School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 152 --The Sword of Three Hundred Years

Barlo’s face turned ashen, his words nearly squeezed from between clenched teeth, "The angel race is serious, huh?"

After more than ten thousand years of recuperation, the dragons still possessed a deep-rooted foundation, and they could wholly engage in a significant battle.

However, times had changed, and the angel race, with its vast influence, commanding over thirty intermediate races and three hundred disadvantaged races as followers, and guarded by more than a dozen direct intermediate races, posed a formidable challenge.

This was where the dragons found difficulty.

The current strength of the dragons was less than half that of the angel race.

Engaging in this battle would cause the dragons to bleed profusely.

Regardless of the outcome, the dragons would undoubtedly have to vanish from the annals of history for a while once again.

Wopole’s voice continued, unstoppable by any force in the world, sounding more like a declaration of war than anything else:

"...The gates of heaven close, the shackles of hell open, and we shall forge legends on the desolate celestial realms.

The Oracle Decree of Rupture—signifies not just a declaration of war but the dawn of a new era."

As his words fell, the Oracle Decree of Rupture he held naturally ascended, emitting white flames of utmost sanctity, resembling white ink.

The Oracle Decree of Rupture began to crack, sending out waves of light, seven layers in total, corresponding to its seven seals.

Barlo’s expression turned exceedingly grim.

Nidaam’s body shimmered with sword light, emitting a sonorous metallic ring.

Wopole, still clinging to his senses, said, "Leave the territory of the angel race now.

In ten days, our races will engage fully, deciding life and death."

Once the war decree is fully activated, every angel in the angel race, upon sighting the dragons, will descend into madness, their will to fight drawn out limitlessly.

They gain the ability to face death unflinchingly, endowed with never-ending morale, but this boon comes at a cost.

That cost might very well be their lives.

Barlo shook his head, gritting his teeth, "Madmen."

Finally, the Oracle Decree of Rupture shattered, turning into countless shimmering points of light.

These points rapidly gathered in the air, forming a breathtaking image: On one side were the warriors of the angel race, wings spread, long swords in hand, their gazes resolute, feathers fluttering in the wind; on the opposite side stood the warriors of the dragons, their scales glistening under the sunlight, colossal claws unfurled, mouths exhaling rolling flames.

Between the two factions, the sky seemed to have torn open a massive rift, symbolizing the unbridgeable gap between the two races.

The tense standoff between the angel race and the dragons was on the verge of eruption, with the smoke of war spreading throughout the image, foretelling an intense conflict about to unfold.

Atop, two blood-red Arabic numerals "10" stared down.

This was the countdown; in ten days, the war decree would take full effect, and the war would truly begin.

A voice emanated from within the Celestial Kingdom: "Since you’ve come, then don’t leave."

Above the endless sea of clouds of the Celestial Kingdom, a majestic angel stepped out from the boundaries of heaven.

His ten wings spread wide, darkening the skies, feathers gleaming with dazzling holy light.

"The Fourth Elder of the angel race," Barlo’s hair stood on end, a sense of impending death looming before him, causing his eyelids to twitch involuntarily.

"Run!" Without a moment’s hesitation, Barlo roared, transforming into a streak of light, speeding away into the distance.

Think to escape?

The Fourth Elder’s expression remained cool, softly stating, "I’ve heard the dragons possess a swordsman. I, too, am skilled with the sword. I wonder if I might learn a thing or two."

With that, he raised his holy sword high, a blinding column of light slashing across the sky from the horizon.

This beam, imbued with the might of the Celestial Kingdom, tore through the clouds with its shockwave, its thunderous roar echoing through the mountains and valleys.

The angel’s attack, like a blade of judgment, was not only filled with an inviolable sanctity but also carried an overwhelming force.

In this scene, the image of the angel resembled a divine messenger on the Day of Judgment, with Barlo and the other two dragons appearing increasingly insignificant in the face of such power.

The surrounding sky rippled with the energy’s shockwave, mountains trembled, and the earth quaked.

Nidaam stepped in front of Barlo and the other dragon, drawing his long sword.

A dragon’s cry soared to the heavens.

Nidaam drew not only the dragon scale sword but also unleashed three types of aura sealed for three hundred years.

Sword aura, killing aura, and battle aura.

The dragon scale sword, sheathed for three hundred years, achieves its pinnacle upon being drawn.

At this moment, time and space seemed to stand still.

Mysterious and intricate patterns flowed on the blade of the dragon scale sword, coming to life, exhaling the three potent forces of battle aura, killing aura, and sword aura.

