Super Mothership
Hammer of Destruction?
Spartacus swallowed hard.
He didn’t understand most of it, but… it sounded incredibly powerful…
Seeing the utterly-bewildered expression on his listener, Nie Yun—who had once again activated his Grand Bluff Technique—said in a solemn tone,
**“Now then, make your choice… Will you erupt in silence, or perish in silence?
If you are ready to give up everything in exchange for the power to change your fate, then step forward and take hold of it. The moment you grasp it, you will form the supreme contract with me!
Your life, and even your soul, shall be the price for obtaining this power…”**
Spartacus looked at the “Hammer of Destruction,” whose shape clearly didn’t belong to anything of this world. A trace of hesitation flickered in his eyes—but in the end, the face that emerged in his mind was that determined young woman who had chosen to follow him onto the battlefield.
His wavering gaze gradually firmed!
Very well. In any case… he no longer had anything left to lose!
Spartacus stepped forward, reached out, and grabbed the long-handled giant hammer before him—
“Huh?!”
Spartacus yelped in surprise.
It wasn’t heavy like he had imagined. This “Hammer of Destruction” was shockingly light. He lifted it effortlessly, and because he had overestimated the weight, he even stumbled from using too much strength.
But wasn’t the difference between its size and weight a little too outrageous?
Had the hammer not clearly felt like hard metal in his hands, he would have thought it was an inflatable toy hammer.
In truth, because Nie Yun had only smuggled a limited number of mechanical bugs with him, it was impossible to actually manufacture a several-hundred-kilogram bluff hammer in such a short time. Cutting corners was inevitable—calling it an “inflatable hammer” wouldn’t be far off…
Noticing the confusion in Spartacus’s eyes, Nie Yun had to cough lightly.
“Cough! This hammer weighs thirteen-thousand and five-hundred jin. Only one fated with it can wield it as if it were an extension of their body! Warrior, it seems you share a very deep affinity with this hammer!”
Golden Staff: “…” (Excuse me?! This ad slogan is plagiarism!)
So… it was that amazing?
Before Spartacus could recover from his shock, a stabbing pain suddenly pierced his palm.
In the next moment, the “Hammer of Destruction” in his hand instantly disintegrated, then transformed into a silver whirlwind that drilled straight into his palm.
“AAAH!”
Spartacus screamed, clutching his right hand in terror at the sight—like watching something from a parasitic symbiote horror.
But as quickly as the pain came, it faded. Within a moment, everything returned to normal.
“Huff… huff…”
Spartacus gasped heavily, staring in disbelief at his now-empty right hand.
I-it… went inside?!
Heart still pounding, he examined his right arm carefully. Aside from a newly-formed tattoo—shaped exactly like a giant hammer—on the back of his hand, everything seemed normal. It was as if the “Hammer of Destruction” had never existed at all…
“Milord! Are you alright?”
At that moment, an anxious voice sounded from the doorway.
Spartacus turned to see his attendants rushing in—it seemed his scream had alarmed everyone outside.
Wait!
As if remembering something, he looked toward his mech. The glowing red “demonic eyes” that once gleamed from its helmet had dimmed at some unknown moment. The bronze mech, still missing both arms, stood silently in the hangar. It was as though everything earlier had been a hallucination.
“Wait! You haven’t told me—how can I save Sulla?!”
Ignoring the bewildered stares of those around him, Spartacus shouted anxiously into the empty air.
“The power has already been given to you. Why would you need me to teach you how to use it…”
The teasing voice faded away.
For some reason, Spartacus could faintly sense a hint of egging him on from that tone…
Don’t be scared. Just do it!
Was… that the message?
“M-Milord? Are you truly alright?”
Seeing Spartacus suddenly yelling at empty space, the attendants grew even more worried.
Had the trauma been too much for him?
Noting that no one else seemed to have heard the voice he just did, Spartacus’s expression became strange.
He lowered his head, gently touching the tattoo on the back of his hand, still faintly warm. He curled his fingers into a fist, feeling the changes in his body—his eyes slowly lighting up!
