"Was this guy… just bluffing after all?"
Not sensing the slightest hint of danger from the black-robed man's sword strike, those who had once pinned their hopes on him—including Celt—were stunned speechless.
That strike was unbelievably ordinary.
So ordinary that it wouldn't even be enough to harm a bronze-rank soldier, let alone ten thousand elite troops.
Had they put their faith in a delusional madman who enjoyed putting on a show?
The hearts of Celt and the others sank into the abyss.
Augustus, already brimming with hostility toward them, would now surely bring hell upon the city.
Once he breached the walls, Winterhold would descend into a nightmare of blood and fire, a paradise for the wicked.
Now, enraged by this seemingly absurd display, Augustus would surely grind them to dust.
Was this black-robed lunatic a savior—
Or their doom?
Everyone was left with nothing but question marks over their heads.
At that moment, Augustus, who had remained wary and cautious, suddenly let out a cold sneer.
He couldn't help it—his lips curled with mockery.
"You damn fool. I knew you were all bark and no bite…"
The soldiers, who had just been brimming with battle fervor, now felt humiliated.
Their faces turned red with rage, veins bulging at their temples.
They were the elite of the Nascent Duchy, feared across the continent.
They were the ones who ridiculed others, never the ones being ridiculed!
This was outright humiliation!
An insult delivered face-to-face!
This man needed to be dragged down and crushed beneath their boots!
But just as those thoughts began forming—
Grrrrrrrllll…
Suddenly, a thunderous gurgle erupted from their stomachs.
One hundred thousand elite soldiers all clenched their rears at once—
And then… the flood came.
Pffft! Pppppppttt!
Like sewer lines bursting all at once, foul substances exploded from behind them in unison.
Their stomachs cramped violently.
Their faces turned pale as if death had come early.
Their lips dried, and their heads spun in dizzy confusion.
Water gushed from behind them like an open tap.
The previously formidable army formation phantom, conjured by the united strength of a hundred thousand men—
Instantly shattered into scattered light, vanishing without a trace.
Augustus stood frozen in disbelief.
He clutched his stomach, trying desperately to suppress the spasms and convulsions in his guts.
Even with all his elemental control, he couldn't stop what was happening.
It was like a force of nature—like the body's instinct to eat and drink.
Only now it was flowing in reverse, purging violently.
From afar, the sight of a hundred thousand soldiers simultaneously suffering explosive diarrhea was…
Magnificent.
On the city walls, Celt—who had just readied his soldiers for a final stand—
Suddenly heard an orchestra of flatulence rise from the enemy army.
And then he saw it—
One hundred thousand troops clutching their stomachs and unleashing chaos like they'd all eaten bad rations at once.
"What in the world… poison?" Celt blinked in confusion.
But the thought was dismissed just as quickly.
Even seasoned captains like Augustus were keeling over.
This wasn't poison.
No—this was something far stranger.
Only one explanation remained:
A divine power.
A divine power, yes—
Even if it was a rather… indecent one.
"No wonder this black-robed man was so confident… He wasn't bluffing after all. He really can deal with a hundred thousand troops by himself…"
Celt swallowed hard.
Thinking back to the man's earlier boasts, he could no longer laugh them off.
He was… dumbfounded.
"Kill him!!"
At that moment, Augustus, still doubled over in pain, roared in fury.
He had realized it too.
This mass explosion of guts was no accident.
It was the result of that sword—
That plain-looking sword strike from the black-robed man.
What kind of insane sword art was this?!
The moment the blade fell, Augustus had felt his guts churn, his body rebel.
His rear lost all control.
It was like some kind of rule-based power, immune to resistance.
But rules?
Rules were the domain of top-tier Awakeners.
How could this man—this unknown black-robed freak—possess such authority?
And what kind of twisted rule was this supposed to be?
Pffft! Pffft!
For a full minute, the one hundred thousand-strong army continued to lose control,
Turning the battlefield into a chaotic, embarrassing mess.
But they were seasoned warriors.
They adjusted quickly—
After all, there wasn't much left to purge anymore.
Their guts were empty.
Even if they wanted to, they couldn't defecate anymore.
"This man is beyond vile! What kind of cursed Awakener is he?! That ability is straight from hell!"
The other generals beside Augustus flushed with shame and rage.
They were high-ranking officers!
Yet now they'd soiled themselves in public, in front of allies and enemies alike.
Their reputations were in ruins.
If word got out, they'd be laughingstocks for the rest of their lives.
Though physically drained, their fury burned hotter than ever.
Their killing intent surged—vengeance was the only cure for their humiliation.
"We're clean now. He can't possibly use that sword again.
Even if he could—we won't back down!"
Augustus took the lead, leaping toward the black-robed man hovering in mid-air.
The rest of the army followed suit, their minds consumed by rage.
They didn't care how the man had done it—
This shame had to be erased.
And the only way to do that…
Was to kill him.
"You still want to keep fighting?"
John shook his head, disappointed.
"Your tricks are strange," Augustus growled, his face still pale, "but this is a battlefield—not a place for games.
You've shown us your cards—now it's our turn."
But even as he spoke—
John raised a hand…
And snapped his fingers.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rang out from the middle of the army.
The ground cracked open.
A massive crater formed.
Hundreds of soldiers were thrown skyward, torn apart by the blast, their limbs scattered across the battlefield.
What… what is happening?!
Augustus's eyes widened in horror.
The blast wasn't a fluke.
It triggered a chain reaction.
Across the vast formation, one explosion followed another,
The sound of gunpowder erupting again and again,
Catching unprepared soldiers in blazing infernos.
"AAAGH!!"
Screams filled the air as wave after wave of fire and shrapnel swept across the battlefield.
The organized army devolved into chaos—
Into hell on earth.
The commanding generals, including Augustus, were also caught in the blasts.
Their armor was scorched.
Their bodies littered with shrapnel.
Wounded, burned, shaken.
As for the rank-and-file soldiers—
They never stood a chance.
Just a few breaths—
And over half the entire army had been obliterated.