Chapter 209: The Patriarch’s Word and the Child Who Understood

The Patriarch’s Word and the Child Who Understood

Even Norman and Leandro, who were still slightly dazed from the battle, immediately turned around and joined the salute.

"Greetings, Patriarch!"

Their voices rang across the blessed land.

For a brief moment, the entire battlefield fell silent.

The admiration the family members felt toward Victor was difficult to put into words.

Just moments ago, this battlefield had looked as though it were about to become a disaster.

The land had been torn apart.

Cracks stretched across the ground.

The air was thick with murderous energy.

Even the surrounding space had begun to tremble, as though it could collapse at any moment.

Then Victor arrived.

And with a single word, everything changed.

One word.

That was all it took.

He hadn’t displayed overwhelming strength.

He hadn’t unleashed some earth-shattering technique.

He hadn’t even raised his hand.

Victor had simply spoken.

And everything had obeyed.

It was almost as if the world itself recognized his authority.

As if heaven and earth understood who stood before them.

Perhaps the Patriarch had always been like this.

Even if heaven and earth were overturned before him, it would probably amount to nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Something beneath his feet.

The outside world often spoke about the monsters of the Salvatore family.

They praised Norman.

They praised Leandro.

They praised Damien, Nux, Austin, and the countless other young talents who had emerged from the family.

To outsiders, these people were peerless prodigies.

Their strength was enough to amaze others.

Their potential was enough to make powerful forces wary.

But the members of the Salvatore family understood something outsiders could never truly understand.

Their confidence came from one person.

The black-robed figure who stood above them all.

Victor.

Their Patriarch.

He was the reason the family could face an increasingly terrifying world without losing its composure.

No matter how powerful their enemies became, the Salvatore family still had someone they could rely on.

Their Patriarch was there.

As long as Victor remained standing, the Salvatore family had never truly felt that it could fall.

Victor’s figure slowly emerged in the heavens.

His long, shoulder-length black hair drifted gently in the breeze.

His golden eyes swept across the battlefield.

There was no anger in them.

No excitement.

No trace of the violence that had just unfolded below.

Only calm.

A profound, almost unnatural calm that seemed completely out of place after such a brutal battle.

He wore a black robe embroidered with a magnificent golden dragon.

The embroidery was so detailed that the dragon almost appeared alive.

Under the sunlight, its golden scales shimmered whenever the fabric moved.

Victor himself looked almost unreal.

His features were impossibly handsome.

Yet it wasn’t merely his appearance that drew everyone’s attention.

There was something about his presence.

A natural dignity.

A quiet authority that didn’t need to be announced.

It simply existed.

Several young women in the crowd happened to meet his eyes.

Their faces immediately flushed.

Some quickly looked away.

Others lowered their heads, pretending to be busy with something else.

Their hearts had already begun beating faster.

Even those who had seen Victor countless times found it difficult to remain completely calm when standing before him.

Victor, however, paid none of it any attention.

His gaze returned to the battlefield.

"That’s enough."

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

The words carried naturally across the entire blessed land.

"Everyone, go and cultivate."

Victor’s voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

The moment those words left his mouth, the gathered family members straightened almost instinctively.

No one asked what he meant.

No one needed further instructions.

Victor’s word was enough.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there.

His gaze passed over the crowd.

Then he made his final decision.

"This battle... the Everlasting Puppet retains his rank."

Silence followed.

Nobody objected.

Nobody questioned his judgment.

Norman merely lowered his head slightly.

He accepted the decision without hesitation.

He knew exactly why Victor had reached it.

That final strike had already been his strongest attack.

If the battle had continued, the terrifying world created from the fusion of divine and demonic power would have fully descended upon the battlefield.

Once that happened, even Leandro’s thousand Stellar Sovereign puppets would have been unable to survive.

They would have been crushed.

The countless formations surrounding the battlefield would have suffered the same fate.

They were already close to their limits.

And Leandro himself...

Norman glanced toward him.

There was little doubt that he would have suffered severe injuries if the battle had continued.

Norman understood that much.

But still...

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Something bothered him.

Something he had noticed during that final exchange.

When Victor had restored the ruined battlefield, Norman had sensed an aura hidden somewhere within the crowd.

It had only appeared for an instant.

Faint.

So faint that most people would never have noticed it.

Yet Norman had.

And somehow...

It had felt familiar.

His expression remained unchanged.

He gave nothing away.

Outwardly, he was as calm as ever.

Inside, however, Norman couldn’t help clicking his tongue.

Damn it.

This cautious bastard had another backup.

Their strength had been almost perfectly matched.

Both sides had already pushed themselves to the limit.

At that point, a single hidden puppet could have changed everything.

It could have been the difference between walking away alive and dying on the battlefield.

That was what made Leandro dangerous.

Norman couldn’t even determine whether the puppet he had sensed was Leandro’s true body.

For all he knew, it could have been another puppet.

The possibility alone made him wary.

Across from him, Leandro remained strangely calm.

His green eyes slowly swept over the ruined battlefield.

The devastation stretched as far as he could see.

Broken earth.

Scattered debris.

Cracked formations.

The lingering traces of divine and demonic power still hung faintly in the air.

Yet Leandro showed no frustration.

No anger.

No disappointment.

He simply stood there.

Quietly.

The battle was over.

That was all that mattered.

There was nothing left to say.