# Chapter 16: I Am the Legion
No pain or joy lasts longer than time.
At dawn, the hazy gray-white clouds were tinged with gold by the newborn sunlight. Beams of light—bright but containing not a trace of warmth—pierced through the gaps in the clouds, only to be swallowed by a darkness that shrouded the earth.
Within this rapidly advancing darkness, one could hear the sound of perfectly synchronized footsteps, the clanging and scraping of armor rubbing against armor, but not a single sound of human conversation.
The southwestern wasteland of the Grandia Continent had received a group of silent visitors.
Distorted ripples in space-time slowly faded behind them. These dark beings carried a deathly stillness that did not belong to this land, having been teleported from the distant northern sand plateau.
Clang. The sound of metal striking metal rang out. The sunlight grew brighter, piercing through the gray-white clouds to shine upon the land. The scattered shadow-ghosts in the wasteland began to dissipate, and the darkness that had shrouded the earth gradually melted away, revealing what lay beneath.
A heavy-armored force—as perfectly synchronized as a machine, elite to the extreme.
Banners fluttered. Black full-body metal armor clad every soldier of this army. The flails, heavy crossbows, cross-swords at their waists, and the javelins slung across their backs were all exquisitely crafted, gleaming with a bloodthirsty cold light.
But what was most astonishing was that these beings, who bore not a trace of living presence, did not dissipate with the arrival of sunlight. Above their heads, a dim black ring shielded them, containing a power unlike that of ordinary shadow-ghosts, preventing the sunlight from harming them.
At the very front of this force, a warrior clad in ferocious dragon-headed heavy armor, carrying a dragon-slaying greatsword on his back, led the army across the teleportation gate, marching across the soil of the southwestern wasteland.
No pain or joy is heavier than death.
High Commander Alman understood this deeply.
As a dead man revived from slumber, a general who had once commanded an infinite army, no one knew better than he—time and death were so heavy that they could crush all spirit and dim all glory.
Five hundred and fifty-three years ago, the predecessor of the Ulan Empire and the Grul Empire, General Alman Fernandez of the Central Empire, led a great army to campaign against the dragons entrenched on the overseas Dragon Island. Due to this unexpected surprise attack, hundreds of dragons died from the very beginning. Then, under Alman's command, the army steadily compressed the dragons' activity and living space, until this powerful general personally slew the Dragon Clan Chief of that generation, nearly exterminating this ancient and glorious powerful race, leaving only a few dragon-blooded descendants scattered across the world.
Five hundred and fifty-three years later, the revived Dragon-Slaying General walked across this land with his reborn army. Their glory was no longer known to anyone. Their achievements had become a mere passing mention in history books—just like the dragons who were slaughtered back then and forgotten now. Under the cleansing of time, everything gradually returned to dust, returned to silence.
And now, this army of the dead, once laden with glory, marched with firm steps toward the wasteland.
Their goal was to cleanse it of all life.
Ever since the shadow-ghosts swept across the entire continent, all forces of the Grandia World had collapsed under this endless harassment. Most cities were quickly breached or destroyed from within, leaving only survivors who had fled into deep mountains and forests. The population of the entire continent had decreased by ninety percent. "Nine out of ten houses empty" was no longer an exaggerated figure—it was fact.
But even these survivors were now being systematically wiped out by the increasingly active undead army.
And as the architect of all this, High Commander Alman felt no shame in his heart, nor any hesitation. Because all of this came from the command of "that person," and everything "that person" said and did was, without a doubt, righteous.
Even war, slaughter, and the destruction of the world—all of it.
But suddenly, the army's march stopped.
The sound of footsteps vanished in an instant, leaving only the howling of wind passing through the air. The dawn sunlight had completely pierced through the clouds, covering the world in light, filling it with warmth.
The general, wearing his dragon-headed helmet, lowered the hand that had signaled the army to halt. He raised his head and looked at the endless wasteland before him.
One could notice that the two clusters of red flame behind the V-shaped gap in his helmet suddenly contracted into pinpricks of light, and the hand resting on the sword hilt at his waist couldn't help but tighten.
Alman saw a person.
On the wasteland, the grass and trees were withered and dry. The earth had cracked into countless spiderweb-like fissures due to the great drought. And a warrior with black hair and crimson eyes, radiating an indescribable pressure, stood on this plain with no cover whatsoever, as if waiting for their arrival.
He wore black light armor. A silver greatsword as tall as a man was planted in the ground by his right hand. A massive battle-axe was slung over his shoulder. His face bore an expression of calm bordering on cruelty.
