SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 82: Six Gold rank experts

"Brave soldiers of Valthorn, switch dress with the Blue Hammer Kingdom soldiers. Directly kill anyone who refuses to cooperate..."

Damien’s voice rang out like a peal of thunder crashing through a silent sky—cutting sharp, heavy, and commanding. The chilling authority in his words swept across the battlefield, sending a wave of cold dread rolling through the ranks of the Blue Hammer soldiers.

Even the dullest among them could now smell it—the scent of something deeper, more sinister than simple war.

"This isn’t just vengeance... He’s planning something."

Their eyes darted around, wide with confusion, fear growing like frostbite under their skin.

"Iron Dungeon Stronghold leader!

Sword Master Anek!

I want this implemented in half an hour. Then we march..."

Damien’s tone left no room for hesitation, no margin for questions. Though the shock of Meguro’s abrupt, time-shattering death still lingered like a ghost in the minds of many, the two men he called upon had survived long enough to understand war’s ever-changing tide. Emotion was a burden; orders were survival.

Without a word, they moved. Anek barked commands, his voice cold and efficient. The Iron Dungeon Stronghold leader followed suit, gathering his veterans.

Then began the systematic unmaking of an army.

Rows upon rows of Blue Hammer soldiers—already stripped of pride—were now stripped of their weapons, armor, and identity. Helmets clattered to the earth. Chestplates ripped off. Pauldrons and gauntlets stacked in neat piles like the discarded skin of a dying empire.

With Damien’s figure standing tall in the center, gaze sharp as a sword edge, not one dared to resist. The mere thought of defiance was suicide.

High above, wind gusted across the plains. Tattered banners fluttered in silence, and the dying embers of the sun cast long shadows over the stripped soldiers—ghosts of a kingdom on the verge of ruin.

Damien narrowed his eyes and looked into the distance, past the lines of shivering men. He wasn’t admiring the view—his mind was calculating, dissecting every second.

"They’ll know by now," he thought. "The towers are connected... The moment the first fell, the others would’ve been alerted."

No more element of surprise. The next time they approached, a storm of alloyed arrows—crafted to pierce Iron Rank flesh and armor—would rain down upon them.

There would be no waiting. No mercy. No diplomacy.

This wasn’t a siege. This was a death sprint.

"Today, the Blue Hammer Kingdom must fall."

And so, it began.

Even before the thirty-minute mark had passed, the transformation was complete. Valthorn soldiers now stood cloaked in the armor of their enemies, the deception chilling in its perfection.

"The soldiers of Blue Hammer Kingdom march forward. The loyal men of Valthorn follow behind." Damien’s command rang out again, crisp and merciless.

"Sword Master Anek, ensure adequate distance is maintained between both groups."

The chill in his words made even the seasoned warriors flinch.

Suddenly, realization dawned on the Blue Hammer soldiers.

They weren’t marching as a spearhead—they were meat shields.

"He’s going to use us to absorb the arrows..."

Panic rippled through their ranks, but they held still—trapped between fear of Damien and fear of death. Behind them, Valthorn soldiers waited silently, cloaked in their stolen armor. No one knew who was who anymore. The lines had blurred.

And overhead, as the sky dimmed into twilight, the first war crows began to circle—drawn to the scent of blood and fate.

The march had begun.

Sword Master Anek’s eyes glinted with a cold, calculating sharpness. For a brief moment, they trembled—not out of fear, but realization.

So this was the true depth of the Crown Prince’s mind...

Only now did the pieces fall into place, the purpose behind the uniform swap becoming crystal clear. It wasn’t just a tactical ploy—it was a masterpiece of battlefield deception. Anek had seen many generals in his life, but this...

"Terrifying..." he muttered under his breath, the words filled with awe.

He sucked in a deep breath, stabilizing the ripples in his heart. Then, without wasting another second, he sprinted into motion—darting between soldiers like a silver streak, personally ensuring that Damien’s commands were implemented with precision no less than surgical. Mistakes had no place in this operation.

Meanwhile, Damien stood with his arms folded, gazing at the growing columns of men readying for the march. His cold eyes swept over the terrain before locking onto the Iron Dungeon Stronghold leader.

A subtle gesture was all it took.

