Colonial Suit

Fight harder when wounded, fight fiercer when in pain!

Never stop fighting until the blood runs dry!

This is the Tyrant!

In this world, there are many strong individuals who transform pain into power, but none have reached Mundo's level. His injuries are not just a source of strength, but also of fighting spirit and fervor. Compared to traditional berserkers, who convert injuries into motivation, their combat effectiveness still decreases significantly when injuries are too severe. But not Mundo! No matter how severe the injury, it only adds more fuel to his fighting spirit.

He is a man born to fight. Even death is only because he can no longer move, not because he doesn't want to fight!

Beneath the black mist, he was covered in blood, his body riddled with wounds like the mouths of infants. A diagonal gash across his chest went deep into the bone, exposing the writhing internal organs and tendons within. Yet he was still laughing, a ferocious grin on his face.

The pain crashed through his nerves like a landslide, giving him a drug-like euphoria.

"Not enough!"

He shouted, taunting all the enemies before him. "Far from enough!"

"A little more! A little more pain! Who else is there!? Who else!?"

The mental puppets were silent. Faced with such a monster-like man, anyone would be silent.

They saw that Mundo's left arm was practically useless. Because the trauma he had inflicted on the enemy had been truthfully reflected back onto himself. True Reflection was no joke. If the damage Mundo had ultimately caused hadn't exceeded the limit of the reflection, he probably would have killed himself at the same time as killing the enemy.

Yet he was still shouting, still roaring. As if this pain was just child's play.

In the pungent stench of blood, they clearly saw Mundo's flesh writhing, healing. This was Clodile's strength. As long as he didn't die immediately, the enhanced cell proliferation would let the enemy know what despair was. The ancient colony outfit on Mundo was very tattered, the dense scars on it were more like his medals than his mistakes!

However... that wasn't a reason for them to be afraid! As mental puppets, transformed by the will of the universe, they had already lost the emotions of ordinary people. The feeling of fear had long been excised!

In an instant, three figures appeared around Mundo. One of them suddenly attacked, slashing at Mundo's front with a blade. The other two puppets disappeared like ghosts, emitting rays of light like hair strands. As the blade flashed, a cloud of blood erupted from Mundo's body, but he cleaved the warrior opposite him in half with a single blow. But in doing so, he slowed down slightly, and those hair-like rays of light penetrated his body.

In the next moment, his figure suddenly froze, like a wooden sculpture.

Shadow Arts!

Marionette!

Even Mundo would be slowed down for a while if hit by this kind of ability. This was a common ailment for melee warriors, who always suffered a bit when facing strange ability users.

The dark ghosts reappeared, and the two puppets were already behind Mundo, slashing at his head. A star-level strike could shatter even the void!

But Mundo couldn't dodge!

He was powerful, but he was not a god after all. If it was a head-on battle, he could kill these two ability users in a fraction of a second, but in this kind of one-sided battle, he couldn't do everything perfectly. Especially when the strength of both sides was not vastly different.

But why was there still a mocking smile in his eyes?

The blade stopped just a few millimeters from the back of Mundo's neck, and the two ghosts could no longer strike. It wasn't that they didn't want to, but their lives had dissipated at this moment. Two slender, needle-like javelins pierced their spines, taking away their vitality.

Only then did Mundo move, raising his head and laughing loudly. "You're late!"

"Better late than never," a voice replied from the black mist, and then a thin figure appeared.

Wasn't it Ezreuth?

The two javelins just now were from his hand. Only he, named 'Nexus', could deliver the most deadly weapon into the enemy's vital points at the right time and place.

If Mundo's battle was a violent aesthetic, then his battle was the art of chess. For Ezreuth, the battlefield was boundless, and the wider the battlefield, the more it was his stage to play. Because he was Ezreuth, 'Nexus' Ezreuth.

'The narrowness of the battlefield is the narrowness of the heart. In my eyes, the chessboard does not need boundaries... Ezreuth.'

The air was filled with the smell of blood, and the energy surged even more violently. On the vast battlefield, mental puppets appeared in front of Mundo, like a heavy military formation. But Mundo laughed indifferently, and figures also appeared behind him.

They were not numerous, and seemed particularly thin compared to the mental puppets. But these fewer than ten figures exuded a stronger aura than the nearly one hundred mental puppets! Some were thin, some were burly, some were fat, some were crooked. But without exception, they had one thing in common. That was unruliness and overbearingness.

Ten people were ten demons walking out of hell. From the inside out, they exuded an overbearing aura.

"Fortunately, the prey wasn't wasted by Mundo," said a crooked, slovenly guy.

"It's just that he's too stupid, and he almost got killed by the prey," replied another fat, ball-like man. At the same time, he patted his belly with dissatisfaction. "I'm getting fat again, I need to move around."

"Ninety-two, how do we divide them?" asked a sickly guy.

"Whoever is faster gets them. Are we supposed to let them?"

"Then let's do it. Don't let the King wait too long. It wasn't easy for us to come out this time. The King's body probably can't take much time either. Let's finish the job quickly. There's still a bastard waiting for the King to clean up above."

"You're the first person who dares to call the Will of the Universe a bastard."

"What are you afraid of? Anyway, I'm dead, can it still go to the Sea of Blood to catch me?"

"Then let's do it!" The last man, of medium stature but extremely sturdy, suddenly shouted in a low voice. Everyone was silent again. But their figures disappeared at the same time, appearing in the mental puppets' battle formation. The light of particle cannons pierced into the crowd like plowing the land, dividing the mental puppets into more than a dozen square formations. Then the figures flickered, each rushing into the divided battlefield, setting off patches of light rain and blood mist.

The mental puppets roared and counterattacked, but every attack was blocked by well-timed javelins. Every dodge was ambushed by well-timed javelins.

In the sky above the battlefield, Ezreuth yawned and threw out a few javelins from time to time. His eyes fell on Trius in the original place.

He was wondering if he should include this guy in the battle as well? To make it easier for the King?

Not good, right...

Would he be cleaned up by the King? But... is this prey really not enough to share?

Ezreuth thought badly, and couldn't help but throw out a javelin. Flying towards Trius's noble... uh, buttocks. (To be continued. If you like this work, you are welcome to vote for recommendation and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)