God-Tier Extraction Talent: Reincarnated in a Game-like World!

Chapter 421: Clash of Lords [1/2]

At Henry’s words, Gabriel smiled. "No. I don’t think I’m anything. I just know what happens if I let you keep growing. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen camps like yours become kingdoms, and then the people inside become slaves without chains."

Henry’s spear trembled slightly, not from weakness but from suppressed rage. "So you took it upon yourself to play judge."

"Someone has to." Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly.

Henry took a step forward, and the ground cracked again. "And my brother. What did he do to deserve death."

"He committed several heinous crimes. Death was mercy," he replied in a tone that lacked any emotion.

Henry’s eyes turned bloodshot as he heard the nonchalant reply and the complete lack of remorse in his tone.

"So that was the reason you killed him. You killed him because of how he ruled his own camp."

"And that’s why you don’t understand," Gabriel replied. "You think building something gives you the right to do anything for it."

Henry stared at him, breathing heavily. The gold veins on his armor pulsed again. His aura surged outward and made nearby fighters stagger. Even Broken Dawn members felt it and took another step back, eyes cautious.

"Listen carefully," Henry said, his voice low now, forced down, controlled. "Everything you’re saying is just an excuse. You didn’t come here for morality. You came because you wanted power. You wanted resources. You wanted territory. Don’t pretend otherwise."

Gabriel chuckled lightly.

Henry’s eyes narrowed. "Yes. Territory. Camps like ours are the only stable structures that come close to a kingdom. Whoever controls them controls the flow of survivors, food, weapons, and information. And most importantly, they inherit the lordship of that camp. That’s the reason you’re here. You know that, so don’t insult me with that fake righteous talk."

Gabriel’s expression became unreadable, his voice turning colder. "You’re right about one thing."

Henry leaned forward slightly, listening.

"I know exactly what happens when leaders die," Gabriel said evenly. "That’s why I’m here."

Henry froze for half a second. "What."

Gabriel’s gaze moved past him toward the eastern camp’s inner walls, toward the buildings where supplies were hoarded, where refugees lived under constant pressure, where order was enforced by fear.

"Your camp doesn’t collapse when leaders die. It changes hands. That’s all. The same people suffer, just under a different name. So I’m not here just to kill you. I’m here to break the cycle."

Henry laughed again, but this time it was louder, almost mocking. "Break the cycle. You think you can break a cycle with blood. You kill my brother, you come here, you kill my men, and you speak about breaking cycles. You’re either insane or arrogant."

"Maybe both." He shrugged.

Henry’s spear tip pointed directly at Gabriel’s chest.

"Let me ask you something then. If you break this so called cycle, what happens next. Do you feed everyone. Do you protect everyone. Do you take responsibility for the camp when monsters come. When bandits come. When winter comes. Or do you just leave behind rubble and call it freedom."

The question lingered. It was the first time Henry sounded like an actual leader rather than a coward. It was easy to destroy. It was harder to replace what you destroyed with something better.

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment, then spoke slowly. "I plan to take over the camp, then move northward and conquer that as well. And obviously I’ll make a difference compared to you and your power drunk siblings."

Henry’s spear trembled again. His breathing grew harsher. He glanced around briefly and saw it. Even his own men were watching him now, waiting to see if he would truly stand and fight or if he would break again. His ego, his pride, his fear, all of it collided in his chest.

"This is what you want," Henry said, voice low. "You want me to look weak in front of them. You want to strip my authority before you kill me."

"If you already understand, then why are we still talking." Gabriel said as he tightened his grip on Crimson Judgement and brought it in front of him, a clear indication that he was done talking.

Henry’s eyes widened slightly behind the visor. His grip tightened until the spear shaft creaked. The gold veins on his armor pulsed brighter. A skill activated. The aura around him tightened, becoming denser, heavier, as if the air itself had thickened.

Gabriel’s smile faded slightly, his eyes narrowing. For the first time, the people watching could sense it. He was now paying attention.

Henry took one step forward, then another, spear held at the perfect angle. His movements were controlled, not rushed, not sloppy. The armor made him heavy, but it also made him stable, and stability was all a spear user needed if he understood spacing.

"You killed my brother," he said, voice steady now. "I can accept that. It’s the world we live in. But coming here after, coming for us when we didn’t even touch you, that’s what I can’t accept. That’s why I’m going to stop you right here."

"I like how you make it seem like you’re the victim." Gabriel took a fighting stance. "As if you haven’t been misusing your power all this time and claiming it was for the camp."

Henry hesitated for half a second. That hesitation was enough to reveal the truth. It wasn’t for the camp. It was for himself. For his pride. For his name. For the fact that if he lost here, he would become nothing.

Gabriel saw it clearly.

Henry took a deeper breath, then lunged forward with the first true strike, spear driving straight toward Gabriel’s chest with clean, brutal intent. Gabriel finally moved as well, stepping into the attack instead of away from it, and the clash that followed sent a sharp metallic ring across the battlefield as spear met steel and the real fight began.

Around them, the fighting continued, but the space between the two men became the center of gravity for the entire battlefield.

Everyone felt it and instantly gave them a wide space to fight, careful not to be caught in the shockwaves of their clash.

Even Dominic, watching from above, leaned forward slightly, his smile returning in a thin line.

"Now," Dominic murmured. "Let’s see how predetermined it really is."