Alexander Corvinus was the strongest opponent Chen Mo had encountered to date.
That sudden burst of speed during his lunge—so fast he reached Chen Mo before the latter even fully landed on the deck—was not inferior to Chen Mo's own. His timing, his precision, his ruthless mastery of the blade… in all those, he even surpassed Chen Mo.
Under normal circumstances, Chen Mo would've been thrilled. Someone this strong was a perfect sharpening stone—an ideal partner to push each other to new heights.
But not today.
He had spent three full years conquering half of Europe just to finally corner this man. If he missed this chance, who knew how many more years it would take to acquire the Perfect Blood? Chen Mo couldn't afford to gamble.
His priority now was simple: defeat Alexander Corvinus completely. Everything else could wait.
Facing Alexander's vicious, perfectly placed thrust, Chen Mo neither dodged nor retreated. He allowed the razor–sharp sword tip to close in on his chest at frightening speed—yet raised the Sword of Kings in a slanted arc, chopping toward Alexander's blade.
Alexander's eyes lit up.
Chen Mo wasn't avoiding the strike? He actually intended to parry it?
At this distance, it was far too late. Even if Chen Mo managed to knock his sword aside, he wouldn't be able to completely evade. Even if the blade didn't pierce his heart, it would still drive into his torso. A serious injury was inevitable.
Alexander tightened his grip. Based on Chen Mo's leap onto the deck, his strength was definitely tremendous. Alexander gathered every ounce of his power, prepared to force through Chen Mo's block and drive his sword into the man's vital organs—
But then—
The expected impact never came.
"Chi!"
A crisp, metallic shriek.
Alexander's hand suddenly felt light.
Stunned, he lowered his gaze.
Chen Mo had sliced his sword cleanly in half—from the base.
The entire blade separated and clattered onto the deck, leaving only a pathetic stump connected to the hilt in his hand. The legendary sword that had accompanied him for centuries, slaying countless werewolves… had become scrap metal in an instant.
Alexander froze.
His treasured weapon—destroyed so easily?
"Duo!"
The severed blade stabbed into the deck, snapping him back to reality.
Before him stood the mysterious black–armored lord—sword in hand, aura sharp enough to cut the wind. That oppressive presence made Alexander feel an unprecedented sense of powerlessness.
From just that brief exchange…
Chen Mo's speed was equal to his own.
The power behind his leap was monstrous.
And the blade in Chen Mo's hand—capable of cleaving steel like tofu—made this battle completely unwinnable.
Then he remembered: those bolts of lightning that had incinerated entire hordes of werewolves.
All the fight drained from Alexander's heart.
Chen Mo possessed power no mortal could resist.
And after severing his blade, Chen Mo could've killed him with a single stroke. Continuing to fight was meaningless.
He raised a hand, stopping his subordinates from rushing forward. They hesitated behind him, unsure whether to advance or retreat.
Alexander looked up at the sword in Chen Mo's hand—gleaming, deadly, suffused with divine sharpness—and then met Chen Mo's gaze.
"Three years," Alexander murmured, dropping the useless hilt. "And you've finally found me."
He exhaled, weary.
"What are you… man or god?"
He stared at the enigma before him—black armor, black cloak, a being wrapped in endless mystery—waiting for the truth he had chased for years.
Chen Mo paused for a moment, then answered, his voice resonating deep beneath the helmet:
"I am man… and I am god."
He was human—yes.
But he possessed power beyond mortals, knew secrets hidden from the world, traversed through movie worlds, and grew stronger without end. To the people of this world, calling him a god was no exaggeration.
To his knights and subjects, he was their god.
Alexander's thoughts raced.
Man… and god?
A deity walking the world in human form?
The answer, combined with his own imagination, finally resolved the doubt haunting him for years.
So the heavens had come to reclaim the power bestowed upon him.
He had lived centuries—experienced wonders, triumphs, tragedies. Perhaps it was time to return what was borrowed.
Perhaps it was time… to live the ordinary cycle of life and death.
His two sons were already in Chen Mo's hands. With Chen Mo's power, they would no longer poison the world. He no longer needed to clean up their messes. No more running. No more hiding. No more sleeping with one eye open, fearing the day the Blackstone Knights appeared before him.
A strange peace washed over him.
Alexander lifted his head, eyes calm.
"I'll go with you."
Chen Mo, conqueror of half of Europe, returned to Blackstone Castle with his knights. Citizens crowded the roads, cheering their great lord's triumphant return.
The black nine–headed dragon banner billowed in the wind. Hundreds of armored knights marched in formation, their gleaming armor and overwhelming presence making the onlookers tremble with awe.
Young girls gazed at the knights atop their proud steeds with admiration.
Young boys stared with burning envy, dreaming of one day donning that armor and joining the lord's divine order.
Amid the mighty procession, several defeated figures rode solemnly—Alexander Corvinus and his elite warriors.
He had surrendered immediately after Chen Mo severed his blade. Not wanting his men to die meaninglessly, he had chosen wisely. And since he yielded without causing trouble, Chen Mo had treated him with courtesy. After confiscating their weapons, he did not bind or imprison them. Surrounded by hundreds of vampire knights—and watched closely by Chen Mo's senses—they had no chance of escaping anyway.
At the castle, Chen Mo handed Alexander's warriors over to be detained, then brought Alexander inside.
"Do you want to see Marcus and William?"
Marcus had just returned from subjugating the eastern lands.
William was sealed deep in the dungeon beneath the castle.
"No."
Alexander shook his head.
"I've watched them from the shadows for many years. I'm tired. Their future is yours to handle."
Chen Mo nodded and said no more.
He led Alexander into the vast central hall—large enough to hold hundreds without crowding.
Chen Mo gestured. A knight brought forward two standard longswords. Chen Mo tossed one to Alexander.
Alexander caught it, puzzled—
And then—
"Shua!"
Chen Mo drew his sword.
A fierce brilliance erupted from his eyes. His entire being sharpened—like an unsheathed blade aimed straight at Alexander. A crushing aura surged forth.
"Let's have a proper fight."
Alexander stared at the sword in his hand—identical to Chen Mo's.
He had wielded the sword for centuries. Soldiers, bandits, knights, werewolves—countless lives had fallen to his blade. His swordsmanship was unrivaled.
On the ship, losing his treasured sword—and witnessing Chen Mo's lightning—had crushed his will to fight.
But now?
Chen Mo wanted a pure duel of swordsmanship.
A spark ignited inside him. The pride of a peerless swordsman.
His aura surged.
Their gazes collided, the air trembling as if rippling.
Without a word, Alexander stepped forward and charged.
The two strongest men in the world—
finally began their peak battle.