Timeless Assassin

Chapter 943: Through To The Fourth Ring

(Execution Livestream Continuation, The Pit)

Under Leo’s leadership, the Cult Army managed to cut through 90% of the Third Ring in less than forty minutes, as they rapidly advanced through the battlefield, making up for a lot of lost time.

From above, the progression looked almost unreal, the Cult’s formation carving forward like a blade dragged through flesh, as gaps widened faster than the Righteous Lieutenants could plug them, while on the ground, the pressure felt constant and inescapable, the battlefield itself seeming to compress inward toward Leo’s position.

It was at this point that the dignitaries seated between the Third and Fourth Rings finally crossed an invisible threshold, for Leo’s aura finally reached them fully.

*Tremble*

*Choke*

*Wobble*

There was no dramatic announcement, nor any sudden surge of mana meant to draw attention, as Leo’s pressure had already been present in the air for some time, but it was the increased proximity of it that changed its nature entirely, transforming it from an oppressive weight into something lethal.

*Pant*

*Gasp*

At first, their breathing grew uneven.

Men and women who had spent their lives insulated from danger found themselves gasping shallowly, chests refusing to expand properly as if the air itself had thickened, while hearts began to hammer erratically under strain they were never meant to endure.

Knees buckled without warning.

One dignitary stumbled forward, palms slapping uselessly against the ground as his legs refused to support him, confusion flashing across his face as he tried to push himself back up, only for his arms to tremble violently beneath his own weight.

Blood followed soon after.

Thin streams ran from nostrils, dripping onto dirty soil and expensive boots, as capillaries burst under internal pressure, while some clutched at their ears or temples, teeth chattering uncontrollably as migraines flared into blinding agony.

"This—this isn’t right..."

A woman whispered, her voice barely audible as she pressed a trembling hand against her chest, fingers coming away slick with blood as she began coughing violently, each convulsion sending sharp pain through her ribs while crimson flecked her lips.

Internal damage mounted silently.

Organs bruised.

Vessels ruptured.

Hearts strained against invisible constraints that tightened with every passing second, as Leo continued advancing steadily, his presence unwavering, his aura unrelenting, as it remained indifferent to who stood in its path so long as they were not meant to stand at all.

Some collapsed unconscious where they stood, bodies going limp as nervous systems shut down under overload, while others remained horrifyingly aware, eyes wide with dawning terror as their bodies betrayed them piece by piece.

A man convulsed violently, foam and blood spilling from his mouth as his spine arched off the ground, muscles seizing until the movement stilled abruptly, leaving him staring sightlessly at the sky.

Another clawed weakly at the air, fingers twitching as though trying to grasp something that might pull him free, before his arm fell slack and his head lolled sideways, breath rattling out one final time.

All of it unfolded within meters of the Fourth Ring.

And yet, the heartless Monarch-tier defenders did not move.

They did not step forward to shield the collapsing civilians, did not glance down when bodies struck the ground at their feet, and did not flinch as blood pooled across the stone between their boots, their formation remaining perfectly intact as though the dying were no more than debris blown into their path.

"The Cult Army is almost through the Third Ring, all Commanders brace for war...."

One of them heartlessly said, as instead of looking at the dying civilians, they kept their focus locked solely on the conflict, as if they had already classified the suffering individuals as nothing more than collateral.

"Please..."

One dignitary still conscious despite the blood pouring from his nose and ears said, as he crawled weakly toward the Monarch line, dragging himself forward inch by agonizing inch, nails scraping uselessly against the ground as he lifted his head just enough to look up at the towering figures before him.

"Please sir...."

He croaked, voice shredded as his lungs failed him.

"I—I can’t breathe..."

His hand brushed against the faint shimmer of a Monarch’s shield, fingers slipping off as though touching glass, before his arm collapsed beneath him and his face struck the ground with a dull, final sound.

*Thud*

And still, no-one spared him a glance.

Ten minutes later, as the Cult finally cut through the Third Ring in its entirety, it was the Monarchs who braced for war next, as the last Transcendent formations collapsed behind Leo and the Cult Army surged forward into the space that had been denied to them for so long.

The Fourth Ring did not break formation.

Instead, its defenders adjusted.

Without ceremony or shouted orders, Monarch-tier warriors shifted their footing in near-perfect unison, shields angling forward, weapons lowering into ready positions as layered auras rose and interlocked, reinforcing one another into a dense wall of power meant to halt momentum at any cost.

Their attention did not linger on the bodies strewn at their feet, nor on the blood slicking the ground behind them, as their only concern now lay ahead, fixed squarely on the advancing Cult Army and the figure at its center who had rendered every previous calculation obsolete.

"This is where it ends," one Monarch muttered quietly, as his grip tightened around his weapon and mana surged through his limbs, reinforcing bone and muscle for the impact to come.

"For them," another replied, as his gaze tracked Leo’s steady advance, measuring distance, timing, angles, already planning countermeasures while suppressing the unease clawing at the back of his mind.

They knew what failure meant here.

If the Fourth Ring broke, then nothing stood between the Cult and the core of the Chakravyuh, nothing left to buffer the Gods and Demi-Gods from the accumulated strain of the formation’s collapse, which was why hesitation was no longer an option and retreat had been erased from consideration entirely.

Orders flowed silently through the Monarch line via trained signals and shared battlefield awareness, positioning specialists at key points, assigning kill zones, preparing layered techniques designed to overwhelm even an advancing army, as they committed fully to the only outcome they were permitted to pursue.

Stopping the Cult.

At any cost.