SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 78: Carl’s death

Hearing Damien’s cold declaration, the hearts of everyone present skipped a beat.

The words weren’t shouted.

They weren’t laced with bravado or desperation.

They were delivered with such chilling certainty that they felt more like a divine sentence than a human command.

Whoosh—

Carl Luxei let out a long, shaky exhale. The breath had been stuck in his lungs without him realizing. Though the young man standing before him was only at Iron rank—Iron rank!—the oppressive pressure emanating from him made death feel like a foregone conclusion.

It was unnatural.

It was terrifying.

A cold wave of despair slowly crept up Carl’s spine, constricting his chest like an invisible serpent. His breaths came in shallow gasps as he struggled to formulate a coherent thought.

How?

How do I get out of this?

Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, trailing over his cheeks before slipping beneath his armor. The thin cloth lining beneath the plate was already soaked, clinging to his skin like a death shroud.

He wasn’t alone.

The Blue Hammer soldiers around him were no different.

All of them could feel it—that suffocating weight hanging in the air, as if the eyes of a death god had descended upon them. Panic flickered in their eyes. Some looked toward the ruined tower behind them. Others shifted their grips on their hammers, caught between flight and a fight they knew they couldn’t win.

Their instincts screamed at them: run.

But where?

The Iron Dungeon stronghold leader stood to the side, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. A faint, satisfied smile touched the corners of his lips.

He had made the right decision—the only decision.

Following Damien had seemed like a gamble at the time, but now it felt like fate itself had guided him. He had seen power before—raw, cruel, refined—but never like this. Damien wasn’t just a warrior. He was something else.

Something inevitable.

Anek, standing not far away, could only watch in silence.

The air still trembled with the echoes of Damien’s voice, and the young Crown Prince stood like a blade forged from will alone—unbending, merciless, sharp enough to cut through fear itself.

Once again, Anek was left speechless.

The sheer dominance with which Damien carried himself—the way he delivered judgment without hesitation or doubt—it stirred something deep within the old Sword Master.

He had marched with kings. He had fought beside Roosevelt Harrier, a proud Gold ranker who commanded armies with the strength of legend.

And yet...

Even Roosevelt had hesitated at times.

But this boy—no, this man—stood here, bathed in blood and smoke, surrounded by corpses and warriors, with his army completely outnumbered... and declared victory with the weight of fate behind his voice.

Anek exhaled softly, the lines around his eyes tightening.

"How... how does someone so young make decisions like this?"

He had no answer.

He only knew one thing for certain:

This war had already shifted.

And Damien Harrier was its storm

Meanwhile, Damien’s eyes never left Carl Luxei.

Not for a single breath.

Not for a single heartbeat.

The oppressive weight of that unwavering gaze bore down on Carl like a mountain. Though separated by a modest distance, it felt as if Damien’s eyes had pierced straight through his armor, flesh, and soul—exposing everything beneath.

Carl’s body stiffened as cold dread climbed up his spine. His face, already pale, drained of what little color remained.

He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and forced the words through trembling lips.

"Please... let go of my soldiers," he said, voice rough and uneven. "They were only following orders. If you need someone to take responsibility—then let it be me."

He took a half-step forward, shoulders squared.

"I am... willing to sacrifice myself."

A heavy silence fell like fog over the field.

The Blue Hammer soldiers behind him froze.

Stunned.

Moved.

Disoriented. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Their commander—this stern, unshakable man—was willing to give up his life for them?

For soldiers he’d known only briefly?

They couldn’t understand it, not fully. But their hearts clenched at the sight. A flicker of disbelief softened into respect, then into sorrow.

Damien, however, didn’t respond.

His expression remained unreadable.

Instead, his eyes shifted.

They fell upon the woman in glasses.

The second in command.

He was waiting.

Waiting for her choice.

Carl followed his gaze and looked toward her as well. A part of him, unexpectedly, ached with regret. She was young—no older than Damien himself—and born into one of the most powerful families in the Blue Hammer Kingdom. Her pedigree practically guaranteed her a high position, and yet she’d joined his tower willingly, preferring the life of harsh border duties over soft palace politics.

She had been sharp—sharper than most.

In fact, she was the first to spot the Valthorn kingdom’s movements before this conflict had even begun.

He could still remember the gleam in her eyes when she’d placed that first report on his desk.

