Ice Age Apocalypse: I Hoard Billions of Supplies Chapter 1380: Lancelot vs. Chidorian

An inexplicable pressure descended upon everyone with Chidorian's arrival.

It was perhaps the unique aura only the powerful possessed—a presence unattainable by ordinary individuals.

Of course, the one person who perpetually feigned an unassuming demeanor was the exception to this rule.

Chidorian stood like a colossal statue in the middle of the street.

His gaze, cold and sweeping, took in the multitude of slain Tri-Eyed Clan soldiers littering the ground. He then observed the members of the Knights of the Round Table standing triumphantly atop the corpses, a frown of disgust creasing his features.

"Have even insects begun to sprout strength?"

"I've long advocated for the complete eradication of these unsightly vermin—they should not be permitted to persist!"

Raising the colossal greatsword in his grasp, Chidorian swung it directly forward, devoid of any discernible emotion.

This sword strike, outwardly unadorned by any flashy superhuman displays, still unleashed a terrifying sonic boom. The very air warped into a mighty gale, propelling the surrounding structures backward on either side.

Lancelot's demeanor instantly shifted to one of grave seriousness, yet his eyes sparkled with undisguised elation. "At last, a truly formidable opponent has appeared, haha!"

With a resonant roar, a longsword of pure black materialized in his right hand.

Flames of Ebon hue erupted from beneath his feet, spiraling upward to engulf his entire form, transforming him into a figure akin to a demon wreathed in infernal fire.

The knight's greatsword descended with ferocious power, colliding head-on with the massive blade that dwarfed Lancelot himself manifold!

"BOOM!!!"

An overwhelming wave of destructive energy surged outward, violently flinging buildings from several blocks away in every direction with its terrifying impetus.

Even the assembled members of the Knights of the Round Table shifted their expressions and beat a hasty retreat.

Chidorian, the esteemed Grand General of Nasha, a warrior of the highest caliber boasting a superhuman ability index of 19,000.

Lancelot, the Judgment Knight and Deputy Commander of the Knights of the Round Table, possessing a superhuman ability index of 18,000.

The Knights of the Round Table contingent swiftly evacuated the vicinity; the confrontation between these two titans was far beyond their capacity to influence.

Furthermore, Chidorian's own formidable forces had already established a comprehensive encirclement of the area.

A centurion, towering over ten meters tall, adorned in resplendent silver armor and wielding a gargantuan battle-ax, advanced deliberately, hot air venting from his nostrils.

"Now, it's time for pest control!"

Nasha’s Epsilon-class superhuman had finally made their presence known on this tumultuous battlefield.

Concurrently, their respective subordinate forces commenced a brutal, close-quarters engagement.

However, the ultimate arbiter of this conflict, naturally, remained the duel between Chidorian and Lancelot.

Chidorian's countenance was severe as he gazed down upon the diminutive Lancelot, much like a human regarding an insignificant insect.

Yet, even towards a bug, his onslaughts demonstrated no leniency. His immense war sword carved through the heavens, its terrifying sonic boom capable of perforating eardrums, sending debris and rubble hurtling through the atmosphere.

Lancelot executed a nimble leap, narrowly evading the devastating sweep and landing atop a mound of pulverized masonry.

Upon closer inspection, a thin crimson line could be observed at the corner of his mouth.

From that single, direct exchange, Chidorian's sheer, unadulterated might had already drawn blood.

The inherent robustness of the Tri-Eyed Clan's physiology was a biological advantage humans simply could not surmount, and Lancelot bore the stark consequences of this disparity.

However, no trace of apprehension marred his visage—only an overt, blazing exhilaration.

He was a natural combatant, reveling in the challenge posed by formidable adversaries.

And to engage the enigmatic denizens of the underworld in direct physical confrontation—this was an unprecedented experience in his life!

This profound sense of jubilation, interwoven with a subtle tremor deep within his very soul, ignited an irrepressible urge within him to unleash a triumphant roar.

"Insect, who granted you the audacity to look down upon me?"

Chidorian fixed him with a frigid stare, unleashing another sweep of his formidable war sword, effortlessly reducing the surrounding rubble to dust.

A violent tempest erupted from the sheer momentum of his blade, the resulting torrent of air sweeping Lancelot along, drastically impairing his ability to maintain balance upon the ground.

Yet, he anchored his feet with resolute determination, carving two deep furrows into the earth.

"Kangge'er, Grad!"

His left hand conjured the Guardian Shield, Grad, while his right hand wielded the obsidian Conquering Sword, Kangge'er.

This represented one of his signature abilities: [Sword and Shield].

As a knight, this emblem signified conquest and unwavering guardianship—his profound pride.

As its appellation implied, Kangge'er possessed utterly devastating offensive capabilities, whereas Grad offered formidable defensive prowess, engineered to negate the maximum possible frontal impact force.

Confronting the colossal, pale giant that loomed before him, Lancelot advanced with an exultant cry.

The charge resembled an ant assailing a titan, yet this ant moved with an astonishing velocity.

Its speed was so remarkable that even Chidorian's brow furrowed in displeasure; enraged, yet unable to afford even a modicum of complacency.

He recognized that the bug before him was no ordinary creature, unlike the lowly vermin from Nasha who resorted to pilfering food from refuse bins.

"Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!"

His massive sword descended like a tempest, its sword energy saturating the surrounding atmosphere. The sheer force of the wind generated by the swing fractured the very ground beneath them.

Simultaneously, his immense foot plunged downwards, aiming to flatten Lancelot in a single, decisive stomp.

Lancelot's gaze intensified with each passing moment.

"Is this the depiction of hell you foretold, my lord? I have now witnessed the inferno you described!"

From the "666" marking on the right side of his face, obsidian flames erupted with fervent intensity.

An boundless expanse of fire unfurled like a dark tempest, engulfing Chidorian.

"Fallen Ashen Flames!"

Lancelot's faith resided in the Satan of the underworld, and the infernal flames he commanded possessed the power to scorch spiritual essence.

Confronted by this display, Chidorian's countenance remained impassive. Within the incandescent black flames, intricate phantasms seemed to manifest, revealing spectacles that were both peculiar and profoundly mysterious.

Yet, his eyes held unwavering resolve as he simply brought his sword down upon Lancelot.

The inhabitants of the surface world were blessed with an abundance of convenient amenities.

Seeking to journey? Simply hail a vehicle.

Desiring to hunt? A firearm suffices.

In contrast, the denizens of Nasha persisted in their primal existence, prizing raw strength and espousing the belief that ultimate power was the paramount principle in existence.

Hence, from the earliest point of his recollection, Chidorian had dedicated every waking moment to the practice of swordsmanship.

He was, in essence, an unfeeling instrument of lethality, devoid of emotion.

To his perception, the airborne Lancelot was merely an ostentatious insect, incapable of disrupting his unwavering focus.

His greatsword struck, swept, thrust, and sliced—each movement straightforward and unembellished, yet lethally precise!

A single blow from Chidorian's blade, even against the most robust combat attire, would cleave a body in two!

A mere glancing hit would reduce a portion of the flesh to ragged wounds.

Possessing absolute dominance in might, Chidorian found no need for elaborate combat maneuvers.

"Overwhelming force trumps a thousand techniques"—this was the most direct and supreme stratagem!