SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 49: Soul crushing force

The cool air of the training hall was tinged with the earthy scent of sweat and mana. Dim lanterns hanging along the stone walls flickered with pale-blue flames, casting elongated shadows across the chamber.

Damien walked forward, his steps steady despite the clear signs of exertion. His clothes clung to his skin, soaked in sweat from hours of relentless cultivation. Despite the fatigue lacing his muscles, a faint, refreshed energy lingered in his aura. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

"How is your training progressing, Niomi?" he asked, his voice low and casual as he approached.

Niomi looked up, and her eyes immediately brightened like stars cutting through the night. A radiant smile bloomed on her face, transforming her already lovely features into something even more charming.

"Hehehehehehe, under the guidance of Amyra, I am progressing really fast," she beamed with pride. "If everything goes according to plan, I should be able to reach Stage 2 of Iron Rank."

Her tone carried the unfiltered joy of someone on the verge of achieving something important, and her head bobbed excitedly with each word. A touch of smugness danced in her expression—earnest, but endearing.

For a brief moment, she completely forgot the question she had intended to ask earlier. Watching her bounce with excitement, Damien felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. His expression softened. Without realizing it, a wide, genuine smile stretched across his face.

From time to time, he offered her soft words of praise—nothing dramatic, but enough to fuel her motivation. Each compliment made Niomi blush faintly, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. She was too innocent, too pure for a world like theirs... and perhaps that’s what made her so precious.

Damien observed her with a contemplative look. There was something soothing in her presence, something that made the shadows in his heart ease, if only for a while.

A few paces away stood Amyra—still and silent, a sharp contrast to the lively duo. She stood like a statue of discipline and poise, arms crossed and posture straight, not uttering a single word as she watched over her student.

But within that composed exterior, her mind was anything but calm.

In just two days... how is it possible for the Crown Prince to reach Stage 3?

Her gaze subtly shifted toward Damien, and once again she examined the subtle spiritual pressure surrounding him.

Yes, there was no mistaking it—Stage 3 of Iron Rank.

A chill prickled across her skin. That level of progress wasn’t just fast; it was monstrous. Cultivators spent months, even years, grinding their way through the Iron stages. Even the most prodigious talents required time and tempering. But Damien? He was tearing through those boundaries like parchment.

At this rate... wouldn’t he be knocking on the doors of Silver Rank within weeks?

Amyra’s lips tightened into a thin line. She wasn’t afraid—no, it was something more complex. A mix of disbelief, curiosity... and a faint sense of awe.

Damien, meanwhile, remained oblivious to her inner turmoil. And even if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared.

The past? That belonged to someone else.

He was no longer the same man who once shared fleeting moments with Amyra. Whatever history lingered between them was like dust on the wind—unimportant and forgotten.

After a few more words of encouragement, Damien turned and began walking away. His footsteps echoed softly as he moved toward the exit, the flames from the lanterns reflecting off his damp skin like silver trails of light.

Behind him, Niomi stared at his back with stars in her eyes, cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her tiny fists were clenched tightly at her sides, her body trembling not from fear or fatigue, but determination.

His words had lit a fire inside her.

She felt like she could train for days, weeks—even without sleep or food.

"Let’s begin, Senior Amyra," she said, her voice firm with resolve. "I’m not stopping until breakthrough."

"I can’t let my husband down."

Amyra blinked, momentarily taken aback by the declaration. Then a slow, amused smile spread across her lips.

Ah, youthful passion... so bold and unrestrained.

Still smiling, she exhaled deeply, allowing herself to release the weight of her earlier thoughts.

Why was she even worried about the prince’s demonic pace of progress?

If anything, it was a blessing.

The faster he grew, the greater their kingdom’s strength. He was the future, after all. A monster in the making... their monster.

Her gaze turned thoughtful, and a strange glint flickered in her eyes.

"Hehehe... I wonder what old cougar Roosevelt will think when he hears about this," she muttered under her breath, unable to suppress a mischievous chuckle.

The mere thought brought amusement bubbling to the surface.

That old man—Roosevelt Harrier, King of Valthorn—was known for his eccentricities. Despite his age and power, he had the temperament of a competitive brat when it came to cultivation.

Always bragging about how fast he ascended through the stages.

Always offended when someone outshined him.

If he learned that his own son had advanced three stages in two days, his face would be priceless.

Amyra allowed herself to fully savor the mental image.

The king, flabbergasted. His jaw on the floor. Maybe even issuing a royal decree banning Damien from cultivating too fast just to preserve his pride.

Childish? Yes.

But that was the kind of man Roosevelt Harrier was.

And for the first time in a long while, Amyra felt something lighten in her chest. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages.

Hope.

Real hope.

