The Strongest War God

Chapter 1290: Releasing the Tiger Back to the Mountain

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

Who would dare to be so presumptuous as to claim they would certainly reach that realm within their lifetime?

No one dared to guarantee it.

Countless heaven’s favorites had found themselves stranded at the quasi-emperor realm after reaching the supreme pinnacle realm, unable to progress further toward becoming an emperor.

Some remained entrenched in the quasi-emperor until the end of their days, their potential unrealized as their lifespans waned.

Braydon Neal harbored no interest in the fifth prince, nor did he possess any inclination to end his life.

The young emperors before him were of little consequence amidst his dominance over the Frost Prison.

Remaining in place, he devised a plan, mindful of the imminent spread of news regarding the events within the Frost Prison to the Donta Imperial City.

Prior to that, Braydon had tasks to accomplish.

As for the fifth prince and his kind, they dared not make any sudden moves, recognizing that their survival hinged upon Braydon’s mercy.

To alert Imperial Lord Kyan Yengo of the situation would be tantamount to inviting death—an outcome the fifth prince, despite his imperial lineage, was not foolish enough to court.

His sole concern lay in preserving his own life, indifferent to the affairs unfolding within the Frost Prison.

With a purposeful stride, Braydon retraced his steps to the Frost Prison, methodically obliterating the black door on the eighteenth level.

Those incarcerated above the fifteenth floor held no interest for him, particularly those below the emperor realm.

His focus lay squarely on the quasi-emperors and emperors.

Addressing the prisoners, Braydon made his terms clear as he dismantled yet another black door.

“If you wish to escape, I have one condition: each of you must offer me a drop of your blood essence and acknowledge me as your master. In return, I shall grant you your freedom,” he declared calmly.

A dissenting voice arose immediately.

“Nonsense! Acknowledging you as master would reduce us to mere servants. I’d rather remain imprisoned in this accursed prison!”

The stakes were clear: their fates hung in the balance at Braydon’s discretion.

Destroying the black door on the sixteenth floor, Braydon positioned himself at its threshold, his terms laid bare.

With the destruction of the door, those who refused to comply were swiftly killed by Braydon.

The Frost Prison teemed with malevolent souls, including some from the Oracle Palace, yet none dared to defy Braydon’s authority as he stood guard.

An influx of frenzied individuals surged forth, driven by a desperate bid for freedom, heedless of Braydon’s admonitions.

The shattered door rendered his words irrelevant; in their eyes, only escape mattered.

Braydon sighed softly, lifting his spear and impaling three defiant figures against the wall, their lifeblood staining the ground below.

The sudden violence quelled the chaos, eliciting shocked and enraged reactions from those present.

Unyielding in their hope for escape, they found themselves unexpectedly thwarted by the white-robed youth, their aspirations dashed.

While the door lay shattered, Braydon’s conditions remained firm.

Those who rejected his terms faced certain death.

It was a stark choice—comply and live, or resist and perish.

Braydon’s offer was clear: surrender a drop of blood essence and submit to his dominion, or face annihilation.

For these souls, it seemed there existed no alternative path.

Amidst the throng, Xetsa Yeza approached with tentative steps, her gaze downcast, unable to meet Braydon’s eyes.

She bore a heavy sense of guilt toward him—a burden that weighed heavily upon her.

Recalling the past transgressions of the Oracle Palace against Braydon’s children, Xetsa harbored a secret remorse.

She had concealed her affiliation with the Oracle Palace from Braydon, a fact that now compounded her feelings of culpability.

Summoning her resolve, Xetsa extended her delicate wrist, coaxing forth a single drop of crimson blood.

It was a gesture of surrender—a concession to Braydon’s terms.

Observing her compliance, Braydon spoke softly, his tone gentle yet resolute.

“Take the Oracle Palace members and leave” he instructed, his gaze fixed upon her bowed form.

Xetsa’s incredulous gaze met his.

To her surprise, Braydon declined her blood essence and did not leave any mental imprint.

“In the past, you aided me within the Oracle Palace. Today, I have repaid that debt by sparing you. Our paths diverge now, and should we meet again, we shall be adversaries,” Braydon murmured as he moved past her, leaving behind a lingering sense of finality.

In that moment, a veil of mist clouded Xetsa’s eyes, her mind consumed by a singular thought—should fate decree their reunion, it would be as foes.

Braydon’s allegiance lay with the protection of Hansworth, an oath sworn to vanquish any threat to his homeland.

Thus, all within the ruins were deemed adversaries.

Their allegiance to different factions left them no other path.

With Xetsa’s departure, she was accompanied by numerous members of the Oracle Palace—among them Divine Priests like Jitu Masilela, Waga Yeboah, and Faki Yamba, as well as descendants of gods such as Kalei Kgomo, Loba Bhota, Yeften Chirwa, and Fakihi Biyela.

Braydon chose not to impede their exit.

He was renowned for his ruthlessness in the northern territory.

Was Braydon, whom even Luther Carden couldn’t scheme against, really that kind and compassionate?

The survivors of Oracle Palace were adversaries in Braydon’s eyes.

Kalei and his companions were all burgeoning talents, akin to young dragons destined for greatness in the realm of martial arts.

Their potential was boundless, foretelling their eventual ascent to the ranks of divine realm experts.

Yet, to spare them today would be akin to allowing the tiger to return to the mountain—an outcome that ran counter to Braydon’s principles.

However, he harbored his own designs for the unfolding events.

In the 16th ruin, a shift in power dynamics was underway.

The Oracle Palace, which represented theocracy, lay in ruins, its gods vanquished.

Rising to prominence was the Donta Imperial Dynasty, asserting its dominance over the realm.

However, the Oracle Palace’s adherents harbored vengeful aspirations, intent on reclaiming their lost glory.

Their aim was not only to exact revenge but also to rebuild their shattered order.

For Braydon, both the Oracle Palace and the Donta Imperial Dynasty posed significant threats.

With two formidable adversaries at odds, Braydon perceived an opportunity to exploit their enmity.

Allowing them to engage in mutual conflict and depletion served his interests best.

Thus, he opted to refrain from further stoking the flames of animosity.

In releasing the Oracle Palace’s members, Braydon envisioned them as future adversaries of the Donta Imperial Dynasty.

The Northern Army would emerge as the primary beneficiary of this strategic maneuver.

As for the others, their fate hinged upon their compliance with Braydon’s demands.

Only by acknowledging him as their master could they hope to depart the scene unscathed—a stark ultimatum that left them with little choice.

Braydon’s demonstration of the ten imperial paths had left the emperor realm figures on the sixteenth floor aghast, their countenances a tableau of terror.

It marked their first encounter with a being of such immense power—a revelation that shook them to their core.

These individuals were all well aware that it was Braydon who had shattered the black door, marking the first instance of anyone daring to breach the confines of the Frost Prison since its inception.

Braydon had led the martial artists from the sixteenth and seventeenth levels of the Frost Prison, guiding them to the eighteenth floor where he subsequently shattered the black door.

However, it was clear to them that the black door wasn’t the actual barrier confining the old monster—an esteemed figure akin to the divine son of the Oracle Palace, and a contemporary of Rayha Qhobela.

To envision the black door entrapping such a prominent figure was nothing short of fantastical—a notion dismissed as pure fantasy.

Thus, the true means of containment for the old monster remained a mystery, certainly not the black door.

In matters of manipulation and strategy, Braydon proved himself astute, outwitting even the most cunning adversaries.

As they traversed the desolate expanse of the eighteenth floor, engulfed in impenetrable darkness, the truth of their circumstances became increasingly apparent.