SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 74: Not a single Soldier should suffer an injury

The Valthorn Army of four hundred marched with solemn purpose.

A tide of men and steel, their formation stretched across the rugged road—warhorses flanking both sides in neat columns, with a dense block of infantry occupying the center. The rhythm of their synchronized footsteps echoed like war drums, making the very earth tremble beneath them.

Every step was thick with tension. Every breath carried weight.

Most soldiers were modestly equipped—many wielded only a basic iron-forged sword, their bodies wrapped in dull brown leather armor made from the hides of Iron Hide Boars. There was no polish, no glamour. Only raw determination.

Above them, the sky was a stark, uninterrupted blue—cloudless and serene.

It was the kind of day meant for picnics and quiet walks through blooming fields, for laughter and warmth with family. Yet here they were, marching into the jaws of war.

At the vanguard rode Damien, his back straight, his eyes focused like twin obsidian blades.

Beside him marched Swordmaster Anek and Leader of the Iron Dungeon stronghold. Their presence was a heavy anchor, steady and unyielding. freēnovelkiss.com

Neither man spoke.

Their expressions bore the same grim resolve, shaped by the knowledge of what lay ahead.

Then Anek slowed slightly, casting a sharp look over his shoulder toward the army trailing behind. His voice rang out, cutting through the rhythmic clatter of hooves and boots like a blade.

"Prepare yourselves—we are nearing the watchtowers of the Blue Hammer Kingdom."

A tremor passed through the ranks.

The words alone were enough to shift the atmosphere from solemn to grim. Faces darkened. Hands gripped weapons tighter. Spines straightened as adrenaline crept into their veins.

Everyone had heard the stories.

The infamous border watchtowers of Blue Hammer were not mere lookout posts—they were weapons of destruction in their own right. Monuments of death.

Each tower stood as a Rank 2 treasure, forged not by ordinary hands but through the combined efforts of seasoned artifact masters and formation experts. Their defenses were automated, brutal, and precise.

A single tower could unleash a storm of alloyed arrows, imbued with piercing force and speed. Under such rain, unprepared troops would be shredded before they could blink.

Some soldiers swallowed hard, dread rising like bile in their throats. They had trained. They had prepared. They had marched with pride.

But now, they could feel the shadow of death looming.

Yet not one broke formation.

Despite the sudden tightness in their chests, their steps did not falter. They continued forward, armor clinking, hearts pounding.

Sensing the growing tension, a few of the younger officers raised their voices in defiance—shouting, cheering, roaring into the sky.

"FOR VALTHORN!"

"VICTORY OR DEATH!"

The cries spread like wildfire. Cheers erupted, not in celebration, but in defiance of fear.

It was a desperate but powerful sound, clawing back morale from the jaws of despair.

Damien didn’t speak. He didn’t turn.

But he heard them.

He understood.

This fear... this was necessary.

War wasn’t glorious. It wasn’t clean. It broke men long before it killed them. And if they couldn’t face this moment of dread—how could they face what was to come?

His cold black eyes lifted to the horizon, narrowing.

There, in the distance, the silhouette of a tower emerged—twenty meters tall, its surface faintly glowing with arcane runes. Pale blue mana coursed through them like blood through veins, pulsing softly beneath the midday sun.

Damien’s gaze sharpened.

Six cannon-like muzzles jutted out from the mid-section of the tower, aimed squarely in their direction—silent, unmoving, like predators waiting to pounce.

"They haven’t noticed us yet..." he muttered under his breath, his tone barely above a whisper.

His senses scanned the surroundings. There was no activity at the base of the tower. No patrols. No signal flares. No movement within the firing platforms.

It wasn’t a comforting sign.

Damien’s mind raced.

He knew the structure. These towers were placed at regular intervals across the Blue Hammer border—unforgiving sentinels that never slept. Every tower typically housed a small elite unit and a peak Silver Rank commander.

But the real danger wasn’t the commander.

It was the tower itself.

Constructed to respond with lethal precision, the defense arrays could be activated within seconds of detecting hostile mana signatures. Once awakened, it would be nearly impossible to avoid casualties.

Damien’s grip on his sword tightened slightly.

We’ll need to act fast... or we won’t act at all.