Not just for Damien, or for Niomi.

But for Valthorn itself.

While Amyra was still lost in distant memories, Damien silently made his way toward the far corner of the training room, where a towering iron pillar stood like a silent sentinel. The training room’s torchlight reflected dully off its weathered surface, revealing intricate, glowing engravings that pulsed with faint silver light.

This was the strength measuring pillar—a marvel of craftsmanship and magical engineering, with a Silver-rank formation etched into its core by none other than a Rank 2 Formation Master.

Damien’s gaze lingered on the lines, tracing their elegant patterns.

From what he recalled, his father, King Roosevelt, had spent a small fortune summoning that formation master from Mesarith City—the city where Damien went for Awakening.

Occupations like Formation Masters and Alchemists were divided into tiers, just like cultivators. And back when the pillar had first been erected, it was celebrated as a monumental achievement—Valthorn’s first real strength-measuring artifact. At the time, it stood proudly in the city center, accessible to the public. Later, it had been relocated to the castle, reserved for royal use.

The pillar wasn’t just a decorative relic—it could gauge force output with almost surgical precision.

Damien crossed his arms, considering.

"At Stage 3, even a casual strike from an Iron rank warrior should produce around 300 kilograms of force..."

He inhaled deeply, letting his muscles relax as he stepped forward.

Boom!

His fist slammed into the iron with casual ease. The impact reverberated through the pillar with a dull metallic ring, like a gong hit by a war hammer. The surface vibrated, and a faint tremor passed through the floor beneath his feet.

He stepped back and waited.

A heartbeat later, silvery glyphs flared to life across the pillar’s surface, forming three glowing digits.

310 kg.

A grin crept across Damien’s face. So even without using any technique or drawing on his cheat, his casual punch surpassed expectations.

He rotated his wrist, feeling the lingering impact echo through his knuckles. His bones barely felt the strain—clearly, his body was adapting well to his current level.

"Hmmm... Cheat?" Damien paused, the word echoing in his mind.

His grin widened with mischief.

What if he tested his acceleration? Pushed it—just once—to the max?

He didn’t just want to increase the punch’s speed; what he truly meant was increasing the acceleration—the rate at which speed itself changed. And in terms of force generation, acceleration was king.

Time to see what happens when the ’big daddy’ of physics gets involved.

He squared his stance and drew a long breath. Within his spiritual space, the two marbles—his power source—trembled with anticipation.

A silvery-white glow began to leak from his core, enveloping his body like a divine aura. His breath grew deeper, his heartbeat slowed, and his focus narrowed down to a single point on the pillar.

Then came the whisper, soft and electric:

"Acceleration—500 times..."

For a split second, everything seemed still.

Then—

BOOOM!

His arm disappeared in a blur. The punch tore through the air faster than the eye could follow. Even before the strike landed, a thick, three-inch-deep indentation appeared in the pillar’s iron surface—like reality itself flinched away from the blow.

A deafening crack echoed across the room. The iron pillar shuddered violently. The wall behind it detonated in a spray of shattered stone and dust.

Damien staggered back, lips trembling as he clenched his jaw to muffle a scream. His arm felt like it had been crushed under a mountain. Agony screamed through his nerves—his reinforced bones had nearly turned to powder.

Yet he smiled through the pain.

Eyes darting to the pillar, he was relieved to see it still operational, despite the damage.

But then the numbers lit up again.

155,000 kg.

His pupils shrank.

"One hundred and fifty-five thousand...?"

That was one hundred and fifty-five metric tons—equivalent to the crushing force of two compact cars colliding at full speed.

A chill ran down his spine.

"If I had used this on Felix yesterday..."

Even if Felix had Silver rank defense, the sheer impact would have turned his head into mush. A watermelon, cracked open on stone.

Damien exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle. A missed opportunity, indeed.

"But... 500 times is too much for my body to handle. I need to take it slow."

Even with his reinforced physiology, the backlash was absurd. Without restraint, he’d destroy himself faster than any enemy could.

He closed his eyes, reached inward, and activated his accelerated healing.

Instantly, his metabolism surged. Cells divided at breakneck speed, bones reknit, and nerves restructured themselves. But with that power came immense heat. Steam hissed faintly off his skin, and the pain returned—tenfold.

Weeks’ worth of healing condensed into mere seconds.

Still, Damien bore it in silence.

A normal person would’ve collapsed from the trauma. But for Damien, it was just another step on the road to power.

Growl...

His stomach let out a long, angry rumble. His body had burned through calories like a furnace fed with dragon fire.

"Looks like I need to eat..." he muttered, smirking despite the dull ache in his arm.

Just as he turned to leave, the sharp echo of hurried footsteps rang out behind him, followed by the familiar voices of two women approaching fast.