But now...

Now that same cold, analytical gaze returned to meet Damien’s.

Then, her voice rang out—clear, emotionless, and sharp as shattered ice.

"Commander," she said, "what is the meaning of this?"

Her eyes narrowed on Damien as if trying to see through him.

"He’s just one man. How can you act like a coward and accept your fate?"

She stepped forward, her tone clipped and decisive.

"Quickly go and crush him to death."

No fear.

No hesitation.

Her face was a perfect mask of logic, of arrogance built upon years of military theory and noble entitlement. It was as if she wasn’t capable of feeling anything else.

Carl’s jaw tightened. He raised a hand.

"That’s enough."

The woman halted mid-step, turning to face him again, visibly confused.

"Second in command," Carl said, voice low but firm, "you don’t understand the situation. So I ask you—do not act rashly."

Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, and her lips thinned into a line.

"But Commander," she said, clearly exasperated, "I do understand. He’s just a mere Iron rank. Why are we groveling before him?"

Carl didn’t reply immediately.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then... sighed.

Not out of frustration.

But of disappointment.

Why can’t you see it?

Why can’t you feel what I feel?

Carl’s eyes drifted back to Damien—the man who had single-handedly toppled a watchtower, crushed morale, and stood unflinching in the face of opposition.

That’s the difference.

She looked at numbers and ranks.

I can see death.

He didn’t speak the words aloud.

Sometimes... explanations only invited more trouble. And sometimes, the truth was too big to be understood secondhand.

So, instead, Carl simply looked forward once more.

Stepping away from the stunned woman, he met Damien’s gaze directly—his own eyes now steady, filled not with fear but with unshakable resolve.

"If punishment must be dealt," he said, voice firm, "then let it fall upon me."

"I, Carl Luxei, accept whatever judgment you deem fit."

Damien’s face remained cold and unmoved, like it had been carved from obsidian.

Not a flicker of emotion crossed his features.

"It appears you didn’t understand my words," he said, voice like steel dragged over stone.

His next words fell like a judgment from above.

"You either die..."

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished—but everyone understood.

Carl’s eyes widened slightly in realization.

There was no escape.

No bargain.

No path forward that didn’t demand blood.

Taking a slow breath, he exhaled deeply and turned his head toward the soldiers behind him. His gaze swept across their faces, finally settling on one—an imposing man with broad shoulders, clad in worn, dented armor and clutching a heavy war hammer.

"You," Carl called out, voice clear. "Come here."

The soldier froze.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

But then, stiffly, he stepped forward—each stride labored like he was walking through mud. The hammer in his grip seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, and his breath trembled with every step.

He stopped in front of Carl, eyes unfocused and flickering with panic. His jaw clenched, then unclenched. He didn’t know what to do.

No one had trained him for this.

One man had brought their entire force to its knees—shattered their pride, destroyed their strongest tower, and stood alone as if nothing could touch him.

And now, the commander...

The commander was asking him to deliver the final blow.

Carl watched the hesitation settle into the young man’s features and frowned.

"Kill me," he ordered plainly.

The words struck like thunder.

The soldier’s grip weakened. His arms trembled, and the massive hammer slipped from his fingers, crashing to the ground with a hollow thud. A cloud of dust spiraled up as silence fell over the field.

The soldier’s shoulders slumped, shame flooding his expression.

But Carl didn’t soften.

His voice turned sharp and biting. "Soldier, don’t ruin the reputation of the Blue Hammer Kingdom further."

Those words hit harder than any blow.

The soldier gritted his teeth and bent down, lifting the hammer once more with trembling arms. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. He straightened his back, lifting the weapon as high as he could, hands slick with sweat.

Carl took a final breath and bowed his head forward.

Resigned.

Unyielding.

A loyal man to the end.

Under the gaze of all—Valthorn and Blue Hammer alike—the hammer came down.

HMMMMMMM!

A sharp, tearing whine cut through the air as the hammer howled downward, faster than sound.

BOOM!

It landed.

The crushing weight met flesh and bone in a sickening explosion, Carl’s skull shattering like a fragile shell. Blood splashed in every direction, painting the dust and stone in a boiling crimson red.

His body crumpled, falling limp and silent to the ground.

Dead.

A proud man who chose to die with honor rather than live in disgrace.