Nidaam was enveloped in a layer of dark golden light, a sign of the dragon scale sword’s power perfectly merging with his own aura.

The three aura unified, Nidaam’s presence became overwhelmingly potent.

The battle aura was like a tempest, the killing aura as piercing as the coldest winter night, and the sword aura supremely sharp, akin to thunder cleaving the heavens.

These three breaths intertwined, forming an invisible field of oppressive force, chilling even the bravest of warriors to the bone.

The Fourth Elder’s expression was one of utter astonishment, his normally unflappable face melting into surprise that quickly spread from his eyes across his face and then to his body.

He felt as if his body had frozen in place, locked in place by Nidaam’s intense focus.

A grandmaster locking onto a sage was something unbelievable, yet Nidaam had achieved it.

The sword, nurtured for three hundred years, finally bared its fangs at this moment.

Nidaam stood atop the battlefield, the dragon scale sword in his hand gathering an unprecedented power.

The dark golden aura that enveloped him shone even brighter, as if he and the sword had become one.

The battle aura, killing aura, and sword aura harmonized perfectly at this moment, filling the air with electric crackles,

"Go now..." "...dragons—shall—prevail!"

With Nidaam’s thunderous roar, he swung that sword.

The blade cleaved through space, drawing a brilliantly dazzling arc of light, as if splitting the sky in two.

In that instant, frozen time seemed to tear apart, all sounds vanished, leaving only the resolute figure of Nidaam swinging his sword, imprinted on everyone’s retinas.

Where the arc of light passed, the ground cracked open into vast chasms, dirt and rocks flying as if the mouth of hell was devouring everything.

Angels unfortunate enough to be in the path of the sword aura, no matter how sturdy their armor or how advanced their martial skills, were mercilessly erased in an instant, leaving not a trace behind.

This surging sword strike directly collided with the sage’s intense column of light.

The entire space darkened, as if everything was sucked into the energy created by the collision of the two sword lights.

Then, it exploded abruptly, like a mushroom cloud formed by an atomic bomb.

The darkness was torn apart, leaving the Celestial Kingdom in ruins, filled with the continuous wails of angels.

When the sword aura finally dissipated, a deathly silent, void area appeared on the battlefield.

It was a realm where life had been thoroughly erased, with nothing standing, only dust slowly settling down, accompanied by the smell of scorched earth.

Just one sword strike, and a quarter of the Celestial Kingdom’s territory was obliterated.

This sword, invincible below sage level; for those above, it was an exchange of one for one.

Barlo, watching from a distance the scene akin to the apocalypse, went weak in the knees and collapsed to the ground, whimpering soundlessly.

Then came violent crying, his fists pounding on the ground, breaking the hard earth, tears continuously streaming from the corners of his eyes.

The ground was wet with his tears, forming a small puddle.

"Nidaam..."

After a long while of crying, he could only murmur the name.

The three of them, facing a sage’s strike and uniting in defense, could absolutely have withstood it, but they would likely have been severely injured, unable to fight for decades, even centuries.

This was precisely what the angel race wanted to see.

Unexpectedly, Nidaam sacrificed his life to help the other two escape.

Facing a sage alone, Nidaam had no chance of survival.

Bilqis, also with tears streaming down his face, dragged Barlo, flying towards the Dragon Echo Valley, "The pursuit has not ended; we must return to report to the elders."

...

In the aftermath of Nidaam’s devastating sword aura, a desolate figure gradually emerged from the ruins on the battlefield.

The Fourth Elder of the angel race, once commanding all beings with his supreme dignity and power, now lay fallen amidst the ruins caused by his own overprotection.

His wings were tattered, with feathers scattered across the debris around him, like fluttering pieces of sorrow.

The Fourth Elder’s body was covered in deep gashes, from which dark golden blood seeped out, mingling with the dust and ashes of the surroundings.

These wounds bore witness to the destructive power of Nidaam’s sword qi, reflecting the immense sacrifice the Elder had made to withstand that strike.

His breathing was rapid and heavy, each breath a struggle against the reaper, clinging to the last threads of life.

The Elder’s gaze was dim, seemingly looking back on the glory and decline of his own life.

His trembling hands caressed the armor over his chest, where the sword qi had struck directly, leaving a charred and twisted mark.

Despite the fatal injuries, his expression was eerily calm, as if all pain and fear were irrelevant to him.

"No wonder the gods fear the dragons so."