Man on the ark, forced to become king

"Why don't we settle this today and see if your sword is worthy of legend... I've always had a slight doubt as to whether you are truly stronger than me."

Clang!

Light, endless light.

The dazzling light burst forth like the sun, then converged into a bright dividing line.

The sky and earth seemed to be divided into black and white. The arm of the pardoner, who had raised his staff, suddenly froze, and a shimmering yellow light was reflected in his eyes hidden under the mask.

That was... the color of dusk.

Click!

In an incredibly fast instant, the black blade seemed to be pulled outwards a bit, then returned to its sheath, making a crisp clanging sound.

"you--!"

The pardoner trembled as he tried to raise his arm, and the monsters created by the unknown spell behind him melted like snow exposed to the sun.

Pfft!

His body, shrouded in a black cloak, plunged into the dust. The female pardoner, holding her sword to her chest, walked past him, her white hair, which was not covered, shimmering with a faint golden light.

"Those who overstep their bounds are as fragile as they are in terms of strength and ambition."

The boots landed on the ground, leaving shallow footprints that were smoothed out by the wind and sand. A well-maintained sidecar motorcycle with its paint gleaming like new was parked not far away, its surface shimmering with a faint white light, as if protected by some kind of magic, blocking all the sand and gravel that were blown in.

"War is unavoidable."

The jet-black longsword was casually placed on the seat to the side, next to a small leather case, also black, with a faint cross printed on it, probably a first-aid kit.

As he mounted his motorcycle, the absolutioner's gaze swept over the medical kit, finally settling on the sword, and he sighed softly.

"The power used only to heal wounds is not enough... As a healer alone, I cannot save more people."

She sighed, started her motorcycle, took off the gold mask covering the upper half of her face and tossed it to the side of the road. Then she took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, covering her dark eyes.

"It's time to head to the battlefield."

---------------

"That mud-playing idiot is dead."

"Who did it?"

"do not know."

The absolutioner, with half a corner severed, carefully manipulated the magical light, converging it into a pure orange-red source stone, without even raising his head.

"The spell I cast on him was triggered, and the last thing the image transmitted back was a bright sword light, as if it was about to slice the world in two. Do you have any clue?"

"Then I don't know either."

Hearing him say that, the absolutist who asked the question didn't seem to care much. He stood on an altar made of source stone and bones, with crimson runes extending outward from the altar, covering an area of ​​several dozen meters around it.

In fact, they all knew who did it, but they all tacitly avoided mentioning that person—mainly because they couldn't beat them.

Among the group of absolutioners who are skilled in ancient witchcraft, that person's existence is like that of an anomaly. Not only are his thoughts completely different from theirs, but his unparalleled swordsmanship is also considered the nemesis of mages. If they were to encounter each other directly in the wild without sufficient preparation, it would be hard to say who would win or lose.

It's obviously unwise to provoke that guy at this crucial moment. He's just a piece of trash anyway, so what if he dies? Maybe his death will even contribute to the plan.

"The power of the Blood Demon and the Wendigo will create the most powerful warriors for us. The Demon King's abilities are not very useful against mindless killing puppets. Even though the preparations were somewhat rushed, they are sufficient."

The absoler, who controlled the altar, plunged the end of his staff into the center of the altar, and all the spell runes lit up at the same time, bursting out with an astonishing bloody aura.

"Now it's time to bring up the offerings."

He stood in the crimson vortex, surrounded by twisted and bizarre shadows. The crimson light that permeated the altar split into dozens of small vortices that poured into the shadows, making them more solid.

"A demon king who cannot control people's hearts is still powerful. Don't forget how she won that war a hundred years ago. We cannot let our guard down."

The pardoner with the broken horn pulled off the crystal pendant hanging from his wrist, held it in front of his eyes, and gently blew on it. Immediately, faces were reflected on the irregular surface of the crystal.

Jingle ~

The crystals collided with each other, shattered together, and turned into tiny fragments of fluorescence that disappeared into the air.

"Come on, come on..."

His body trembled slightly, as if he were chanting or murmuring.

"The grand dance drama begins now..."

"Witness... the death of the Demon King!"

----------------

"Ascaren, stop the car!"

squeak~

The wheels plowed deep tracks into the ground. Even the most skilled driver couldn't stop the car instantly at that speed. Fortunately, the passengers weren't ordinary people, so the impact of the sudden braking wasn't too great.

"Your Highness?"

Ascalon's body tensed instantly, and as he unbuckled his seatbelt, his hand was already on his weapon.

Although she didn't feel anything, she knew that Theresa would never ask to stop for no reason; there must be something she hadn't noticed.

"Someone prepared a gift for us here."

A glint of darkness flashed in Theresa's pale pink pupils, as if she were seeing something extremely far away, and her tone was resolute.

"Is it the mad blood of the Blood Demon, or the cannibalistic ritual of the Wendigo? Someone has combined them together."