“We’re leaving.”
Without addressing the others’ shock, Spartacus tossed out those words and strode toward the exit.
“Eh? Where to, milord?”
…
A short while later…
“Hahaha! Spartacus, I can’t believe you actually dared to show up. What’s wrong? Did the beating I gave you earlier not knock any sense into you?”
A burly, broad-shouldered Ryan man with a black eyepatch over his right eye stood with arms crossed, looking at Spartacus with mocking disdain.
It was obvious—Spartacus’s earlier injuries had come from this man.
Judging by his battle suit, he was also a Bronze-class warrior like Spartacus, but the pattern on his chest was far more elaborate than Spartacus’s, marking him as higher-ranked.
“Morcy, where is Sulla?” Spartacus asked coldly, his face dark as iron.
At that moment, two factions of Ryan warriors stood facing each other, the atmosphere crackling with tension. At the head of each group were Spartacus and Morcy.
“You really are persistent, aren’t you? Looks like you’re truly devoted to your little sweetheart! But perhaps you’ve forgotten—you’re just a Junior Bronze warrior. I, as a Senior Bronze warrior, have full authority to requisition anyone under your command.
This is the power granted to me by the War God Codex. What’s wrong? Are you planning to challenge the authority of the Codex?” Morcy said with a cold smirk.
Spartacus glared at Morcy, teeth clenched.
The War God Codex was a set of rules created by the Wolf civilization specifically to govern warriors from their subordinate civilizations. Its core principle was simple: The weak are prey for the strong.
The strong had the right to control the weak; high-ranked warriors had the right to control lower-ranked warriors.
The Wolf civilization sought only warriors with the greatest combat power. So the foundation they set for all subordinate civilizations was—
Combat power determines status.
“Hahahaha!”
Seeing the fury burning in Spartacus’s eyes, Morcy burst into unrestrained laughter.
He suddenly ripped off his eyepatch, pointing to the long scar that cut straight through his eyeball. His voice twisted with hatred:
“This is the gift you left me five years ago during the Trial Battle! My younger brother also died by your hand!
Back then, I swore—I would make you suffer the same loss!”
Spartacus looked at the scar over Morcy’s eye, his gaze growing complicated.
In the Trial Battle—even though they were both of the Ryan race—it was kill or be killed. He had no regrets about what he did back then. But somewhere in his heart, a faint sense of helplessness and guilt still lingered.
“For what happened back then, I am sorry. But Sulla is innocent—”
“Innocent? Heh… As long as you live in this world, no one is innocent!
The weak are prey for the strong. Weakness is the original sin!
But don’t worry, I’ll ‘take good care’ of your little sweetheart. Of course, who knows—one day I might even send her corpse back to you. Hahahaha…” Morcy laughed wildly.
At this, Spartacus’s eyes went bloodshot with rage.
Here, a Senior warrior was forbidden from killing a Junior warrior at will—but ordinary attendants had no human rights. Killing one or two would never be punished.
Behind Spartacus, his attendants all bristled with fury and were about to charge forward.
“What? Are you planning to lead your men in rebellion? You know exactly what will happen if you do!” Morcy said with a vicious grin.
His words immediately halted the attendants’ momentum.
If they defied the War God Codex, not only they—but their entire village—would be punished.
“Milord, he’s provoking us on purpose! Please don’t act recklessly!” one of Spartacus’s attendants pleaded.
But Spartacus didn’t listen. He raised his hand.
“Stand down.”
Then he stepped forward, eyes resolute.
“Morcy, I challenge you to a War God Death Duel!”
The entire field fell silent.
Everyone stared at Spartacus in disbelief.
A War God Death Duel meant a fight to the death. The winner took everything from the loser—including rank and authority.
“Ha? …Ha… hahaha…”
As if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world, Morcy froze for a moment, then burst into manic laughter.
Then, suddenly, he stopped laughing.
“So you want to die? Fine! I’ll grant your wish!”
TL Note- Duel Time...
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