souls of the fallen.

As this relentless process unfolded, the primal forces of sin and darkness began eroding the void-like energy within his body.

"Kill him! If we can't escape, we'll fight to the death!"

"That pretty boy looks weak—kill him!"

"He must be someone important. Taking him down would be a huge win!"

"Charge!"

A torrent of northern warriors surged toward August.

The battlefield was a maelstrom, every fighter consumed by the frenzy of combat. Even Esdeath was reveling in the slaughter, her icy demeanor giving way to unrestrained bloodlust.

This left August alone, mounted on his horse in the midst of the chaos. Yet, his lone figure was so conspicuous amidst the battlefield's turmoil that it drew every eye.

"A bunch of fools, overestimating themselves."

Boom!

In an instant, an overwhelming aura descended, blanketing the battlefield and the entire northern capital in its suffocating grip.

The sheer force of August's presence wasn't just imposing—it was demonic. What others might call the Conqueror's Haki had transformed in him into a sinister, godlike authority.

In moments, the majority of the northern warriors collapsed, their eyes rolling back as they fell lifelessly to the ground.

Even those who remained standing—barely one-tenth of the army—were rendered incapable of combat. Only a pitiful few managed to endure, though even they were trembling in fear.

"What… what was that?"

Daidara stared at August, standing unshaken at the center of the battlefield.

Though August's figure seemed faint, an unmistakable shadow—a phantom of a demon—was hovering behind him.

Esdeath, the Three Beasts, and the surrounding imperial soldiers were all stunned.

No one had imagined August possessed such strength. Merely unleashing his aura had subdued the northern forces.

As August surveyed the swath of defeated enemies, he scratched his head in mild annoyance.

"With all of them down, where am I supposed to gather negative energy now?"

"This… this can't be! No one can be this powerful! It's an illusion!"

Numa Seika, the so-called Hero of the North, stood paralyzed with fear. The oppressive aura had nearly crushed him entirely.

Despite August's severe injuries, the power of his aura wasn't tied to magic. It emanated from his very soul—a presence transcending this world's systems of strength.

"A Hero of the North, huh? How disappointing. Just another worm."

Splat!

Before Numa could react, Esdeath's attack struck—a massive pillar of ice slammed into him, sending him flying.

The trajectory wasn't random; it hurled him straight toward August.

Thud!

Numa landed unceremoniously at August's feet, dazed and bleeding.

August glanced upward, spotting Esdeath atop the city walls. When had she ascended so quickly? And not only that, she'd practically delivered this "hero" to him as a gift.

August chuckled. He needed the teigu anyway, not this so-called hero.

Cough!

Struggling to his feet, Numa spat blood. The force of the ice attack was immense—if not for his decent strength, he would've been killed outright.

Tap.

Dismounting his horse, August approached with an air of indifference.

"Who… who are you?" Numa demanded, barely holding himself upright as he pointed his teigu—a long spear—toward August.

Even though he knew he had lost, Numa refused to yield.

"Who I am doesn't matter," August replied casually. "What matters is that this relic you hold is a gift from Esdeath to me. Care to hand it over?"

"Ridiculous! This is my weapon!"

"No? A pity."

Smack!

Before Numa could react, August seized his head with one hand. In the same motion, the spear was torn from Numa's grip and claimed by August.

Numa froze, his mind screaming: Not even close. This man is on a completely different level! A walking disaster!

"You're pathetic. Weaklings like you should know their place, Hero of the North."

"You imperial invaders…!"

"We're not just invaders. We're the strong."

Crunch!

With those words, August's hand crushed Numa's skull.

The death was swift, but for August, the real reward came after. As a demon king, every soul he personally claimed became his sustenance.

Unlike the souls he merely absorbed, those consumed as the Demon King offered their memories and very essence to August.

Most of the time, such fragments were discarded—worthless clutter. But this time, August decided otherwise.

With a single breath, he absorbed Numa's life and memories, gaining everything the so-called Hero had ever experienced.

After a moment of reflection, August smirked.

"This guy was nothing but a frog in a well."

Numa had possessed a teigu but had utterly failed to grasp its true potential. On the battlefield, ordinary soldiers were like children before relic users.

Esdeath's forces, including herself, had four relic users. That alone was equivalent to an army of thousands.

Particularly notable was Nyau's relic, Military Music Dream: Scream. Though only a support relic, its power on the battlefield could shift the tide of war with a single melody.

While Nyau might not rank highly in a direct fight, her utility here far surpassed Daidara or Liver.

August glanced at the spear relic in his hand. It was likely a lower-tier relic by his standards; even the weakest noble phantasm could outperform it effortlessly.

Even worse, the relic resisted his touch, further souring his mood.

"A mere weapon dares to defy me? Fine. Be destroyed."

Snap!

The spear shattered in his grip—a relic from a set of forty-eight irreplaceable weapons, reduced to fragments.

By now, the war was over.

The northern army's leader was dead. Most soldiers had collapsed; those who survived had lost their will to fight. The few who remained standing were swiftly eliminated.

Victory belonged to the empire, delivered with chilling ease.

___

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