SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 113: Death of Blue Hammer King

Chapter 113: Death of Blue Hammer King

Puchi! Cough!

Another violent tremor shook the Blue Hammer King’s chest, and with it, a fresh mouthful of blood splattered from his lips. The deep crimson stained the dirt beneath him like spilled wine on parchment.

He looked up at Damien—his eyes bloodshot, rimmed with disbelief and something close to humiliation. It was the look of a man who felt fate itself had wronged him.

"I refuse to believe this..."

The scream echoed in his heart.

No, he thought, there’s no way. There’s no way this so-called Crown Prince Damien is just an Iron ranker.

Everything—his instincts, his combat sense, his decades of battlefield experience—told him otherwise. This was not someone from the lower ranks. This... this was a Domain Manifestation expert in disguise.

He has to be.

There was no other explanation. No Iron ranker—no matter how monstrous—should be capable of reducing a Channel Forging Realm expert like him to a broken husk with a single punch.

The longer he stared, the more certain he became.

And then...

Footsteps.

Steady. Echoing. Unhurried.

Each one felt like a funeral bell, growing louder with every step.

Damien was approaching.

His clothes had long since been reduced to tatters, barely clinging to his frame. His torso, exposed and smeared with blood, glistened under the last golden rays of the setting sun. Cuts and bruises littered his body, but none of them dulled his radiance. His presence was sharp—too sharp—as if the air bent and twisted just from the weight of his silence.

The final glow of daylight stretched across his face, and for a moment, he didn’t look human—he looked like something sculpted from divine will, a being born not from the womb but from calamity and lightning.

Even after all the carnage, the unrelenting battles, the chaos he had unleashed...

Damien glowed.

His face, marred by blood, still retained an unnatural beauty—arrogant, calm, and terrifyingly composed.

The Blue Hammer King’s heartbeat accelerated.

What had begun as doubt and denial was now becoming cold, undeniable truth.

There was no surviving this.

Unless...

Unless he begged.

Grinding his teeth, swallowing what pride he had left, the Blue Hammer King made his move.

His hands pressed into the dirt, his battered body quivering as he pushed himself upright. And then—thump!—his forehead slammed against the ground.

"Please... please forgive me, senior!" His voice trembled like a leaf in a storm. "It was my ignorance. I—I didn’t know... I couldn’t recognize your noble presence. I offended you without knowing!"

There was no trace of his earlier grandeur. The once-mighty king of the Blue Hammer Kingdom now knelt in the dirt, like a dog begging for scraps.

Thump!

He bowed again.

Thump!

And again. His forehead slammed into the broken ground like a hammer striking steel.

But Damien...

Damien remained still.

His eyes were unreadable. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... absent of response. Like he was watching something utterly beneath his attention.

The king’s forehead hit the earth again—thump! thump!—again and again, each strike more desperate than the last.

And still, Damien didn’t speak.

Instead, he simply observed.

If anything, he looked... surprised.

So this is the vitality of a Channel Forging expert... he mused internally.

Despite smashing his skull into stone and shattered debris, not a single drop of blood dripped from the king’s head. No crack, no break, not even a swelling bump. His body was like forged steel, his skull an anvil.

Even in ruin, the Blue Hammer King’s physical resilience was terrifying.

But no matter how many times he knelt, begged, or groveled...

Damien’s silence only grew heavier.

And the sun, now dipping beneath the horizon, painted the sky in streaks of red—as if nature itself was bearing witness to the fall of a king.

Damien now stood directly above the battered figure of the Blue Hammer King. From a certain distance, the image was almost poetic—almost cruel.

A once-proud monarch, head bowed, was smashing his forehead against the dirt... and from the right angle, it looked as if he was begging at Damien’s feet.

Sigh.

Damien exhaled.

Something about this entire sight left a strange taste in his mouth. Watching the man beg with such desperation stirred not anger, but a flicker of hesitation. He wasn’t immune to the symbolism of what was happening—this was the king of a great nation reduced to a groveling figure, his crown shattered and his pride trampled beneath another’s heel.

Damien tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable.

He would be more valuable alive, Damien admitted inwardly.

Leverage. Knowledge. A hostage. There’s no denying the strategic advantage...

But some sins—some trespasses—could not be balanced by logic. Some things weren’t about cost and gain.

And the Blue Hammer King had crossed that line.

Crack.

Damien’s knuckles tightened. His fist slowly rose.

The Blue Hammer King—still kneeling, unaware—only sensed something was wrong when the atmosphere around him shifted. The winds died. The tension became suffocating. An instinct carved into his bones from decades of war screamed in warning.

