SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 79: Rosewood family

Crimson blood slowly slid down the hammer’s heavy handle, winding its way along the notches and scratches etched into the metal from countless battles.

It reached the grip, soaked into the worn leather, and finally—

Splash...

Splash...

—dripped to the ground, darkening the dusty earth with each fall.

Each drop, though small, echoed in the minds of the Blue Hammer soldiers like the tolling of a funeral bell.

Thunderous. Final. Irrevocable.

Their gazes remained locked on the bloodied weapon—no one blinked, no one breathed. Time itself seemed to halt.

The soldier who had delivered the fatal blow stood frozen, the warhammer still in his hand, though now it felt heavier than a mountain. The color had vanished from his face, and his body trembled like a dying leaf in the wind.

If one were to step close enough, just close enough to hear the tremors of his thoughts, they would hear the broken whispers leaking from his trembling lips:

"...What have I done? How... how can I bear the weight of this?"

"I’ve killed a great man... our commander..."

His voice was barely audible—more a ghostly murmur than anything human, the words floating in the air like ash after a fire.

"...How will I face the families... the people of Blue Hammer?"

"I’ve committed a sin. A crime so vile I don’t deserve to live..."

"...don’t deserve to live..."

The phrase repeated like a chant, hollow and ceaseless, devouring the soldier from the inside out.

All around him, the soldiers remained trapped in the moment when the hammer had descended—when Carl’s skull had shattered like fragile porcelain and reality had cracked with it.

And in that stunned silence, something within the soldier finally broke.

With a guttural cry, he dropped the hammer and fell to his knees. His hands dug into the dirt as he slammed his forehead against the ground with savage force.

Thud!

The sound was raw—flesh meeting earth, bone meeting stone.

Again.

Thud!

And again.

Thud! fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Blood gushed from his forehead, running down his cheeks like crimson tears, soaking into the dirt beneath him. Yet no one moved to stop him. Not one hand reached forward.

The shame was not his alone—it was shared, heavy, oppressive.

But he was the one who had swung the hammer.

And now, the guilt was eating him alive.

Damien internally sighed, a breath of resignation rising within him.

War was merciless. Brutal. Ugly.

Even when you did what had to be done, blood still stained your hands.

He had made the right call—but the sight of shattered resolve, of guilt devouring a man from the inside, was a grim reminder of what leadership in war truly cost.

His gaze, however, swiftly hardened once more—turning glacial as it settled upon the vice commander.

The woman of noble blood.

"The decision is yours," Damien said, voice cold as iron. "What will you choose?"

The weight of his words rippled through the crowd like a tremor. It shattered their silence, tore them from their trance, and redirected every gaze toward the final point of tension—the young prince and the vice commander.

Hundreds of eyes fell on her, wondering whether she would plead... beg... surrender...

But the woman didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she raised her chin ever so slightly, her expression untouched by fear or guilt. Her eyes shimmered with a chilling apathy—the kind reserved not for enemies or rivals, but for vermin.

A noblewoman gazing down at ants.

And in that moment, Damien’s expression twisted with a subtle, visible frown.

There was no fear in her eyes. No reflection.

No humanity.

Only that deep, imperious emptiness—an aristocrat’s disdain, as if the lives lost, including Carl’s, were no more meaningful than stepping over a puddle.

"Very well done," she said at last, a note of delight curling in her tone.

"That good-for-nothing Carl deserved death. Honestly, he was a stain on our command."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, elegant and venomous.

"If it weren’t for my father’s direct orders, I would have killed him myself."

Her gaze wandered over to Carl’s mutilated corpse with a calm, almost pleased expression, as if admiring a well-done piece of art. Disdain curled in her eyes like frost forming over a mirror.

Her indifference wasn’t just disturbing—it was inhuman.

Damien’s frown deepened further, his eyes darkening. A chill seemed to leak from his very presence.

And yet, the woman continued, as if she hadn’t noticed the shift in atmosphere—or simply didn’t care.

"You’ve done a splendid job," she said. "As your actions have greatly pleased me, consider yourself rewarded."

She lifted her hand gracefully, placing it over her chest like a lady addressing a servant.

"As the heir of the Rosewood family, I will fulfill any one wish you have to the best of my ability. Land, title, women—anything."

Her voice was smooth and flat, devoid of warmth or sincerity.

She was serious.

But not because she respected him.

No—she believed she was granting a favor to a lower being.

The moment her words fell, a wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd like a dropped stone breaking the surface of still water.

It was as though a silent bomb had detonated in their midst.

Soldiers forgot their fear, their sorrow, even the blood dripping from the hammer. Instead, they turned to each other in disbelief, whispering as if afraid to speak too loudly in front of royalty.

"No way... Did she say Rosewood?"

"The heir of that family? The legendary Rosewood line?"

"No wonder she became vice commander so quickly. She’s got roots that run deeper than the capital walls."

Damien heard every word. His sharp senses didn’t miss a single syllable.

His gaze remained on the woman, but a glint flickered behind his eyes—part curiosity, part cold amusement.

So that was it.

The infamous Rosewood name.

He’d heard fragments of their legacy—buried within the ancient tomes and war records back in Valthorn’s archives. The Blue Hammer Kingdom was older, forged in the ruins of the first great apocalypse that had shattered the known world.

Two men had risen from that cataclysm—two war-forged legends who laid the foundations of Blue Hammer.

One of them bore the surname Rosewood.

A lineage stretching across centuries, its roots soaked in blood and history