The King's Grandeur

With a swift motion, the Death Breath in my right hand sliced through the air, and under the might of this necromantic weapon, the body of the spectral swordsman was cleaved into countless fragments, which were subsequently absorbed into the blade. Having vanquished this foe, a surge of vitality coursed through me as I resolutely defended my small elevated position, dispatching any encroaching undead, whether they hailed from Skull Island or the ghostly fleet.

On the battlefield, a high-ranking skeletal warrior, shrouded in an aura of dark energy, let out a thunderous roar after slaying innumerable enemies. The intense transformation that overtook him rendered his already towering physique even more imposing, his fierce presence intensified, and his robust skeletal frame became even more formidable. His once fearsome longsword seemed to come alive, writhing and reshaping into an entirely new form. The obsidian blade, adorned with ghastly white patterns, bore a strange eye near the hilt; any sea creature caught in its gaze became paralyzed, helpless against the onslaught of this high-ranking skeletal warrior.

From a distance, I observed this spectacle, finally grasping why the high-ranking warriors of Skull Island wielded such formidable weapons—they could transform themselves and their arms by absorbing the death energy harvested from their slain foes. Perhaps I too could elevate my own Death Breaths!

Many facts attest that greed is folly, yet who can guarantee a life free from temptation? In that fleeting moment, I made a decision fraught with risk and reward, abandoning my seemingly secure position.

After observing for some time, I discerned a crucial truth: the smaller the sea monsters, the more difficult they were to contend with. Faced with the relentless tide of diminutive crustaceans, I wondered how many swords I would need to wield to vanquish them, while the larger sea creatures, though clumsy, presented greater opportunities.

A colossal lobster, cloaked in darkness and exuding a foul stench, possessed pincers powerful enough to sever a car in two. Thousands of skeletal warriors had perished at its claws, yet it remained undeterred even when beset by over a dozen high-ranking skeletal lords.

Upon entering this battlefield, I did not rush to engage; instead, I systematically eliminated the surrounding sea monsters before crossing my swords and launching a series of lateral strikes. My swordsmanship, a technique I had devised after Horus's instruction, lacked fixed forms, relying instead on adaptability and a singular focus on the efficiency of my attacks, devoid of any superfluous flourishes. Despite its formidable size, the lobster's intelligence appeared lacking; my attacks went unnoticed as it continued to battle the skeletal lords with fervor. This realization eased my mind, and I leapt onto the back of the monstrous lobster.

With a resounding smack, I combined the two Death Breaths and plunged them into the creature's head. Anyone familiar with shrimp knows their brains are minuscule, and thus I had to strike with precision. The lobster's shell was incredibly hard; my sword met it as if striking stone, producing a resounding thud without inflicting any damage.

Initially, I had intended to chip away patiently, but the lobster beneath me would not allow it. Though its brain had long since decayed, it still housed a flame of the soul, and it would not permit my reckless stabbing.

The lobster retaliated, swinging one of its massive pincers toward me. I dared not test my strength against such a behemoth and swiftly leapt backward, narrowly avoiding its attack while simultaneously delivering a mental strike.

Hit by my blow, the lobster found itself in a predicament. Though its massive frame and sturdy shell made it formidable in physical combat, it was significantly weaker in terms of mental prowess. The soul flame within it was directly struck, causing the green fire in its eyes to flare dangerously, nearly extinguishing.

So this technique proved to be so effective! 

Realizing the potency of my mental strikes, I unleashed a barrage of seventeen or eighteen, leaving the lobster swaying as if intoxicated, too disoriented to thwart my piercing endeavor. After thrusting my swords a multitude of times, I finally felt a lightness in my grip—I had pierced the lobster's skull.

The soul flame, touched directly by the two Death Breaths, vanished as if siphoned through a straw, and beneath me, the colossal lobster crumbled with a thunderous crash, its decayed form reverting to its original state.

Deprived of the nourishing death energy, its once-rotting body rapidly deteriorated. The combat techniques taught to me by Horus were indeed most suited for the battlefield; he had always emphasized how to confront advantageous foes, as most battles were rarely one-on-one.

As I unleashed my fury, the war between Skull Island and the ghostly fleet became the ultimate test of my training. I lost track of time, having slain countless skeletal soldiers, sea monsters, phantoms, and spirits, when suddenly a hauntingly distant horn echoed across the sea, causing innumerable sea creatures to retreat like a receding tide. Initially, I believed this to signal the end of the battle, but I was mistaken, for from the depths of the ocean arose a colossal skeletal structure—its former life surely that of a prehistoric beast, rivaling the largest vessels of the ghost fleet, each exceeding a hundred thousand tons.

The horn had signaled the retreat of the lesser troops and the commencement of the generals' battle. Amidst the seven surges of death energy emanating from Skull Island, one abruptly vanished, followed by an immense pressure that enveloped the entire island—a mental force capable of engulfing the vast expanse of Skull Island, far surpassing my own strength by an unfathomable magnitude, at least five hundred thousand times beyond my capacity. A dark cloud began to rise from the location of the dissipating death energy, revealing the most surreal sight I had ever beheld: a tall, slender man clad in pure white, adorned with two strings of paper money at his temples, slowly materialized from the black mist.

Behind him, a multitude of women of indescribable beauty appeared—blonde bikini-clad sirens, red-haired professionals, and classical dark-haired beauties, transcending dynasties, nationalities, professions, and races, their grandeur astounding. The only flaw that prevented me from envying them was the terrifying transformation they had undergone in death, with only a few maintaining their slender forms, now resembling mummies or desiccated corpses.

This man possessed an insatiable appetite; even in life, he had indulged in pleasures, yet in death, he could not afford to be picky.