From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 548

Whoosh!

Leander's eyes hardened as fifteen flaming arrows shot through the air, screaming and disappearing into the clouds at many times the speed of sound.

Screech!

Inside the AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters, alarms wailed. Pilots scattered in panic, breaking formation and yanking their gunships into wild evasive arcs.

It changed nothing.

The firelit arrows clung to them like living trackers, closing in no matter how hard they twisted or dove.

Boom!

A flash split the sky.

Then another.

Then another.

In moments, fifteen columns of fire tore open the heavens.

Burning wreckage rained down in spirals.

Leander plummeted from nearly 1,600 feet, then stabilized around 300 feet and hovered in the open sky, with blue light swirling around him like a living cloak. He appeared as a god of war forged from light.

"Hmph." A cold, slender smile flickered on his lips as the flames diminished. His eyes remained devoid of warmth.

His killing intent burned more fiercely than ever before. He had never wiped out so many in a single confrontation. Today, he was completely without restraint.

He was well aware that the force used against him was not from a simple rogue group but from a state-sponsored entity, backed and financed by a superpower.

A nation that could field AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters like this?

Only one answer fit—the Agylae.

The dominant power of the age was a nation that bent others with sheer military weight.

The thought brought no fear.

If they thought crushing him would serve as a warning to those King Phase masters from a century ago, then so be it.

He would carve the price of challenging Jeff Ashcroft into their memory.

Today, he activated Devourer Form, charged at rockets directly, tagged fifteen targets with spiritual strength, and eliminated them using Windchaser Arrows.

This was his reply.

Not even a powerhouse like Agylae could make him bow. He would carve the message into the world with his own strength: to every nation plotting his death, to anyone who wanted Jeff Ashcroft gone—killing him would never be that easy.

"Oh my God..."

From a distance, Torre and the rest stood frozen. Gisela's face drained of color, her lips parting into a silent circle as she stared.

Once, she had thought Leander was merely beyond human.

Now that idea felt foolish.

He had already torn through 3,000 soldiers alone, leaving nothing but wreckage behind. Tanks and armored vehicles had fallen like toys before him.

Then six AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters had been ripped from the sky, pierced through by flaming spears.

After that, fifteen more had tried to bury him in fire. Rockets and storms of steel had hammered down, yet he had walked away untouched. In return, he had loosed fifteen arrows, turning every helicopter into a falling star.

Gisela swallowed.

For her, this was no longer just a fight. It was a legend being etched into the clouds—something meant for gods, not mere humans.

At last, Skyler accepted the truth: true strength could rise high enough to stand against even Earth's most advanced weapons.

The young man next to Gisela couldn't tear his gaze away from the blue-glowing figure overhead. His face had gone rigid with disbelief, and for several heartbeats, he couldn't even move.

"How can someone like that exist in this world?" he whispered. "Is this really the world I live in? How many things are there that science just can't explain?"

His voice faded away. All his doubts about Leander, now sour in his chest, remained bottled up in silence.

High above, Leander hovered in silence. Blue light flickered around him, yet his Primordial Energy pulsed unevenly, clearly draining.

Moments earlier, he activated Windchaser Arrows, targeting the AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters as they flew by, shooting them down one after another.

This incredibly drained him, using up both his Primordial Energy and spiritual strength.

With his current spiritual strength, he knew he could only perform that level of tracking art at most twice.

"Three days to recover... minimum."

The hollow ache in his spirit core elicited a faint smile as he shook his head, with a hint of weary acceptance in his eyes.

If it hadn't been necessary to end the fight swiftly and eliminate all threats, he would never have resorted to such a dangerous killing move.

He turned, ready to leave.

Then danger screamed through his senses.

His body snapped 100 feet sideways in an instant.

Swoosh!

A black streak shot past, leaving a trail of smoke that was too quick to see.

Leander's pupils tightened. "That's... a homing missile?"