The Demon Against The Heavens - 213 War Menu

When the army’s shouts had subsided, Pseudonym lowered his weapon and stared at Helial for a long time before saying: “You’re only in the Initial grade of the Second Phase.”

Helial got off the pile of corpses and joined Circe, who was waiting for him. Pseudonym followed him in silence and watched him as the boy placed the rusty crown on his head and fluttered the discoloured cloak behind him.

Isn’t this what makes me special?, the boy seemed to say with the ironic attitude he had learned to appreciate inside the Time Block thanks to Alessandro and his Generals.

Pseudonym’s statement was correct, but at the time it seemed absolutely irrelevant. What did it matter in what Phase Helial was, if with his technique and his military strategy he had defeated Medusa when he was still two Phases lower than her? Underestimating him because his current Level, after he had come up with a perfect plan to defeat hordes of Undead, really didn’t make sense.

Helial headed for the makeshift camp they had hurriedly set up before the battle. As he walked he met Frankenstein and nodded, smiling, and went past him to enter the largest tent in the clearing; Circe and Pseudonym also entered after him. The other generals were already in the tent, awaiting their arrival.

Circe was pinching Helial’s butt, admonishing him playfully, as one does with a child, and everyone present could not help but start coughing loudly, reminding the couple they were not in their bedroom.

Only Pseudonym did not seem to be bothered by their attitude, but continued to look towards Helial.

Silence and embarrassment were interrupted by Snowflake, who began to massage his moustache with his hairy legs: “What the fuck is the idea of going against the fucking warriors the Third and Sixth Phase? None of us is ready to get killed yet. Maybe the fucking Third Phase monsters like Circe and Pseudonym have some chance of winning, but what should we do? Twist our cocks around the table legs and then throw it out the window?”

The cat stopped talking, proud of his articulated oratory speech. He was a true rhetorician.

Those present, however, were not of the same idea. They were stunned.

Although many of them had heard the cat in action during the clash with Medusa, every time he opened his mouth to speak rivers of curses flowed out of his jaws and left them amazed. They could not accept the fact that a Heavenly Star Tiger, one of the descendants most noble and righteous race of the universe par excellence, could utter certain tremendously scurrilous words.

Helial and his companions were really awkward.

What the fuck was that phrase? Twisting one’s cock around a table leg?

Circe also had a thoughtful expression, as she imagined Helial as the protagonist and Snowflake’s words as a script.

“We have no way of significantly influencing the other fight,” said Zion, bringing the facts to the table. They were all geniuses in that tent, but none of them was a fool.

Helial tilted his head slightly diagonally, bringing his finger close to his ear: “Can you hear that?”

Everyone was dumbfounded. Immediately they started listening, ready to hear every possible noise.

At first they heard nothing, and it seemed that silence had suddenly deepened. They listened for several seconds, unable to hear anything.

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Snowflake curled his muzzle and pulled out his claws, impatient, and just as he was about to hit Helial to punish him for the loss of time that he was causing him, he began to hear the sound of heavy footsteps.

Along with the footsteps, a whisper also approached, a whisper made of low and high-pitched sounds alternating in the space of a few seconds. It seemed that some lunatic was approaching the tent.

Vlad and Snowflake looked at each other and their eyes lit up. With terror.

It was Frankenstein.

The two began to mumble between themselves and prepared to run, but Lumia blocked them to the ground, modelling both gravity and ground itself. They were anchored in their place and could no longer move a step.

Zion and Lev noticed those strange movements and were ready to engage in a fight. If someone wanted to ambush, they would have stopped him at any cost.

Circe continued to pinch Helial’s ass without too much shame, Pseudonym continued to be silent.

Helial tried to ignore his girlfriend’s harassment in all possible ways. He spread his arms and said, smiling, “While all of you were busy celebrating, I asked someone to find certain things.”

A second voice added to the incomprehensible whispers: “When the Clan of the Sacred Eagle knows how much this trick cost him, there will probably be a revolt.”

Upon hearing those words, several dark lines appeared on Francesca’s forehead, while she already felt the wealth of her family being dilapidated without restraint.