Just as Damien was calculating their next move, his eyes suddenly narrowed to razor-thin slits.

A pulse of raw power erupted from him—his peak Iron Rank aura igniting like a tempest, rippling through the air in violent waves. The air around him shivered under the pressure, wind howling unnaturally as if the world itself felt the shift in weight.

Then he saw it.

Movement—swift and deliberate.

All six cannon muzzles atop the watchtower jerked in unison, rotating to aim directly at their formation.

They’ve seen us.

There was no hesitation. No room for error.

Damien’s voice boomed across the battlefield, carried by mana-infused force. Each syllable struck like thunder.

"Form groups of five and scatter! I want at least a hundred meters between each unit!"

The command sliced through confusion and fear.

Anek didn’t question it. He didn’t need to understand to trust the Crown Prince.

"Move! Follow the command!" Anek bellowed, immediately relaying Damien’s orders down the chain of command.

The soldiers, trained and disciplined, sprang into action. Panic flashed in their eyes, but their movements were practiced. Group by group, they began to break formation, scattering across the open field like iron leaves in the wind.

It wasn’t a perfect solution. There was no avoiding those arrows once they were released. But this was damage control—if they were going to bleed, they wouldn’t bleed out.

Yet Damien had no intention of letting it come to that.

Not a single one of his men would die today. That was his resolve.

For most armies, such towers were death sentences.

For Damien... they were targets.

His eyes blazed as he turned to the Iron Dungeon stronghold leader, who had just caught up beside him.

"Lead the soldiers. I’ll handle the tower," Damien said, his tone flat, resolute—almost casual.

The stronghold leader blinked, stunned. His mouth parted slightly, confused.

Handle the tower? It was still more than ten kilometers away. Even if Damien was fast, how could anyone reach that far before the arrows descended?

But before he could form the words to object, the air around Damien exploded.

A deafening sonic boom tore through the sky like a divine hammer crashing down from the heavens. The sheer force of it blasted dust and dirt into the air, scattering dry leaves and shaking trees in the distance.

Soldiers instinctively threw themselves to the ground or shielded their ears, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure.

"What in the world was that?!"

"An explosion?"

"No—it came from up above!"

The panicked murmurs turned to stunned silence as time stretched, and they waited for the inevitable rain of death.

But nothing came.

The dreaded barrage of alloyed arrows never arrived.

Eyes turned forward in confusion, some still crouched behind shields or half-buried in grass.

Then someone pointed.

"There!"

"That light... was that—?"

Anek and the stronghold leader slowly raised their heads, peering into the distance. They met each other’s gaze, both wearing the same impossible expression.

Disbelief.

What they had just witnessed defied logic.

A single man—Damien—had created a sonic boom from sheer speed alone.

Even Gold Rank warriors, with decades of cultivation and countless battles behind them, would struggle to break the sound barrier. And yet Damien had done it without even drawing his sword.

Before they could fully grasp what they’d seen, another thunderous crack shattered the air.

BOOM!

The second shockwave was even stronger—this time sending a visible ripple across the clouds above, distorting them in a perfect ring of displaced air.

All eyes snapped toward the distant tower.

And what they saw made their blood run cold.

The massive steel and stone structure—designed to endure earthquakes, siege magic, and coordinated assaults—was shaking.

Trembling like a brittle leaf in a storm.

Someone gasped.

"Am I... am I seeing this right?"

"It’s shaking."

"The tower—it’s actually shaking!"

And it was. The watchtower, once immovable, now trembled under a pressure it had never known.

Dust cascaded from its foundation. Loose bricks and metal shards began to fall. The magical runes inscribed across its surface flickered erratically—no longer the steady blue of controlled mana, but an unstable strobe of chaos.

Even the cannon muzzles, so deadly a moment before, now hung slack and limp, as if stunned by the very force bearing down on them.

The soldiers stood frozen.

A few began to cheer instinctively, unsure of what was happening but unable to contain the growing awe. Others watched in silence, mouths agape.

Only Anek and the stronghold leader remained silent, their gazes fixed forward.

Although they weren’t clear what’s crown prince had done, but they weren’t going to let this opportunity slip past.

Immediately, they commanded the soldiers to march forward at greatest speed.

"For glory of the Valthorn..!’