Abraham was indeed strong, but once Charles had familiarized himself with his abilities, dealing with him wasn't particularly difficult.
The main reason was that these Abrahams, unlike other formidable foes Charles had faced, couldn't break past their numerical "stats" to unleash power beyond their limits.
In fact, to Charles's eyes, Abraham hadn't even integrated his various powers or explored their deeper potential.
So many abilities, yet not a single one wielded to its true extreme.
It was likely because Abraham lacked a "soul"—powerful, yes, but destined never to be a true powerhouse.
The blade in Charles's hand shifted form; the godly dragon carved atop the War Saint's spine lit up, its eyes blazing.
If anything could be called "unstoppable," it was this War Saint's edge—showing in the most literal way how "benevolence is the art of cutting a man into two equal halves."
The blade fell, and one Abraham was neatly bisected.
Gripping the hilt engraved with a dragon's body, Charles swept the weapon sideways. Neither telekinesis, lightning, nor flame could withstand that slash. The Abrahams behind were cut cleanly in half at the waist.
Clad in the Flame Dragon War Armor, wielding the Fire Dragon Crescent Blade, Charles plowed through the enemy like a war god, cutting down the Abrahams as if they were nothing but vegetables.
At last, the final Abraham fell, and nothing stood in his way.
Charles had reached a heavy metal door.
Three blazing-red slash marks crossed over its surface before he kicked away the cut-down slab.
Stepping inside, he took in the wall of densely packed surveillance feeds.
The central screen showed images from within the Breaking Army Academy—Stella was already clearing the battlefield. She didn't need his help.
A voice rang out.
"This really is surprising. You actually managed to find this place."
Charles turned to see a portly old man in a white suit emerge from the shadows.
The Grand Professor didn't seem the least bit concerned by Charles's murderous aura. Smiling, he said, "Remarkable—cutting down so many Abrahams.
"Even if they were flawed products, they're still the best batch I can make for now. I once thought the Tyrant was formidable, but perhaps you are no weaker than that Dark Emperor."
Charles ignored the words entirely, tilting his head back to glance upward.
The Professor stepped closer. "Didn't you come for me? Why so silent?"
Charles's answer was a single, swift slash—taking the Professor's head clean off.
"A kagemusha, acting like you matter."
From the moment he'd entered, Charles had sensed it: the real Professor's magical signature was no longer here.
He could feel it had already shifted to the carrier's upper decks. Clearly, the man meant to flee, leaving only a pile of kagemusha to muddy Charles's tracking.
More "Professors" walked out from the shadows, each wearing the same sickening grin.
"No need to be so violent. Didn't I say I value you?"
Before the words finished, Charles felt a sudden heaviness press over him, his eardrums stinging sharply.
High-intensity ultrasonic waves, carrying immense energy, crashed into him.
They didn't just vibrate through his body—they squeezed his internal organs. And for the first time, Charles felt his own magic disrupted by the interference.
Researchers really were the most troublesome—they could always cook up some strange, infuriating trick.
Charles forced himself to endure, silently resolving never to underestimate an opponent again, especially ones whose physical strength wasn't the threat but whose expertise lay elsewhere.
This was proof enough: not a total loss, but still a moment of disadvantage.
The ring of Professors closed in. Looking at the bent posture the sonic pressure forced on him, one said, "I told you, I value you. I can't just let prime material like you go."
The Professor clearly thought Charles was in his grasp. Years of studying Blazers and magic had led him to this technique for suppressing their power.
He was confident in his research—but he'd underestimated Charles, and the discipline he'd forged through constant growth.
Charles's physique was so resilient that even his internal organs could withstand the sonic crush. And his mastery over magic control wouldn't be so easily disturbed.
In the next instant, the hunched figure straightened, still holding his blade.
…
On the carrier's deck, a helicopter waited.
Seated beside the pilot, the Professor's smug grin twisted into panic. "Take off! Get us out of here!"
The pilot, already prepared, lifted the craft immediately—but his expression soon turned to shock.
The lift wasn't from the rotors—it was from an explosion beneath them, flames roaring upward to hurl the multi-ton gunship into the air.
Charles surged upward on the fire's trail, spotting the wobbling craft in midair.
"Running, are we?"
The Professor wished he were at the controls himself, urging the pilot, "Why are you spacing out? Fly!"
The pilot snapped to, wrenching the stick. The helicopter twisted in the air, climbing—
—and then came the thud of something striking the aircraft.
The pilot's voice cracked in alarm. "Sir! The rotor's been hit—we're going down!"
Charles leapt free of the soon-to-crash chopper, watching as it slammed into the carrier's deck.
Landing on the deck, he watched the fuselage split apart.
Boom!
With a deafening crack, the chopper's side door bulged outward. An armored gunship like this had incredible thickness and hardness—whatever had done this had used terrifying force.
Charles wasn't surprised. For all his status as a scientist, with his magic level, the Professor having such strength was nothing unusual.
Sure enough, the door tore free, and a rotund figure stepped out.
Tearing off the burning white suit, he revealed his body.
The soft flab had transformed into slabs of muscle—it was no wonder he'd been able to smash the gunship door barehanded.
With his ability to control cells, turning fat into muscle was trivial for him.
The Professor removed his tiny glasses, his face twisted. "Brat, did you think you had me cornered?"
Charles flicked his wrist; the War Saint shifted back into Evil Dragon and Dragonslayer.
"What do you think? Not even Jesus could save you today."
The Professor's face warped in fury. "Arrogant little whelp! Then try me!"
His muscles writhed, and from his back burst two enormous bony claws, spreading like a demon's wings. With blood-red eyes, the Grand Professor looked like a fiend risen from hell.
(End of Chapter)
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