Before the clash, Helial had asked Cesar’s daughter if the Clan of the Sacred Eagle in times of war allowed his members to spend in profusion to increase their strength. Obviously, imagining that the amount Helial needed was affordable for her Clan, the princess of Orma had given the go-ahead to any purchase.

She did not know that, probably, after the war, she would have had to answer his father about a terrifying expense, even more unspeakable than the one the cat had made in the most expensive restaurant in the city.

And to think that even before the battle…

Right!

Before the battle!

Francesca immediately realized that Helial, if he had asked her such a question and if he had already obtained everything he had in mind to use for the next attack, must have always had the certainty of winning.

The arrogance of his father’s disciple shocked Francesca deeply. Still, that arrogance was entirely justified. He had never seen anyone decide the fate of a battle like that, without even spilling a few drops of blood.

Helial’s victory could have ended in the Annals of Orma as one of the most overwhelming victories for her people.

A hand opened the curtain, letting Frankenstein in, who kept talking aloud to himself. Behind him was Caliban, his expression concerned. Both were holding several Interspace Rings.

They began to distribute the Rings, one for each general.

Helial raised his voice to be heard by everyone and, without ceremony, as he used to do, explained: “Each Interspace Ring contains a Formation I created myself. The power of each Formation, made up of about two thousand warriors, allows the wearer to easily reach a power equal to that of a person at the height of the Sixth Phase.

“They are not indestructible Formations, but they will surely last long enough to fight this war.”

Frankenstein, who was handing over the Rings, found himself in front of the black armour and stopped. He looked decisively at Pseudonym’s helmet and then passed it on, without giving him anything. Pseudonym frowned and crossed his arms, but said nothing.

“Where the fuck did you find this stuff?” asked Snowflake, already understanding what he was going to say.

“As a general rule, such formations are extremely expensive and, given how difficult to use they are, they are not used on the battlefield. After all, many soldiers are needed. If all these soldiers were taken from the ranks, who would fight the war between the warriors in the First and Third Phase? Furthermore, the Formation requirements are not simple. Its name is Formation of the Jade Warrior. A mediator is needed to bring together all the power of those who use the Formation; his knowledge of the Mana must be very deep, as well as his Perception. Each Formation contains different Skills, but to learn them you need an extraordinary attitude. Without meeting all these requirements, beyond the enormous cost, it is impossible to set up the Formations.”

“Is this how you intend join the battle between the warriors from the Fourth to the Sixth Phase?” asked Circe, amazed.

Helial did not reply, but turned to Pseudonym and said to him: “I have not made a Formation for you. Ahahaha, do you want to tell me that you need one?”

With a shrug, Pseudonym left the tent and went to prepare for the next fight.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere froze.

The implications of Helial’s words were not something easy to accept for all the geniuses gathered in there.

Circe looked at Helial in disbelief. He did not believe that Helial had been able to evaluate his power without even having to deal with it directly. On the other hand, despite having fought several times against Pseudonym, not even she could say what how strong the black-armoured warrior really was.

“You mean that…” Circe, Orma’s witch, was speechless.

Zion, Lev, Sidra and Francesca felt their faces blushing with shame.

Snowflake still didn’t understand, but he didn’t seem to care. In his hands he had the menu, appeared from who knows where, of the Coquinaria, that restaurant where he had found the best lasagna he had ever eaten in his life.

“What the fuck does War Menu mean? Old stupid bastard,” muttered the cat, taking it out on the restaurant’s chef.

“Pseudonym is able to fight against a warrior in the Sixth Phase, according to my calculations. Unless he’s an equally terrifying genius, of course. If the warrior’s talent were ordinary, I don’t think he would be able to defeat Pseudonym. These, of course, are only my deductions obtained through the Skill that I have cultivated, which allows me to estimate the fighters’ power. However, it is not a crystal ball. Mine is only guesswork, but apparently, Pseudonym has admitted that he doesn’t need this,” said Helial, pulling an Interspace Ring out of his pocket, “I think his Skills are even stronger than those of our Formations.”