SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 58: Peak of Iron rank

Thankfully, he hadn’t gone in too deep—any deeper, and saving him would’ve been completely impossible.

General Northern Fist exhaled slowly, a quiet sense of relief washing over her like a wave retreating from the shore. But that fleeting peace shattered as another surprised shout rang out.

"Who are those warriors following behind the Crown Prince?!"

"Huh? Warriors?" Northern Fist’s brows furrowed. She thought she had misheard, but instinct made her snap her gaze toward the horizon.

What she saw made her jaw drop.

A line of rugged men—tough-looking, scarred, iron-blooded warriors—trailed behind Damien like a disciplined column of soldiers. Each one of them carried a massive iron box strapped to their back. They didn’t look like they had come by choice.

They looked like they had been tamed.

"Move faster!" the Iron Dungeon stronghold leader barked, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes darted nervously to the group behind him. Some of them were lagging, shoulders shaking under the weight of the boxes.

If the young man walking ahead noticed... it would all be over.

He turned his gaze forward and let out a breath of relief. Damien didn’t even glance back.

"Damn... finally home," Damien muttered as the sight of familiar uniforms and sturdy battlements came into view. The soldiers stationed at the northern gate looked stunned, staring wide-eyed at the surreal procession approaching their outpost.

---

Northern Gate –

"Impossible..."

The Iron Dungeon stronghold leader stumbled back a step, his face pale as ash. His wide, disbelieving eyes were locked on the broken figure before him.

Felix.

The once-proud man now lay limbless, strapped to a thick wooden post like a discarded relic of shame. His mangled body slumped forward, helpless under the weight of humiliation. Every few minutes, someone would walk by and spit in his face—commoners, merchants, even children.

One little girl paused, her bright eyes filled with innocent curiosity as she pointed at the crudely written board hanging around Felix’s neck.

"Will the Prince really give us a gold coin for spitting on him?" she asked.

The man beside her smiled quietly, eyes soft. He didn’t answer right away. He had wondered the same thing when he first saw it, thought it was just some cruel prank. But when he actually visited the Royal Castle... the gold coin was real. Heavy and gleaming in his palm.

Without a word, he reached out and pinched the girl’s cheek affectionately.

"Little Momo, don’t waste time," he said gently. "We still have to go to the bank. Otherwise, we’ll be too late."

Momo blinked, then gave a firm nod, her twin braids bouncing with determination. "Okay, Daddy!"

Together, they walked off into the heart of the city.

The so-called bank had become a phenomenon almost overnight. Lines stretched across the streets, filled with common folk clutching sacks of coins or crumpled notes—anything they had managed to scrape together.

Most of them weren’t warriors or cultivators.

They were unawakened.

Ordinary.

Yet somehow, hope had returned to their eyes.

And in the midst of it all, the figure of a calm, quietly powerful Crown Prince marched through the gate—unchallenged, unshaken, and entirely transformed.

The Iron Dungeon stronghold leader turned his eyes away from the father and daughter duo disappearing into the crowd, then looked back at Damien.

The young man stood still amidst the bustle of the northern gate, his gaze drifting across the surroundings with a blank, almost distant expression. Yet within those calm features, something darker churned. His eyes—deeper than charcoal—seemed to devour every detail.

The stronghold leader shuddered.

He knew Damien hadn’t brought them to Valthorn without a purpose. That kind of man never moved without reason.

Was this... a warning?

Is he trying to say—’this could be your fate if you fail me?’

The mere thought made cold sweat bead at the back of his neck. He gritted his teeth and shook his head violently, clearing the doubt.

"No... I just have to make sure I don’t disappoint him."

Around him, the expressions of the other warriors mirrored his own—tense, cautious, determined. They had only arrived in Valthorn a day ago, but the pressure hadn’t relented for a second. Being in Damien’s presence felt like walking on a blade’s edge—one misstep, and everything could end.

Meanwhile, Damien’s gaze sharpened as he scanned the city.

Children ran wild in the streets, laughing, shouting, chasing each other between stalls. A few huddled together in alleyways, eyes glinting with mischief, clearly itching to stir up trouble.

