At this moment, everyone present—especially those from the Nascent Duchy—understood perfectly well just how formidable that forward-charging major general had been.
His combat prowess had always been overwhelming, a spearhead in countless battles.
Yet now, he had been annihilated in a single exchange.
The sheer strength of the black-robed man was far beyond anyone's expectations.
The once-fierce and unstoppable army had halted its advance, now watching the figure floating mid-air with deep caution.
Though they still didn't know who he was, his ruthless and decisive strike against their own general made it clear:
This man was not a friend.
On the city walls, Captain Celt and the other defenders stared at the black-robed figure's back, their hearts filled with confusion.
None of them recognized him.
And judging by how he concealed his identity, it was clear he wasn't reinforcements sent by the Kingdom.
After all, kingdom reinforcements preferred to make a grand entrance—not act in secrecy.
Moreover, even though the kingdom had its share of powerful warriors, none had ever exhibited strength like this black-robed man.
"This is a matter between the Nascent Duchy and the Macedonian Kingdom," Augustus said slowly, his voice cold and heavy. "If you stay out of it, I'll pretend you were never here. But if you interfere again—don't blame me for what happens next."
He took a deep breath, suppressing the growing uncertainty in his heart, and locked eyes with the black-robed figure.
He didn't know who this man was—but his instincts screamed that he was dangerous.
It would be a waste of time and men to clash with him here, and Augustus hated wasting either.
But the black-robed man just looked down at him and replied calmly:
"That's my line. If you choose to retreat and beg for mercy, I might let you go—for now. Otherwise, I can't say what might happen to you."
It was John.
John stared down at Augustus, a man whose reputation he knew all too well.
Every city that had fallen under his command had been turned into a living nightmare.
To John, there was nothing worthy of respect in a man like that.
"So you've decided to wade into this mess, then?"
Augustus's tone grew colder still, the murderous aura rising from his body staining the sky with a crimson hue.
He knew the man before him was powerful.
But the Nascent Duchy had a hundred thousand troops here—united in formation.
Even a mighty warrior would be crushed in such a clash, even if it took a little more time.
"You and the men behind you… aren't qualified to speak to me that way."
John's voice was steady as he shook his head.
Augustus's refusal to retreat hadn't surprised him.
But still, the bloodshed to come made him sigh.
He wasn't fond of killing—but if people insisted on seeking death, he wouldn't stop them.
"Oh? Big words," Augustus sneered.
"You hide your face and talk like a god. Even if you have some skill, against a hundred thousand soldiers—even mountains would be shattered!"
He raised his hand and waved it fiercely.
"Everyone, attack! Kill this arrogant fool!"
The moment Augustus gave the order, the entire Nascent Duchy army sprang into action.
Swords were drawn.
The soldiers surged forward, elemental energy boiling around them like black smoke.
As the power of ten thousand surged into the sky, it coalesced into a massive phantom above their heads—a towering formation spirit born from their combined military might.
As the spirit took shape and moved its colossal limbs, the battlefield itself shook violently.
"Deploying the army formation as a first strike… Augustus clearly wants this man dead," Celt muttered on the city walls, a hint of fear in his voice.
The sheer killing intent emanating from the military formation was overwhelming.
Celt and his men could feel it from a distance—death itself hovered in the air.
They knew if that phantom were to strike them, they would be wiped out in a single blow.
Just as many began to worry about the mysterious black-robed man's fate, he suddenly opened his mouth and declared—
"I started practicing swordsmanship when I was three years old!"
"The moment I first held a sword, I achieved unity between man and blade!"
"By the age of ten, I had mastered every sword technique across the continent!"
"By twenty, I had defeated every so-called sword genius in existence!"
"By thirty, when it comes to swordsmanship—none dared meet my eyes. To all others, I was as a god!"
"And now, having emerged from seclusion, I have finally comprehended the ultimate truth of the sword. Anyone who stands against this next strike—will crumble instantly. Like a dam bursting, they'll fall to ruin!"
His voice echoed across the land.
A pressure that had just begun to fade suddenly returned tenfold.
In the eyes of the soldiers below, John's figure began to grow in stature.
He seemed like a true giant—while they were nothing but ants beneath his feet.
The army formation, once poised to charge, began to falter.
Augustus scowled and snorted.
"Talk is cheap. Anyone can boast. I just hope your sword is half as strong as your tongue—
Otherwise, I'll carve you into pieces!"
His words resounded through the air, reigniting the fighting spirit of his soldiers.
These weren't ordinary troops.
They were the elite of the Nascent Duchy—veterans who had followed Augustus through countless battles.
They had survived every deadly engagement and emerged stronger.
And they believed this time would be no different.
With Augustus leading them, they could overcome any obstacle.
Their morale surged.
John's words might sound impressive—but to them, it was just more hot air.
After all, how strong could one man be?
They'd never heard of anyone like him on the continent.
Surely, he was bluffing.
Even Celt and the others on the wall were beginning to waver, their eyes fixed on the cloaked man.
None of them had heard of the legendary feats he had just claimed.
But just as doubt began to take hold—
The black-robed figure drew a sword.
A radiant, golden longsword.
Under the sunlight, it gleamed like fish scales—rippling with light.
And then—he swung it down.
"Absolute Diarrhea Sword Art!"
The slash descended.
There were no flashy effects.
No explosive elemental bursts.
No violent gales.
No glowing sigils in the sky.
It looked… completely ordinary.
So ordinary, in fact, that many who had placed their hopes in John were stunned into silence.
They blinked in disbelief.
That was it?
That was the legendary move?
The "Absolute Diarrhea Sword Art"?