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Chapter 523: Daddy! This Looks Delicious, Can I Eat It?
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 15:03:00 +0000 UTCA Saint rank fighter from the New Continent's group had a sudden gleam in his eye and signaled his two companions. The three accelerated abruptly, splitting into three directions as they streaked like lightning toward Charlot Mecklenburg.
Charlot’s subordinates, seeing this, were about to take to the air to intervene. However, the Mecklenburg patriarch’s figure blurred at a speed so extreme that afterimages trailed behind him. Without employing any visible techniques, he unleashed a single punch into the abdomen of one Saint rank fighter, shattering their midsection. Disbelief filled the eyes of the doomed attacker as life drained away. Then, with a sharp elbow strike, Charlot smashed another assailant’s chest, pulverizing bones and organs into pulp. Grabbing the shoulders of the final attacker, he wrenched them apart with sheer brute force, tearing the unfortunate Saint rank fighter in half.
In an instant, Charlot had slain three Saint rank fighters. His decisive and ruthless actions shocked not only the New Continent’s warriors but also his own followers.
Andreas couldn’t help but exclaim, “How can he… move so fast?”
The famed Constantine family’s Lamia Breathing Technique was known for its emphasis on speed, yet even it couldn’t achieve this level of swiftness. Perhaps Count Constantine himself could move faster than Charlot, but the Count was once the strongest combatant of the former Black Phoenix Dynasty. Comparing their prowess, the Count’s strength rivaled even Juno Art
Juno Arthur, clicking his tongue in amazement, called out loudly, “Charlot! How’s your Swiftstep Technique coming along?”
Charlot didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he raised two fingers toward his teacher, retracted them, then extended seven fingers.
Juno shrugged. “Too much stacking of the Agility Runes, I see.”
Only moments ago, Charlot had realized that after ascending to Saint rank, all extraordinary abilities experienced a dramatic transformation. Within the fifteen Blood Vortexes inside his body, each now held runes. His Swiftstep Technique had condensed over twenty runes at once, a total of 27 in all, granting him the incredible speed he just displayed—like thunderbolts flashing across the heavens.
However, it wasn’t just speed that had enabled Charlot’s earlier fhur’s. Charlot, however, had only just ascended to Saint rank—barely a minute ago, at that.eat. He had employed additional secret techniques as well.
Speed alone couldn’t have achieved such a result.
Monteblanc, frowning deeply, recalled how the three Saint rank attackers had quietly coordinated before their ambush on Charlot. Yet, he hadn’t tried to stop them. Life in the New Continent was far harsher than in the Old Continent. In the New Continent, there were no pretenses about honorable combat—ambushes, poisonings, curses, and gang attacks were all fair game. Who cared about fairness in a battle to the death? Monteblanc even felt that if Charlot had been killed or captured alive by the three, it would have served as a lesson against naivety and clinging to outdated notions like one-on-one duels. After all, who cared about methods if the enemy lay dead?
But Monteblanc was completely unprepared for the outcome. It defied all expectations. Charlot’s decisive, thunderous response had instantly annihilated three Saint ranks, each with a single blow. Not one survived to take a second attack.
Though Monteblanc was surprised, he had seen countless deaths on the New Continent and remained composed. He spoke calmly, “Your opponent is me.”
Before Charlot could reply, a sharp and childlike voice rang out loudly. “Daddy! This looks delicious! Can I eat it?”
Charlot replied indifferently, “Emilia! Use the city ahead as your boundary. Everyone outside the city walls…”
“You can eat them.”
“This is a war, and I don’t need prisoners. I won’t leave anyone alive.”
“I want these New Continent savages to understand…”
“What it means to touch a dragon’s reverse scale.”
Monteblanc suddenly felt a wave of unease. His body surged with Dou Qi, reaching its peak at the terrifying 23rd rank. Infusing it into his massive war blade, he spun, unleashing a sweeping strike—only to hit nothing. In the next second, a dainty foot stomped down on his head. The force of the kick nearly drove Monteblanc’s skull into his chest. Like a cannonball, he was launched into the air and plunged into the sea, only to land on a strange ship instead.
Rubbing his aching head, Monteblanc cursed inwardly. That kick had been so sudden and inexplicable it felt as if some malevolent deity had targeted him. Yet, despite his confusion, Monteblanc’s extensive battlefield experience kicked in. He forcibly rallied his Dou Qi, attempting to escape the ship. But no matter how much power he summoned, he remained grounded. Terror gripped his heart.
As he struggled, he noticed a crouched figure nearby. Mistaking them for an enemy, Monteblanc lashed out with a kick. The figure caught his foot and retaliated. In mere moments, they had exchanged seven or eight moves. Monteblanc was stunned. The opponent’s body felt as unyielding as forged steel, their punches and kicks producing sparks against his blade. Worse yet, he couldn’t land a decisive blow, while their immense strength and battle acumen made them an overwhelming adversary.
Monteblanc, overwhelmed, finally asked, “Who are you?”
The man replied, “Gareth Mecklenburg, eldest son of Charlot Mecklenburg.”
Monteblanc cursed. “Wasn’t your father supposed to duel me? Why send you for an ambush? Where’s the honor in this?”
Gareth answered coolly, “Didn’t you attack him first with an ambush? Besides, I’ve never seen my father fight a proper duel. That was before I became his son.”
“You missed that era!”
“Also, if you hadn’t attacked me first, I wouldn’t have laid a finger on you.”
Monteblanc backed away hastily. As promised, Gareth didn’t pursue. However, no matter how many times Monteblanc tried to leave the ship, he couldn’t. Frustrated, he asked, “How can I get off this ship?”
Gareth replied, “You’ll need to ask my sister. Only if she permits it can you leave.”
Relieved but wary, Monteblanc called out, “Miss Mecklenburg, please allow me to leave.”
At some point, a young girl had floated onto Gareth’s shoulder, a set of silverware in her hands and a silver plate in her mouth. Chewing contentedly, she mumbled, “Gareth! Want a piece?”
Gareth replied flatly, “I don’t eat things like that.”
Emilia, still chewing, retorted, “Who are you trying to fool? We’re siblings. Every time I offer you something tasty, you devour it all. How else would you have reached the 23rd rank?”
“Even though 23rd rank is just slightly less useless.”
Gareth remained silent, having long learned not to argue with his sister.
Monteblanc, however, bristled with indignation. What did she mean by “slightly less useless”?
Was she calling him useless?
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