On the battlefield, Elbaf and Mary Geoise became two tireless, giant meat grinders.
The air here was thick with blood and gunpowder, as if every breath could suffocate you.
The shouts of warriors, the clash of steel, and the roar of giants stomping the ground intertwined into a symphony of death, tearing apart this once peaceful land.
In Elbaf, the figures of the giants stood like mountains on the battlefield, their fists and feet creating gusts of wind with every strike, sending enemies flying into pieces.
The faces of every giant warrior were etched with the determination and fearlessness of battle, but their eyes also reflected pain and despair.
As the battle continued, the once-resilient warriors fell one by one, the battlefield constantly filled with new corpses.
Although the giants were strong, their bodies gradually began to falter in the face of countless enemies, blood and sweat mingling, and few could maintain their initial composure.
Meanwhile, the situation in Mary Geoise was no better.
The once high and mighty Holy Land had become the front line of the war.
Here, the streets were piled high with corpses, and the once glorious palaces were stained crimson by gunfire and blood.
The Five Elders' monstrous forms were constantly wielding bloody swords, chasing down every warrior who tried to escape, and the walls of Mary Geoise were collapsing in repeated explosions.
Even the Five Elders, as powerful as they were, were being exhausted on this battlefield, constantly covered by the bodies of fallen warriors, as if they were devouring their strength and life.
In these two places, the value of life was almost zero.
Every soldier, whether friend or foe, seemed to leave little trace.
Their lives and deaths became insignificant cogs in the war machine, disappearing into this huge vortex of death.
Above the sky, Morgans' airship slowly circled, the Den Den Mushi's lens accurately capturing everything.
The outer shell of the airship reflected the fire, and in Morgans' eyes, it seemed that everything was under his control.
He stood in front of the control panel, staring intently at the screen, with no trace of shock or unease on his face, only the indifference and ruthlessness that seemed to be commonplace.
With a light press of the remote control in his hand, the scenes of the battlefield on the screen switched constantly, from Elbaf to Mary Geoise, every death on every inch of land was perfectly recorded by him.
Those struggles before death, the painful expressions, the last glimmer of hope in their eyes, were all like wonderful performances in his eyes.
More than once, he focused the camera on those heroic warriors, and every time they fell, a smile would appear on his face.
To him, it was just a well-arranged drama, and every drop of blood and every conflict on the battlefield became like an endless performance in his mind.
Morgans looked at those lives consumed by the flames of war with his cold eyes, with neither guilt nor sympathy.
His lens switched ruthlessly, like a silent bystander, whose only task in this grand drama was to preserve every tragic moment, forever imprinted on the screen for future generations to savor.
"What are these people dying for?" Morgans muttered to himself, a sneer creeping onto his lips.
"Perhaps, they will never know that their deaths are just for a news headline."
His fingers lightly swiped across the screen, locking the lens on a fallen giant warrior, whose originally huge body had been soaked in blood, his eyes wide open, as if still staring at the last ray of light on the horizon.
Morgans' gaze was as cold as if he had no emotions, he never thought about the identities of these dead, nor did he ever think about their stories—he was just immersed in the pleasure of that moment, enjoying the power and control to control everything.
On the battlefield, blood had already stained the earth red, the souls of the dead seemed to have been taken away by the war, and the living were still unable to escape the endless slaughter.
Two battlefields, a sea of despair. Elbaf and Mary Geoise were no longer the heroic legends of the past, but the most realistic face of war.
Whether from Morgans' lens or from the eyes of those dying, the battlefield was filled with an indescribable heaviness and helplessness.
Life was no longer a precious existence here, but a number to be discarded at will, death was the only ending.
And Morgans was still the tireless recorder, standing on the other side of the war, watching all this with cold eyes.
He was not only a witness, but also the director of this cruel drama, he held every scene firmly in his hands, enjoying his power, even though he didn't really care about the lives and deaths of these humans.
As the battle continued, everything on the battlefield began to spread rapidly to every corner of the world.
The news, like a surging tsunami, carried a chilling shock that instantly covered the entire earth.
From storm-ridden Elbaf to chaotic Mary Geoise, images of the battle were transmitted by Morgans' Den Den Mushi to every continent, every corner.
Whether strong or weak, whether heroes or ordinary people, in this world full of slaughter and bloodshed, they felt the temperature of war, and the pain quickly spread to every piece of land, every city.
......
In the midst of countless deserts, mountains, and forests, some people were rubbing their hands, eager to find their own opportunities from this great conflagration.
The underworld forces that had been dormant in the shadows, the various kingdoms, and even some old forces that had long been abandoned by the times, were quietly moving their tentacles.
Some of them saw the light of victory, believing that the outcome of this war was not only about the glory of fame, but also about their future to leap to success.
"This war is destined to be extraordinary!" A man in a black trench coat murmured in the dark.
His eyes gleamed with ambition, and through the window, he looked at the firelight coming from afar, as if he could smell some unrealized opportunity in it.
His hands gripped the table tightly, his fingertips almost drawing blood.
Yes, he understood that this battle might bring new opportunities, or a new order.
He was no longer the nameless nobody he once was, but was preparing to welcome this great change.
He had already found the path he wanted—to take advantage of this bloody storm to rise again.
He was ready, waiting for the right moment to rush into the battlefield and lead those with common ambitions to tear open a bloody new world.
...
...