A majesty like the sun radiated across the surrounding dozens of miles. This power dimmed even the dawn sky, making him the greatest source of heat in this world, scorching everything around him. The withered grass and trees were merely incidental—only these undead were the true focus.
Alman stood before his army. The black ring above his head rotated slowly, blocking the pure life energy radiating from the warrior's body. He immediately knew that this was their target for this mission.
A peak Heaven Realm powerhouse on the verge of the Saint Domain, ready to break through at any moment!
A being equal to their current broken bodies, belonging to this increasingly decaying world—the pinnacle of its power.
"Are you that otherworldly being?"
The Dragon Armor General's voice, transmitted through mana resonance, reached several kilometers away. He spoke in a tone so flat it seemed devoid of emotion: "We have a list of all the remaining Heaven Realm powerhouses on the continent. Those at the peak of Heaven Realm, close to breaking through, are especially closely monitored—and you are not on it."
The warrior did not answer his words. Joshua seemed to have no desire for conversation. He simply gradually tightened his grip on the handles of his sword and axe, vast energy flowing within his body.
But Alman was not bothered. He seemed to have other thoughts, continuing on his own: "I don't know why you came to this hopeless world."
"But no matter what, you'd best return immediately. Do not interfere in our struggle with the living."
"That is not something you otherworldly beings should involve yourselves in."
These words carried a heavy warning but not a trace of hostility. This attitude made Joshua pause for a moment, but then he shook his head, as if mocking the other for overthinking.
I just do what I want to do.
The warrior slowly raised his greatsword and battle-axe, then merged them in his hands into a single, ancient Dragon-Hunting Sword Lance. Gripping the long handle of the sword-lance, he assumed a battle stance, inviting the other to fight. Flames burned in his eyes, as if proclaiming a truth.
—Only the victor has the right to speak.
As he finished speaking, the life energy radiation that had been constantly spilling outward began to rapidly contract, surging back into Joshua's body. Knowing that his opponent was no less than He Er La Si, and possibly even greater, the warrior would never be careless, nor would he hold back even a shred of his strength.
"You want to fight?"
On the other side, understanding the warrior's intent, Alman shook his head and laughed coldly: "Pitiful one. You have no idea what you're facing."
The next moment, the general drew the longsword from his waist, gripping it tightly with both hands, holding it vertically before him.
A thunderous roar erupted from his body. With this sound like rumbling thunder, endless smoke and black mist burst from the gaps in the Dragon Armor General's armor, converging above him and his army into a massive black ring constructed from countless runes and totems. This ring linked all the shadow-ghosts together, as if merging them into one.
"I am the titled Saint Domain, Dragon-Slaying General Alman Fernandez of the Central Empire, Fourth Commander of the Shadow-Ghosts."
The flowing clouds shifted under the manipulation of this power, as if an invisible pair of great hands were gathering all the energy between heaven and earth. And Alman's voice grew louder and louder—from a flat statement at first to a sound like ten thousand dragons roaring simultaneously. The wind formed by the sound waves surged across the sky above the wasteland, churning the dark clouds, dimming heaven and earth, as if nothing could defy his will.
The Dragon Armor General raised his head slightly, his gaze focusing on Joshua. A fierce killing intent exploded forth.
"What you will face is the judgment of ten thousand armies!"
Clang! All the undead standing behind Alman drew their weapons. The blood-red light in their scarlet eyes grew more intense, as if thirsting for the slaughter and flesh to come.
And silently, a colossal military god phantom, as if awakening from slumber in the underworld, materialized from the void. This military god phantom had not a shred of flesh on its body—only pale white bones. But it was clad in dragon-scale heavy armor, wielding a bone-crushing warhammer and armor-splitting longsword. A bloody, vicious killing intent radiated from its entire being, as if the resentment and curses of millions of slain people had condensed onto the armor of this military god phantom, causing ripples of malice like black light to ripple across its surface.
Five hundred and fifty-three years ago, the Dragon-Slaying General's forbidden technique that gathered the power of the entire army to destroy nations and slay dragons without defeat—[Lord of Ten Thousand Armies]—had seen the light of day once more!
And his opponent was but a single man.
"I am the legion, and the legion is me."
"To face me is to face my army. To kill me is to slaughter us all."
Alman pointed his longsword at the silent warrior before him. Above the undead army, the military god phantom, comparable to a Titan, also extended its sword, pointing at the warrior. The fierce, brutal killing intent seemed to freeze all things in the world, making all living beings offer their necks to the blade!
And the warrior's eyes lit up.
He spoke the first words since their encounter.
"That doesn't sound hard."