The man immediately stepped forward.

There was no hesitation. Not even a flicker of doubt.

He had already made his choice. After witnessing Meguro—the heir of the Rosewood family, shielded by a legendary treasure—die in an instant, he understood that Damien was not someone one could afford to stand against.

He had decided to hug the Crown Prince’s thighs tightly—and now, there was no turning back.

The atmosphere around Damien grew heavier as the man approached. It was as though the air itself thickened, warping around him in reverence—or fear.

"Speak everything you know about the Blue Hammer Kingdom," Damien said flatly, his voice like the clang of steel being drawn.

His eyes didn’t blink. They were sharp and unrelenting, drilling into the man’s soul.

The stronghold leader stiffened but nodded immediately. There was no time to lie, no benefit in hiding. From the Crown Prince’s expression alone, it was clear—he already knew enough to catch a half-truth.

Damien didn’t speak again. He waited silently.

Inside, his thoughts churned—not with doubt, but precision. He already had a general idea of the Blue Hammer Kingdom’s layout and defenses, but most of it was bookish knowledge—written decades ago, before the recent military expansions.

"I can’t afford miscalculations now," Damien thought. "This next march must cut through their spine."

He knew his own strengths: tactics, adaptability, raw power. But he also knew his limits—and among them was outdated geography.

So I’ll fix it now... with someone who’s bled on that soil.

As the stronghold leader began to speak, Damien’s eyes didn’t leave his. Every word was weighed, every detail filtered and stored.

The storm hadn’t even begun—but Damien was already preparing for the final blow.

The Iron Dungeon stronghold leader was no fool—his shrewdness was etched into every scar on his weathered face. He immediately understood what Damien wanted from him: information, not excuses. And perhaps, more importantly, he was secretly relieved that the Crown Prince hadn’t pressed about his past ties with the Blue Hammer Kingdom.

No judgment. No inquisition. Only utility.

It was a small mercy, but one he wouldn’t squander.

His mind raced with layered thoughts, rapidly assembling everything he knew. Then, without hesitation, his mouth opened—and the flood began.

"The major city closest to us is the City of Dreamy Sky," he began in a grave tone. "It’s usually under the command of a Gold Rank general."

Damien’s eyes narrowed, the air around him chilling perceptibly.

Another Gold Rank expert... finally.

The long-awaited clash with true high-tier power was drawing near. And yet, with that single line, an unsettling realization began to creep into Damien’s thoughts like a shadow stretching at dusk.

So this is the kind of power I’m up against.

In his mind’s eye, he began sketching the crude shape of the Blue Hammer Kingdom—a massive hexagonal formation, six major cities encircling the central capital like an iron ring of steel and ambition. Each city, if guarded by a Gold Ranker, meant at least six peak-level threats.

Six generals... not even counting the capital.

A grim contrast to his homeland of Valthorn, which only had one city—and one Gold Ranker: the king himself.

It’s no wonder the Blue Hammer Kingdom dares to act with such arrogance.

Damien’s jaw clenched slightly, his thoughts sharpening.

But something didn’t sit right.

If they had this much strength, why allow Valthorn to exist all this time?

There had to be more to the political game than just raw power. Perhaps hidden alliances, unspoken debts, or greater threats Stood outside their borders...

Before he could dive too deep into his analysis, the stronghold leader’s voice broke the silence once more, this time tinged with a deeper weight.

"According to rumors... all six cities have recently installed Rank 3 defense systems."

Damien’s eyes snapped back to him.

"It’s said that once these systems lock onto a target, there’s no escape. Death is certain."

Rank 3 again...

The words jolted Damien out of his spiraling thoughts. That term—Rank 3—was beginning to echo like a warning bell in the back of his mind. First the treasure. Now the defense systems.

And every time, it felt like another veil was being lifted off the true scale of power hidden in the world beyond his kingdom.

His heartbeat remained steady, but the fire in his gaze burned hotter.

So the cities are guarded by more than just men. They’re defended by weapons of terrifying ferocity.

Damien straightened his back, the glint in his eye hardening into conviction.

If Valthorn was to survive, he would have to carve through not only armies and generals, but through layers of hidden truths.

And he would do so without flinching.