Free Web NovelChapter 551: Chapter 472: The Strongest Genius in History
"Melt Mountain, Rock Hammer."
Jeming’s voice was transmitted through a soul connection into the consciousness of the two Black Giant leaders over two hundred meters tall.
"Lead your clansmen and act as you see fit." Jeming’s instructions were concise and clear, "I won’t be able to focus on directing next. You’ll have to assess the battlefield situation yourselves and coordinate with the other cannon fodder legions in combat."
"Adhere to the will of the Father God." Two heavy, deep voices, like the friction of stones, simultaneously responded in Jeming’s consciousness.
The two leaders turned around and began to command the tribe with silent spiritual fluctuations.
A million Black Giants began to reconfigure their formation like precise machinery: melee units wielding condensed Obsidian Giant Axes and Tower Shields formed the frontline; mid-range units opened fissures in their chests from which they started to condense highly compressed energy breath; in the rear, priests raised their Magic Staffs, beginning a collective chant to construct a covering barrier over the entire army—enhancing strength, speed, damage sharing, elemental resistance...
Such a well-trained and astoundingly ranked cannon fodder legion attracted astonished looks from many surrounding wizards.
As Jeming quickly walked into the fortresses’ interior, Viola was already waiting at the passage entrance.
"Impressive, junior." She looked Jeming up and down, her eyes brimming with undisguised admiration, "This scale and average strength surpass many sixth-level wizards’ cannon fodder legions. It seems you haven’t skimped on your efforts in biological transformation technology."
Jeming smiled but didn’t respond.
Viola didn’t mind, grabbing Jeming’s wrist, she led him through the bustling passage to an observation window on the fortress’s upper level.
A large number of wizards had already gathered here, everyone holding their breath, watching outside intently.
Outside the window lay a dense, seemingly sky and earth enveloping cannon fodder legion.
And above these cannon fodder legions, higher in the sky, hovered dozens of figures.
Those were all the High Tier Wizards belonging to Fortress 7’s Warband.
Leading them were Clark and Dionysus.
Behind them stood four Seventh Level Wizards and twenty-seven Sixth Level Wizards.
In total, thirty-three High Tier combatants.
At this moment, all of them were looking up, gazing at the distant horizon.
There, the shimmering glow of energy explosions could already be seen nearing continuously.
That’s our vanguard legions, engaging and retreating per the predetermined plan.
Simultaneously, an immense, suffocating pressure was surging forward like a tsunami from the horizon’s edge.
The main forces of the Chaos Secret Sect and Tower of Annihilation had arrived.
The enemy’s advance units had already clashed with the vanguard legions, and the energy ripples generated by the fierce witchcraft bombardment were causing the shield of Fortress 7 to quiver slightly even from over a hundred kilometers away.
Yet, the thirty-three High Tier Wizards floating in the air showed no signs of fear on their faces.
Dionysus even laughed.
He reached out and patted Clark on the shoulder beside him.
"Come, junior." The old wizard’s voice was full of anticipation, "Let those guys opposite have a good look at..."
"The grandeur of the greatest genius in Nolun Workshop’s history."
Clark remained silent for two seconds.
Then, he sighed softly.
"You really know how to find me trouble."
He lifted his right hand, sketching quickly in the void before him with his finger, as if calculating something.
A faint silver trajectory lingered in the air, forming a continuously refreshing set of numbers.
"Currently, in terms of total combat strength, we’re 137 Seventh Level Wizards short compared to the other side, and more than 2000 Sixth Level Wizards short, right?"
"And there’s their cannon fodder units as well," Dionysus added with a smile.
Clark nodded.
He withdrew his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.
That action looked quite normal, even a bit like a fatigue-relieving stretch after long hours of work, and the tone of his words was quite relaxed.
"Alright then."
Clark put down his hand, opening his eyes.
"The surplus combat power, I’ve got it covered."
The moment these words fell.
Jeming suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.
Then...
It became dark.
No.
Jeming reacted instantly.
It wasn’t turning dark.
It was the light being devoured.
Centered on Clark, within a radius of tens of kilometers, all light—whether the dim sky light from the plane itself, the glow emitted by fortress barrier Runes on the ground, or the energy flows flickering on the cannon fodder legions—all started collapsing toward one point.
That point was Clark’s uplifted right hand.
Palm facing up, fingers slightly spread.
As if holding an invisible black hole.
Soon, shadows began to flow out of that "black hole."
Initially, it was just a wisp, like ink dripping into clear water.
Then, came the second wisp, the third... a thousandth, then ten thousandth.
Finally, it turned into a pitch-black waterfall that obscured the sky.
The shadow waterfall "exploded" at a height of about three hundred meters above ground, pouring down like an inverted black ocean.
Then, the ocean began to divide, condense, and mold.
One part formed into black warriors over ten meters tall, each clad in thick, menacing black Bone Armor, wielding giant shields and long-handled War Axes.
They were the most numerous, spreading like a black tide, occupying the lower airspace.
The energy fluctuations emitted from each were firmly fixed at the Peak of Sixth Level.
Jeming’s spiritual power quickly activated, swiftly calculating the number: approximately eighty million.
Another part morphed into slender assassins, as if melting into the shadows.
They had no fixed form, their bodies constantly switching between liquid and mist, wielding not physical weapons but shards containing rules like "lethality," "fracture," "aging."
They silently seeped into the interspaces of the space, disappearing without a trace.
Each emitted energy fluctuations reaching the Peak of Sixth Level, with even a small portion reaching the Seventh Level threshold.
More than twenty million in number.
The final and most refined portion of the black liquid transformed into shadow creatures akin to dragons but more slender and graceful.
Their wingspans were over fifty meters, and their bodies weren’t covered in scales but flowing shadow Runes.
They lacked eyes, having only a huge maw filled with sharp teeth and a swirling vortex-like crystal at the center of their foreheads.
The strength of these dragons was even more astounding, collectively reaching the Seventh Level Initial stage, numbering close to a million.
And above these three forms of the shadow army...
Higher up in the sky.
Over ten thousand black lights shot out from the sea of shadows, transforming into more massive, deeper shadows that slowly unfolded.
They had no specific form, appearing more like conceptual entities condensed directly from pure "darkness," "devour," "nihility," etc., Laws.
Each held a volume comparable to a small mountain, with energy fluctuations causing surrounding space to collapse and crumple.
Eighth Level.
A full ten thousand Eighth Level Shadow Lords.
The entire surroundings of Fortress 7 fell into a dead silence.
Only the sounds of explosions from the vanguard legions and enemy clashes in the distant reminded people that time was still flowing.
Before the observation window, Jeming’s mouth gaped open, his mind momentarily ceasing to function.
He subconsciously began to calculate:
Eighth Level units, ten thousand.
Seventh Level units, 1.2 million.
Peak of Sixth Level units... one hundred million.
And this was merely what his mentor had released within ten seconds, a "cannon fodder legion."
Jeming’s gaze slowly shifted to the figure hovering directly below the shadow army, still in black robes, expression unerringly indifferent.
Professor Clark.
The greatest genius in Nolun Workshop’s history.
"This..."
Jeming heard his own voice, dry as sandpaper.
"...is the teacher’s power?"