"Hmm," Damien muttered, his lips tightening slightly. "I need to establish an academy as soon as possible."

Turning to the warriors beside him, he offered a small, knowing smile.

They were all well-built men, bodies honed from years of hard survival. None of them were below Iron Rank Stage 3. A disciplined, dangerous force.

But Damien didn’t want them to fight.

He had different plans for them.

"You people, follow me."

Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward and left the northern gate, his black cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze.

The Iron Dungeon warriors, driven by a newfound purpose—and a very real fear of failure—hurried after him.

---

Outside the Northern Gate

The grasslands stretched endlessly, painting the world in soft shades of green. Tall grass swayed with the wind, dragonflies weaving through the air, while butterflies danced lazily from blade to blade.

If not for the iron watchtowers in the distance, the scenery could almost be called peaceful.

Damien stopped at the edge of the plain and lowered himself slightly, plucking a strand of grass and slipping it between his lips. He chewed for a moment, eyes thoughtful.

Then he turned to face the warriors behind him.

"See this grass?" he said casually. "I want every last bit of it removed within one week. I’ll be cultivating spirit wheat here."

His words fell like thunder. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

A stunned silence lasted only a heartbeat before the stronghold leader snapped to attention, nodding furiously like a chicken pecking rice.

"Don’t worry, Crown Prince! We’ll make sure the fields are cleared completely. If you provide us with the spirit wheat seeds, we can begin planting immediately!"

Damien nodded, visibly pleased. This one was smart—he knew how to act, when to bow, and when to speak.

Better alive than dead.

The truth was simple: Damien had no reason to kill them. Not now. They were far more useful alive—as laborers, examples, and tools to rebuild.

After handing out the task, Damien turned and cast one final glance at the distant iron watchtowers.

Blue Hammer Kingdom... he thought coldly.

If they dare disturb me now, I won’t hold back. And I doubt they can handle my displeasure.

The flicker of cold intent in his eyes deepened, but he said nothing more.

With the wind blowing across the plains and grass brushing against his boots, Damien turned and walked away.

---

One Week Later

Within a secluded grove, Damien sat in lotus position atop a flat stone. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady rhythm, the air around him trembling slightly with every exhale.

From time to time, a terrifying wave of energy surged from his body, causing the trees nearby to shiver and the very air to distort.

If one could peer inside him now, they would see something shocking—his bones had turned a pale, ashen gray, glowing faintly from within. With every breath, faint cracking sounds echoed from his skeleton, as terrifying power pulsed through his limbs.

Seven days of uninterrupted cultivation.

His muscles were taut with strength, his skin radiating a faint spiritual glow. He had reached the peak of Iron Rank—and not by relying on shortcuts or borrowed power. Pure grind. Ruthless control. Relentless will.

Without any technique or special boost, Damien could now release a physical strength nearing 900 kilograms in a single burst.

But despite the power coursing through him, his brows furrowed slightly.

His eyes snapped open.

"Damn," he muttered, exhaling slowly. "Reaching Silver Rank is really hard."

He leaned back slightly, fingers twitching with impatience. The path ahead was long. The climb, steep.

But Damien wasn’t the kind of man who stopped at the bottom of the mountain.

He was just getting started.

Reaching Silver Rank was no easy feat—and Damien understood that. The difficulty made sense. After all, the leap from Iron to Silver wasn’t just a step forward—it was a transformation, a metamorphosis that most warriors could only dream of.

The gap between the two ranks was vast, almost insurmountable without external aid. For the body to evolve from its Iron state into the refined resilience of Silver, a powerful catalyst was essential—be it a rare pill, a spiritual elixir, or a heavenly treasure. Without such support, breaking through was little more than a pipe dream.

In the entirety of Valthorn, there were hundreds of Iron-ranked warriors... yet only a scarce handful had ever ascended to Silver.

"It appears I have to look for a rank 2 pill as well.."

Damien muttered with narrowed eyes, although he could quickly refine bones with the help of acceleration talen, but undergoing transformation wasn’t feasible for the time being.