My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

Lin Mo walked within the enemy's camp.

On both sides were densely packed rebel soldiers.

Elite warriors of the Stoneskin tribe, wolf riders of the orcs, skirmishers from a small human nation, and a few paladins dressed in the black robes of remnants of the Papacy.

Their weapons were still stained with the blood of the human empire's defenders, and their armor was still covered with the dust and debris from the siege.

But no one dared to point a weapon at Lin Mo.

The weapons were not lowered, but the feet were retreating.

It wasn't an organized retreat; it was instinct.

Like a pack of wild dogs that have caught the scent of a apex predator in the wilderness, their limbs begin to retreat before their brains can even process it.

The soldiers in the front row retreated too quickly and bumped into their comrades in the back row. The soldiers in the back row were knocked back and staggered, but dared not utter a sound of cursing.

A wolf warrior's scimitar slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. The sound of metal striking rubble was particularly jarring in the deathly silence of the battlefield, but he dared not bend down to pick it up.

A veteran of the Stone Skin tribe instinctively took three steps back, his defensive instincts—which allowed him to withstand frontal blows from a hunter's axe on the battlefield—remaining silent at this moment.

Because instinct tells us that, in the face of such an existence, even the thickest layer of stone skin is meaningless.

Lin Mo walked right through them.

He didn't unleash his killing aura, didn't draw his sword, and made any unnecessary movements.

They simply walked calmly, their boots making a soft rustling sound as they stepped on the gravel of the wasteland.

His black robe was stained with the lingering aura of law from the cracks, and his expression was so indifferent that it was as if these rebels did not exist in his sight at all.

Or to be more precise, these people are not worth his utmost attention.

He walked up to the Stone-Skinned Clan member who had just been promoted to demigod, without pausing, and merely glanced at him indifferently.

There was no anger, no murderous intent, no emotion in that glance; it was as if he were looking at an ordinary stone on the roadside.

But with just that one glance, the defensive patterns that the Stone Skin Clan elder was so proud of began to peel off from the surface of his skin.

He wasn't attacked by Lin Mo, he was simply afraid.

A pure, deep-seated fear that even the Stone Skin Clan's millennia-old defensive instincts could not suppress.

Dark gold patterned fragments fell from his rough skin, landing on the gravel at his feet with a soft, crackling sound.

His legs were shaking violently, but he wasn't even aware that he was shaking.

Lin Mo did not kill him.

I just walked past him.

Gradually, people on the battlefield began to notice the unusual situation.

I don't know who shouted it first.

"That...that's...it's His Majesty! His Majesty has returned!"

The sound was like a bucket of cold water poured into boiling oil; the originally noisy battlefield quieted down layer by layer from the outside to the center in just a few breaths.

The orcs lying on the city wall were stunned.

The Stone-Skinned Tribe members standing on the city wall stopped wielding their battering rams.

The remnants of the Papacy, who were locked in battle with the dragons, suddenly turned around.

Even the human empire's garrison stopped fighting without prior agreement.

At this moment, tens of thousands of eyes across the entire battlefield were focused in the same direction.

The hunter stood on the city wall, his giant axe stuck in the crack of the bricks at his feet.

His rugged face froze for a moment, then a bright smile suddenly broke out, his voice so loud it shook the entire section of the city wall.

"Lin—Your Majesty! I knew you were alright! Who the hell said you were dead? I'll kill him!"

Long Feiyu remained silent.

He folded his white wings, pierced by bone spurs, and holy light slowly descended from the wingtips, casting interplay of light and shadow on his face.

He stood on the crenellations of the city wall, staring intently at the black-robed figure emerging from the rebel army, his eyes reddening and his lips twitching for a long time.

In the end, he didn't say a word, but simply lowered his head slightly and placed his right fist against his chest, which was the highest military salute in the imperial army.

Lin Mo ignored them.

He walked step by step to the fortress gate, his pace unhurried, as if this battlefield strewn with corpses was just an ordinary commute home.

At this moment, the rebel demigods finally snapped out of their terrified stupor and scrambled toward Lin Mo's retreating figure.

The Stone Skin Clan elder was running at the front, his once-proud defensive patterns had been reduced to a thin layer of residue.

But he didn't bother to pick it up. His knees buckled and he knelt down a dozen steps behind Lin Mo, his hands on the ground as he desperately kowtowed, his forehead hitting the gravel with a dull thud.

"Your Majesty... I think there's a misunderstanding! We can explain! It's because..."

His voice was trembling, and every word seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of his throat.

Lin Mo stopped in his tracks.

He didn't turn around or look back; he simply stretched out his right hand and waved it casually behind him, as if urging a swarm of flies blocking his way to get out of the way.

Everyone on the battlefield was stunned by this action.

Is this the end of it?

His Majesty is not going to pursue the matter?

The remnant of the Papacy was the first to react. He got up from the ground, his face filled with the ecstasy and flattery of someone who had survived a disaster.

His voice cracked with excitement: "Thank you, Your Majesty, for sparing my life! Your Majesty is so magnanimous; I will serve you with all my heart from now on! I'm leaving now, I'm leaving now—"

He turned and ran.

Then his right leg disintegrated into countless tiny fragments, silently scattering into the air.

From skin to muscles to bones, every cell loses the concept of "cohesion" at the same instant.

It peeled away from him like sandcastles scattered by the wind.

He looked down in shock at the spot where his right leg had been, where only a mist of blood was still dissipating, the pain not even having caught up with his nerves yet.

"This...this is..."

Before he could finish speaking, the disintegration had already spread from his legs to his waist and abdomen, and from his waist and abdomen to his chest.

His mouth was still opening and closing, but he could no longer make a sound.

Not just him.

The bodies of the demigods who were still kneeling around him also began to disintegrate.

Not only the demigods, but also the rebel soldiers.

From the elite level 90 soldiers at the front to the ordinary soldiers in the back who hadn't had time to escape, everyone's body was experiencing the same thing.

The edges began to crack, the fragments turned into the finest dust, and then even the dust was blown away by the wind.

Tens of thousands of troops, like sand sculptures scattered by the same gust of wind, quietly, neatly, and without resistance disappeared from this world.

There were no screams, no struggles, no rivers of blood, because even the blood was disintegrating.

Lin Mo could accomplish all of this simply by waving his hand.

He stood before the city gate, facing the heavy ironwood gate of the fortress. Behind him, on the desolate plain, where tens of thousands of rebels had stood just moments before, only a thin, blood-red mist was now slowly being dispersed by the wind.

Sunlight pierced through the thin mist and shone on the city gate, casting a long shadow on him.

He raised his hand and pushed open the city gate.

The war was over the moment he stepped onto the battlefield.

As always, no one was left alive; he was still the same Lin Mo.