He looked up—

—and saw a fist descending.

His eyes widened in disbelief. A flash of pure rage bloomed on his blood-smeared face.

"HOW DARE YOU! Even after I begged for mercy?!"

But Damien didn’t answer his outrage with words meant for the world to hear.

Instead, he leaned slightly forward, and in a voice so low only the king could catch it, he whispered:

"No hard feelings, buddy... but next time, try not to meddle in things that don’t concern you."

Then—

BOOOOM!!!

It was like the sky cracked open.

The ground imploded beneath Damien’s feet, caving in for hundreds of meters in every direction. Shockwaves ripped across the landscape, fracturing the earth like broken glass. The sheer pressure of the descending punch collapsed the air itself—it roared out like a thunderclap from hell, sending even distant debris into the sky like dust in a storm.

The Blue Hammer King tried to move—tried to resist.

"NOOOOOOO!!!" he bellowed, mana flooding his body like a desperate tide.

But it was like standing before a collapsing mountain.

He poured every last ounce of strength, every battle-honed technique, every secret reserve he had cultivated over his lifetime into his defense.

But...

It wasn’t enough.

"You can’t kill me! I am the Blue Hammer King!" he screamed, desperation giving way to pure madness. "Millions of warriors bow in shame at my sight!"

His right arm shot upward in a frantic attempt to guard his vitals—

Only to be vaporized on contact.

It didn’t snap. It didn’t bleed.

It simply ceased to exist.

The sheer force of Damien’s fist disintegrated it at the molecular level.

And still... the blow kept coming.

Like a divine judgment descending from the heavens, it crashed toward him with unyielding finality.

"D-Damn... f-fucking... hell!" the Blue Hammer King cursed one final time through gritted teeth, his voice already shaking apart under the weight of the impact.

The moment stretched. Space trembled.

And the blow—still descending—promised only one thing:

Oblivion.

As a matter of last resort, the Blue Hammer King did the only thing left to him—he activated his Domain.

A Domain—something every warrior above the Channel Construction realm possessed. It wasn’t just a manifestation of strength; it was a declaration of presence, a personal world imposed upon reality.

Each Domain was unique, shaped by one’s physique, cultivation path, battle experience, and soul resonance.

And while the Blue Hammer King had never claimed to be the strongest... deep down, he had always believed his Domain was second to none.

A fortress of lightning and pressure.

A kingdom within a kingdom.

Many had tried to challenge him over the years. None had succeeded in breaking it.

It had become a quiet source of pride—a truth unspoken, but deeply held.

Until now.

BOOOOOM!!!

Another cataclysmic explosion shook the heavens. The earth cracked and trembled as the Blue Hammer King’s proud Domain shattered like glass struck by a divine mallet. In the next instant, his body was hammered into the ground, violently crushed beneath a weight no man could withstand.

Hundreds of meters below the surface, what remained of the once-mighty king was entombed in rubble, mangled beyond recognition.

Damien didn’t even spare a glance.

To him, it was already over. The king wasn’t just dead—he was deader than dead. If there was a scale for death, the Blue Hammer King had shattered it.

Nothing in the world was more dead than that man.

"Damn... that felt good."

A sharp breath left Damien’s lungs as a satisfied smirk curled on his lips. His body was battered, his spiritual force low, and his nerves taut from the constant strain of battle... but inside, his blood surged with a wild, exhilarating rhythm.

Despite the one-sided appearance, the fight had been anything but relaxing. All this time, Damien had been on edge, pushing his abilities to their absolute limit.

One wrong move, and he would have been the one buried beneath rubble. That was the kind of man the Blue Hammer King had been.

Damien rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, letting out a long exhale.

"Still alive. Still standing."

Then, his sharp eyes swept the battlefield.

It was a scene of total annihilation.

The legendary walls that had once guarded the capital of the Blue Hammer Kingdom—walls reinforced with generations of mana-forged steel, alchemy, and defensive enchantments—had been reduced to ruins. Smoke rose from cratered ground, rubble littered the city outskirts, and the distant sky still bore the burn marks of lightning strikes and cannon fire.

A ghostly wind blew across the destruction, carrying with it the metallic stench of mana residue and blood.

Damien’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t have time to waste.

"I’ve gotta move fast," he muttered. "Can’t let those bastards escape with the treasury..."

His expression sharpened. He could already feel it—those ministers, elders, merchants, and cowardly nobles scrambling to flee the capital now that their guardian was gone.

Once word of the king’s death spread, the vultures would descend, and the rats would run.

Damien clenched his fists, and a faint hum came from his body—the echo of momentum not yet spent.

He wasn’t done.

Not yet.