Colonial Suit

How could this be?

Bloodshot Eyes stared in astonishment at his wrist, his expression turning grim.

It was impossible for him to be injured due to a miscalculation. In fact, at his level, the resilience of his flesh had long surpassed the hardest alloys. He wouldn't even die if struck head-on by a Fourth World main battleship. And when he fought with all his strength, energy would surge through his flesh at all times, its intensity even allowing him to enter anti-space (similar to Hanser).

Bloodshot Eyes hadn't summoned his armor during the previous exchange, but even so, his flesh was tough enough. Yet, why would his wrist suddenly dislocate when he was so resilient?

A hint of doubt flashed through Bloodshot Eyes' mind, but his actions didn't slow down. With a snap of his hands, he reset his dislocated wrist. Immediately following that, he leaned back again, dodging the three blades of light that swept along the ground in Section 568, The New King.

His rhythm of charging into the formation was interrupted by continuous attacks. Bloodshot Eyes also felt a surge of inexplicable anger, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

While still in mid-air, he suddenly curled into a ball, landing with a sudden step, crouching, and extending his arm!

"Clang!"

A blade of light rose up, forming a huge crescent with a diameter of dozens of meters in front of him. After a fleeting flash, a pungent smell of blood immediately filled the air. Sprays of blood burst out from nowhere. Four sections of dark bodies fell at Bloodshot Eyes' feet.

Bloodshot Eyes' hand blade had severely injured three battle servants and severed the waists of two rejectors.

At the same time, on the distant giant rock, Leicester suddenly groaned, a trace of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth.

His fingers were still resting on the flag below. But the chess piece had been shattered into pieces, and a clear bloodstain appeared on his finger.

Leicester raised his finger and glanced at it, but instead revealed a smile. "I still underestimated you, kid. I didn't expect your reaction to be so violent, that I would actually be injured." Speaking of this, he raised his head, a trace of recollection flashing in his eyes. "How many years has it been, how many years have I not been injured… I remember the last time was on the Jest battlefield. That Mocha clan god general was my opponent… That war, what a beautiful memory…"

"Lord!" Just then, a low cry came from the side, and a battle servant knelt down on one knee in front of Leicester. Tears were faintly visible in his eyes.

"You can't continue like this, the cost of descent is too great. Every minute and every second is your life… Please stop. You have been descending for twelve days continuously, if you continue…"

The battle servant didn't continue. But the tears in his eyes couldn't be stopped. He wasn't a newly created enhanced being, but an old man who had followed Leicester from the beginning, so he naturally knew how much effort this kind of descent cost.

It could be said that once descent was used, Leicester would become one with his legion, the legion was his breathing, his heartbeat, every single detail was reflected on Leicester. And relatively, Leicester would also obtain the power of the entire legion merged into one!

This was an extremely powerful technique, the origin of Leicester's name as Overlord. It could be said that in the distant Great Chaos era, his technique almost caused a revolution, creating a new way of war. It was just because the conditions for descent were too harsh that it ultimately failed to rise.

But even so. Descent was not a joke. Once this technique was activated, the user would connect his nervous system to every subordinate, which would certainly allow Leicester to manipulate the legion as easily as his own limbs, but it would also consume a huge, almost astronomical amount of biological energy. And this energy increased linearly with the increase in legion units.

In his glory days. He could command thousands of battle servants and hundreds of millions of legions at the same time. That was why he achieved his reputation as the Supreme Overlord. But now, ten battle servants were already his limit. Not only that, but the long years had also consumed Leicester's life, making him increasingly old and moving towards death.

"Don't… be so verbose." Listening to the battle servant's anxious persuasion, Leicester simply waved his hand, revealing a faint smile.

"Gil. I know you're worried about my body, but what does this matter? Do you know? I have been guarding this road to the King for thousands of years, watching the evolution of the universe, the reorganization of rules. Waiting for one king after another to set foot here. I regret not being able to set foot on the final battlefield of Crodir, but I am equally honored to witness the complete birth of a new generation of our race."

"This is my mission, my responsibility. I feel infinitely honored, infinitely honored."

"But Lord…" The battle servant prostrated on the ground, about to cry. "You have waited for thousands of years, watching yourself gradually age, but the expected King has never arrived… No matter how many people have entered in the past, the facts prove that they are only passers-by in history. Madmen who vainly try to obtain the crystallization of our civilization. How can such people be worthy of your lifelong guard?"

The battle servant's voice was incomparably sorrowful, and tears flowed from his eyes. He had personally witnessed Leicester gradually aging. In order to guard this place, this supreme Overlord had chosen a different path from others, never abandoning his flesh. But in this way, his aging inevitably appeared on his body. Year after year, minute by minute, he aged.

That was the punishment of time, cruel and real.

But Leicester still stubbornly insisted, like an old and decayed tree root. He said that this was his mission, his responsibility. So he couldn't die, couldn't leave. For this mission, he guarded here year after year, and couldn't enter the virtual world like others. Every day from sunrise to sunset, he lonely fiddled with chess pieces, playing chess with himself.

He never complained, but the battle servant knew that it wasn't that he wasn't suffering, but that he couldn't say it.

This was his mission, the will of the King.

The most recent novel is first published at 69 books.

For… the next generation of King.

"It's been, so long…" Leicester raised his head, glanced at the illusory sky. His gaze was confused.

In his muddy eyes, he seemed to see the figure of the King again, solemnly entrusting him with the task. And, the decisiveness of turning around and leaving.

"The future of Crodir is here. Leicester, you must help me guard the second pass. No matter how many years. You can grow old, you can be mediocre, but you cannot die. When one day, a young man with blood-colored pupils comes here, when he can break into the core of your defended legion, when he can ignore the illusion and firm his will…"

"Give him to me." The King said this to Leicester. "Give our civilization to him, give everything to him… Because… he will be you, will be all of us…"

Leicester clearly remembered that when the King said this, he took a deep breath, turned his head and looked towards the distant horizon. His gaze pierced the sky.

"The new… King."

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