SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 87: Giving a way out

Damien waited.

Only when the Valthorn soldiers finally regrouped with him did he begin to move.

His back remained straight—unyielding, like a divine pillar cast from ancient stone—and his steps carried the quiet authority of someone who had already judged this battlefield and found it wanting.

Behind him, the Valthorn soldiers followed in silence.

Their expressions were a mix of disbelief and reverence.

They had just walked past the wreckage of the terrifying tower.

What was once a monument of power and pride... was now reduced to nothing but scattered rubble.

When they’d first marched out of Valthorn City, many of their hearts had been gripped with unease. A few had even toyed with the thought of fleeing the battlefield altogether.

But now?

Now they stood at the threshold of Dreamy Sky City, one of the Blue Hammer Kingdom’s most fortified strongholds.

And all they had done was watch.

They had barely lifted a finger.

It felt surreal—like a dream stitched together from fragments of myth and madness.

Like watching a film where every scene was the climax.

Since Damien had issued no new orders, Iron Dungeon stronghold leader, Master Anek, maintained his position beside the troops, eyes sharp, ensuring discipline didn’t waver amidst the overwhelming sense of awe.

Damien’s steps came to a halt just a few hundred meters from the colossal outer walls of Dreamy Sky City.

The city’s gate loomed in front of him—a massive construct forged from Frost Iron, its surface emanating a cold, metallic aura. Ice-cold mana clung to the iron like a haunted mist, making the gate resemble something torn from the depths of an ancient, forgotten world.

In front of that gate, Damien looked like an ant.

An insignificant mortal...

Daring to challenge the realm of gods.

But that illusion shattered the moment one looked into his eyes.

On top of the walls, the stationed soldiers peered down, expressions hard and solemn. But that composure shattered the instant Damien’s indifferent gaze swept toward them.

His eyes—calm and impassive—felt like a death sentence.

It was as if the God of Death himself had marked them.

Their bodies instinctively recoiled.

Their knees gave out.

Several men crumpled like puppets with cut strings, falling headfirst to the stone battlements.

Panic swept through the guards like wildfire.

Among them stood a middle-aged captain—a veteran, hardened by years of service, his armor dulled with age and wear.

Even he felt the chill seep into his bones.

"Son of a bitch..." he spat under his breath, but his voice lacked venom. It was fear. Pure, raw fear.

All his experience, all his bravado, meant nothing here.

Because deep inside... he understood.

This situation wasn’t just bad.

It was beyond fucked.

And if he were truly experienced— freёweɓnovel.com

If he had learned the one thing all survivors of war eventually knew—

He would’ve kept his damn mouth shut.

Hmm!

Damien’s ears twitched, catching the faintest vibration in the air. His gaze—sharp, unblinking, and ice-cold—snapped toward the middle-aged captain who had just cursed.

There was no mercy in those eyes.

Only inevitability.

Whine!

With a subdued mechanical whine, Epoch Breaker shimmered into existence in Damien’s hand—its sleek barrel humming with suppressed bloodlust.

A breath later—

Thud!

The sound of a body crumpling to the ground echoed across the plains, clear and crisp like a dropped stone in a still lake.

Then—silence.

Not the silence of calm, but the heavy, crushing stillness of fear.

Every soldier stationed on the wall felt it.

It wrapped around their throats like a noose, pressing down on their chests like a boulder.

Even the Valthorn soldiers, standing behind Damien, felt a cold sweat form on their backs. His mere presence warped the air, making it hard to breathe.

That suffocating silence lingered—

Until Damien broke it.

His voice was low, almost conversational, but laced with mana that sent it echoing like thunder into the ears and hearts of every soldier.

"I will give you a way out."

His tone didn’t waver. It didn’t threaten. It declared.

"Open this gate in ten seconds... and I might spare your lives."

"And if this gate isn’t opened in the given time... all of you will be publicly executed. Without exception."

His words hit like cold blades—clean, precise, and merciless.

The blood drained from the faces of the soldiers atop the wall. A few stumbled back in shock.

Even among the disciplined ranks of the Valthorn army, several men felt goosebumps erupt across their skin.

But Damien was unaffected.

He was a god passing judgment, not a man seeking mercy.

He began the countdown, voice steady and implacable.

"10... 9... 8..."

Panic surged through the defenders like lightning in a dry field.

Chaos erupted.

"W-What should we do?!"

"I don’t want to die! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!"

"Just let him in, for heaven’s sake!"

