The Deadly Novelssss 1239

Chapter 1239 A Magnificent End

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For 20 days, the Borcalis night sky had been ravaged by blizzards. Then, suddenly, the storm stopped.

The thick, ancient clouds, once suffocating the land, cracked open. A brilliant, searing white light pierced through the darkness.

A full moon emerged, its icy glow cutting through the night.

Thousands of stars followed, each burning fiercely in the brief moment between seconds.

The moon’s cold rays washed over the endless snowfield.

The thick smoke still coiled in the air, heavy with the stench of death.

Blood had frozen, solidifying into jagged ice.

Lifeless bodies, torn apart by explosions, littered the frozen wasteland.

Each shattered corpse was a stark reminder: peace had never existed here.

The law of survival had always been simple: the strong survive, the weak fall.

Civilization? Harmony? Beauty? Illusions. Mere facades built by the powerful to conceal the truth.

Only those at the top knew the unflinching reality. In the end, the strongest fist decided everything.

Moonlight glinted off Gustov’s trembling body, casting a ghostly glow.

His arm–the one that had thrown countless punishing strikes–swelled with visible damage.

He understood now.

Robin had barely used 30% of his power during their exchange.

Had Robin gone all out, Gustov would’ve been nothing but a smear of blood after the first punch.

Gustov’s fury erupted. “Divine Drakebane! Why didn’t you use your full strength? Are you trying to mock me?!”

Robin’s gaze flicked up, his eyebrow arched lazily.

“The reason I didn’t use everything I had,” he said smoothly, “is because I remember the bond you shared with my grandfather, Dragon Lord.”

“Twenty punches of mercy are over.”

“From now on, we fight for our own reasons.”

“Get ready. I won’t hold back.”

Gustov froze, his rage replaced by a flicker of respect..

a brief spark of

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1239 A Magnificent

breath, gathering

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through countless battles, clenched tighter, the force of 70

It.

punch came like an avalanche–unstoppable,

the frozen carth, leaving deep

his massive frame rebounded,

each strike

the cold moonlight, his hair whipped

god of

of centuries packed into the

mountain, unshaken. With a single hand, he met Gustov’s furious

The impact was deafening.

crack tore through

the distant moon trembled, as if

backward, his arm disintegrating midair into a spray of blood under the

air

brace himself, Robin’s fist slammed into his

sound of it was

broad chest caved in

mouth, staining the pure

moon was drowned in deep crimson–like a blade stained with blood, lost in

a flick of his wrist, Robin sent Gustov’s nearly six–foot–five frame flying another 150 feet,

fell

slow and deliberate, as

a countdown. A toll. A death bell ringing

officials, frozen in place, felt their hearts

the end

of Tanqueria’s Cod of War shattered

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hung in the air, thick as smoke, the calm before the

One spark. One mistake.

would crupt in a bloodbath that would go down

still, his eyes sharp and

his chest, out

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way. “Mr. Morrison, think this through. Your arrogance might just get you

chill ran down

no one a diplomat like him

was the fight of the

had risen through

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