The roar shook everyone's soul.
No need for confirmation—they all knew who it was.
Oracle King.
He was here.
That familiar, awe-inspiring dragon-head mask surged forward through crashing waves, cutting across the sea like a real dragon in flight.
All the Americans on the island erupted.
"It's His Highness! Our King is coming!"
The humiliation they'd endured just moments ago transformed into blazing pride. Their blood boiled. They shouted, screamed, wept.
The God of the United States had arrived to save them.
Boom!
In the blink of an eye, John—the Oracle King—landed on the island.
His black eyes, hidden behind the dragon-head mask, locked onto Wilson.
Not a single word escaped his lips.
But that silence spoke louder than a thousand declarations.
He didn't move.
But his presence alone overwhelmed everyone there.
This was the power of the Oracle King.
All the foreigners who had moments ago sneered and mocked now seemed strangled by an invisible force. Their chests tightened. Their hearts pounded so hard it felt like they might burst.
Wilson, once so arrogantly loud, suddenly felt a strange unease creeping in.
He'd taunted and challenged Oracle King countless times.
But now that the man stood before him, unmoving, Wilson found his own breath unsteady.
Especially that terrifying aura—when Oracle King burst through the waves, it wasn't just speed or power.
It was control.
One second: he was a raging storm.
The next: total stillness.
The sheer mastery behind that restraint chilled Wilson to the bone.
He was a real god.
The reputation was no exaggeration.
Wilson's pupils contracted. He focused all his energy. But he dared not act recklessly.
Oracle King hadn't moved an inch.
Three minutes passed.
Then, at last, John's voice rang out cold and steady:
"I'm waiting for my comrade-in-arms. What are you waiting for?"
Just as the words fell—
A flash of red light appeared over the horizon, racing just above the sea surface.
Wherever it passed, deep white wave marks trailed behind like scars in the ocean.
It looked like molten iron plunging into cold water—churning violently.
The sound was even louder than when John had broken through the waves.
As it neared, everyone saw it clearly:
A sword.
A flaming-red sacred sword streaking through the air.
A weapon that looked alive.
Excalibur.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
So this was the Oracle King's legendary comrade-in-arms?
The sword flew straight into John's outstretched hand.
He caught it effortlessly, like an old friend returning home.
Then he spoke:
"I don't care how many soul realms your gene labs have cooked up.
I only need one sword—to kill the immortal ghost.
Sword—"
With a flick of his wrist, he slashed downward.
The moment his blade moved, the red glow erupted.
A streak of sword light ripped across the island, as if heaven and earth had been cleaved apart.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Everyone froze.
A deep fear settled in their chests.
Their breathing stalled. Their spirits dimmed.
This was the Oracle King.
The Patron God of the United States.
Terrifying beyond words.
His reputation had always been the stuff of legend. Few had seen him in action.
If not for this public challenge, no one would have dared step foot on this island. Because just one of these sword strikes would have reduced them to ash.
"Shit! Shit!" Wilson roared in panic.
His eyes were bloodshot.
The so-called soul realm warrior—crafted through gene engineering—had no way to resist the Oracle King's sword.
It didn't just attack.
It sealed.
It locked down every ounce of power in Wilson's body like a divine chain.
This was the difference between a true god and a false god.
An unfathomable gap.
A chasm.
Wilson's face contorted in disbelief.
Boom!
The devastating sword light descended.
Ten thousand Wilsons couldn't stop it.
But just as he thought he would be torn to pieces…
The blinding sword energy vanished.
Wilson blinked.
Stunned.
Everyone else froze too.
What just happened?
Seconds later, realization dawned.
The Oracle King had withdrawn his strike—at the last possible moment.
And then…
Boom!
Another slash.
The same terrifying energy exploded forward—
—and disappeared again at the final second.
A third time.
Then a fourth.
Each strike surged with power, each one capable of instant death.
And each one—stopped.
Right before the kill.
Wilson's composure cracked.
The sword hadn't just been a weapon—it had become a form of torment.
The Oracle King was returning the humiliation.
He was doing to Wilson what Wilson had done to the Americans earlier.
He forced them to kneel?
Then he would force Wilson to break.
Whoever humiliated others… would be humiliated in return.
Plop!
With the fourth strike, Wilson finally collapsed.
He knelt.
Shoulders trembling. Eyes bloodshot.
He screamed out in agony, "Oracle King! Please… kill me!"
He couldn't take it anymore.
He knew his fate was sealed.
But the feeling of dying—over and over—only to be pulled back at the last second?
It was torture.
Worse than death.
John calmly sheathed his sword and said coldly:
"Use your strongest defense."
Wilson, still on his knees, was broken. But he obeyed.
He didn't understand the Oracle King's intent, but he dared not disobey.
He stood shakily and summoned all his strength.
The power of his soul realm surged to its peak.
As a Western cultivator, he believed in brute force. No finesse—just power.
Even though his soul realm had been forged through gene modification, it still surpassed any ordinary Venerable Realm.
With a roar, he launched his attack—a punch that cracked the air itself.
John moved.
A flash.
A punch.
Crack!
Wilson's arm shattered instantly.
Then—
Like a beast unchained, John's fist tore straight through his chest.
From front to back, a gaping hole the size of a fist appeared in Wilson's torso.
Light poured through it.
He had been punched clean through.