A young soldier—barely in her twenties—shouted above the din, her voice cracking from desperation. Her eyes were wild with fear, and her hands trembled as she gripped her spear.

She hadn’t even married yet.

She had two frail parents back home, waiting for her letters.

If she died here, who would bring them food? Who would light the hearth?

Tears welled in her eyes, her fear more real than the iron gate in front of her.

She wasn’t a soldier.

She was a daughter who didn’t want to die for a kingdom that had already lost its head.

And Damien?

Damien just continued the count—

Unbothered, unflinching, unstoppable.

"7... 6... 5..."

Meanwhile, high above on the fortified wall, the tension between soldiers snapped like brittle wire.

A young man with thick eyebrows stepped forward, veins bulging on his neck as he shouted furiously,

"Are you stupid?! We can’t let someone like that inside! Do you even understand how many families’ lives will be in danger if he gets through?"

His voice cracked with urgency, desperation masking fear. His hands were clenched so tightly around the hilt of his sword that his knuckles turned white.

The young woman who had spoken earlier looked back at him, lips trembling, eyes wavering between defiance and despair. She wanted to live—but not by betraying her people.

Before the argument could spiral, a long sigh broke through the commotion.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise like a blade.

"Do you really think this gate can stop someone like him?"

The voice was aged, steady, and weighed down by a grim clarity.

It belonged to the second most senior officer on the wall—a man who had seen more winters than the younger soldiers had seen battles.

His words struck like a thunderbolt, silencing both youths.

The hot-blooded young man froze. His lips moved slightly, but no words came out.

His mind turned toward the impossible sight they’d just witnessed—a towering structure meant to withstand ten thousand beast attacks, reduced to dust... by one man.

Could a gate of even Frost Iron withstand that?

Still, he clenched his jaw, unwilling to surrender hope.

"T-Then is there really no way to stop him?" he asked, his voice lower now, thick with helplessness.

The older officer’s gaze lingered on Damien—still standing like a god before the gate, the countdown echoing in the air—and then his eyes narrowed.

Something strange flickered in them.

"There is a way," he finally said, voice hushed but determined.

"But we have to buy as much time as possible."

The words lit a brief spark in the young man’s eyes, but that spark flickered and died as soon as the officer continued:

"From what I’ve heard... the Crown Prince is already en route to Dreamy Sky City."

The flicker of hope faded into a shadow.

The young man opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again—only silence came out.

He wasn’t the only one. All along the wall, expressions shifted.

The soldiers knew the name. They respected it. But they didn’t believe in it.

The Crown Prince... was talented, yes. Gifted, even. But this wasn’t a battlefield that needed talent.

It needed monsters.

And Damien was a monster.

Still, the old officer caught that shift and didn’t let it stand.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice a little louder now.

"Don’t underestimate him. The Crown Prince has master control."

He paused, letting the weight of that sentence settle in.

"He can activate the defense system."

That name—the defense system—rang out like a gong in the minds of the defenders.

The young woman who had once begged to open the gate repeated the words in a whisper, as if clinging to a lifeline.

"Defense system..."

Her voice trembled like a candle in the wind. She didn’t understand how it worked—none of them truly did—but the stories were enough. The system had turned the tide of wars before. If it activated, then perhaps...

Just perhaps, this disaster could be avoided.

But only if they bought enough time.

And Damien’s voice was still echoing through the valley.

"4... 3..."

Just as Damien’s voice reached the final beats of the countdown—

"Two..."

A commanding voice boomed from atop the wall, cutting through the tension like a sword through silk.

"Open the gate!"

The words carried not only authority but desperation—raw and unfiltered.

For a heartbeat, silence lingered. Then—

Clank—Clank—Clank!

The groaning of ancient gears echoed through the air, reverberating like the heartbeat of a dying beast.

Rumble—!

The massive Frost Iron gate, towering like a monument of war, began to creak open.

Steam hissed from the hinges as enchanted chains clanked against spinning gears. The thick slabs of metal parted slowly, unwillingly, as if the city itself was reluctant to surrender.

From the widening gap, Dreamy Sky City was revealed in fragments—a glimpse of pale stone streets and tightly packed buildings, of merchant stalls shuttered in fear, of towers hidden behind layers of fog and smoke. Soldiers ran in a flurry within, organizing defenses. Civilians peered from windows and alleyways with terrified eyes.

The atmosphere inside was thick—dense with fear, uncertainty, and the heavy pressure of what had just occurred outside their gates.