"Your Highness, I will take you away."

Ascalon didn't hesitate at all and immediately started the car to leave.

Large-scale ceremonies cannot be staged out of thin air. The fact that someone could prepare in advance along their route is an extremely dangerous sign—it means there is a traitor within the Tower of Babel, and one of considerable rank.

With the enemy in the dark and us in the light, Theresa's physical condition simply couldn't withstand too intense a battle. Retreating, given that the enemy was prepared, was the best option.

As for the other members of the convoy... that was not within Ascalon's consideration. For her, Theresa's safety was the most important thing, without exception.

If necessary, everything can be abandoned, including herself.

"No, it's too late. They won't let us leave like this."

Theresa stopped Ascalon's actions.

She stepped out of the car, and although she didn't give any orders, all the guards surrounding her immediately got out of their vehicles and gathered around her.

The jet-black crystal materialized out of thin air and floated in the air. Theresa clasped her hands together and lifted the crystal with her palms. A gray-white shield then unfolded, enveloping everyone inside.

She wasn't sure how much preparation the other side had made, but her experience from countless past wars was enough for her to guess in advance what the ritual was for and how they would do it.

The next second, a blood-red mist spread out.

Chapter 152 Domination, Rule, and the Demon King

What will be the end of the Demon King?

For the nations living on the continent of Terra, this question is not even worth considering; the answer can be found simply by consulting historical records.

The Sarkaz have an incredibly long history; they created the first Originium magic and were the first race to find and use Originium.

In the distant past, multiple species, including Goliath, Carrion Eaters, Banshees, Blood Demons, Wendigos, Stonewing Demons, Cyclopes, Shapeshifters, Liches, and Balrogs, jointly established Kazdel.

Kazdel was once incredibly powerful. Under the rule of the Sarkaz royal family, who possessed powerful mental magic, the armies of the various royal courts were linked together and invincible, enough to be a nightmare for any country. This did indeed happen—a Sarkaz king once launched a war that swept the world. Under pressure, the countries of the continent had no choice but to unite to fight against the armies from the various royal courts.

The war ended in Kazdel's defeat, but the continental nations still suffered heavy losses, dragging most of the world into a great war. The king who ruled the Sarkaz was given the title of 'Demon King' for the first time, and the Sarkaz were called the Demon Race. Their power terrified all nations, and in the mouths of some immortals and long-lived beings, the Demon King was even called 'the enemy of mankind'.

Commerce, military, supplies, technology—everything was blocked from Kazdel. Countries spared no effort to attack Kazdel from all angles, causing Kazdel to decline and never fully stabilize until the civil war.

The fall of that demon king still occupies a considerable portion of the historical records of various countries—under that terrifying Originium magic, armies slaughtered each other, and 100,000 elite troops were buried with him. Many who returned from that battlefield suffered from severe post-war syndrome and could no longer pick up weapons. The military strength of the main countries that participated in that war suffered a precipitous decline, and their overall strength plummeted to its lowest point.

That great war remains an indelible scar in the history of the world.

It was because of that battle that the world learned of the Demon King's power for the first time, and his downfall was almost synonymous with destruction.

The pardoners were well aware of the Demon King's power and created a stage commensurate with it.

Powerful Originium energy erupted from the ground, gathered in the air, and even altered the celestial phenomena.

The already overcast sky was stained with a blood-red hue, and the ceaseless sandstorms that roamed the wasteland came to an abrupt halt at that moment.

Dark, cold, and bloody.

The countless white bones buried beneath the desolate battlefield trembled incessantly under the influence of magic, as if they were about to crawl out of hell—perhaps this was already the scene that hell should look like.

A thin mist rose from the ground, filling every inch of the visible air. In the blood mist, grotesque and twisted shadows appeared at the horizon.

Every creature living here, from tiny insects to flying birds, is enveloped in blood mist. Crimson tentacles emerge from their bodies, their original forms rapidly multiply, mutating beyond recognition, and then they begin to devour each other.

Originium worms with half-blood wings, birds with thick tails and beast claws, and writhing clumps of flesh completely entangled by tentacles—these bizarre and mutilated creatures have lost all reason and are attacking everything around them with near madness.

In the blink of an eye, the desolate old battlefield became a demon hell.

"The mad blood of the Blood Demon, and... the Blood Lord's blessing of living blood, the Wendigo's cannibalistic rituals, the carrion eaters' flesh and blood, and... the lich? The stonewing demon?"

The signature spells of the Sarkaz tribes were never a secret to the Demon Lord who ruled Kazdel. Theresa recognized the source of the power permeating the land with just a glance.

Blood of the Blood Demon, rituals of the Wendigo, spells of the Carrion Eaters, the necromancy of the Lich, and the Stonewing Demons who wield earth and stone—aside from the extinct Balrogs, more than half of the Sarkaz race now stands on the opposite battlefield. How ironic that is for their king.

Even though she had expected it, Theresa couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.