CHAPTER 79

Hands on their weapons, the battle in the throne room began with a vile cry from Lucas.

A hundred Abyssal spirits, like harbingers of death, slashed through the air at such speed that they cut through space itself, completely ignoring the formidable defenses and prized weapons of Dietrich's elite guards and commanders. These warriors, who had lived for centuries, did not even have five seconds to engage in close combat before being effortlessly sliced into pieces by these creatures—beings with devastating attacks and near-invulnerability to physical damage.

Within a minute, Dietrich, with both arms severed, collapsed to his knees in the center of his throne hall, unable to comprehend such power from an entity still at the early stages of the Epic rank.

Such overwhelming suppression was only known at the Legendary level. If someone of Epic rank possessed such strength, they had nothing to fear in their ascent to Legendary status—since Legendary beings were bound by strict limitations and could only challenge those below the Epic rank under special conditions.

With that, Dietrich's last glance fell upon his daughter—before his head was sent flying.

A swift and silent death, unfitting for such a figure, yet a testament to the might of an individual whose bloodline's strength was beyond question.

Minutes passed, and as Lucas received the notifications declaring his conquest of the Ice Kingdom's capital, he summoned a massive chest. Upon opening it, he burst into maniacal laughter—for inside lay a treasure trove of rewards that would throw the Demon Kings into chaos.

[Demon King's Compass]Rank: EpicAllows the user to locate the nearest Demon King within their rank.

Meanwhile, in the shadowed harbors of the empire and within the renowned Imperial Magic Academy, Merlin stood atop the tallest mage tower, mourning the loss of his dearest friend. He gazed upon the disciplined ranks of elves and the black, hovering stars above them. Focusing his vision, he discerned figures within those luminous dark orbs—four-meter-tall angels with black wings, armed with rare magical weapons. The sight brought memories of centuries past, of the once-glorious angels of light.

"If not for the goddess's mark upon me..."

Raising his staff, Merlin chanted a lengthy incantation, summoning a devastating meteor shower.

A torrent of massive meteors descended upon the battlefield, prompting the elves to flee—yet dark shields emerged, effortlessly withstanding dozens of meteors, each a hundred meters wide.

"Even this is not enough..."

Turning away, Merlin strode into the chamber behind him, stopping before a crystal.

Outside, the elven army had reached the walls of the grand Imperial Magic Academy. Yet just as the elves leaped onto the walls, a glowing blue barrier appeared—instantly severing limbs and slaughtering thousands.

Seeing the newly formed magical shield, the white-and-gold-armored elves turned to one of the fallen epic angels.

A seven-meter-tall female angel with blind eyes, clutching a scythe.

"The divine sigil protects the city with a formidable shield!""We beseech the Messenger of God to dispel it and aid us!"

The elder elves and commanders knelt before the fallen angel. Black tears streamed down her hollow eyes as she opened her mouth, revealing pure darkness within.

"The faithful of my Lord are dead!!!"

The angel, who had previously shielded the army from Merlin's legendary meteor storm, wept and screamed while slowly advancing toward the walls, dragging her scythe.

"Do not blaspheme my Lord!""Your souls will burn in my grasp!""The wretched insects have slain my Lord's worshippers!"

She was not alone. Other fallen angels followed, all weeping as they moved toward the place where their god's followers had been slain.

If Caesar had any dissatisfaction with his summoned epic beings, it was the sheer intensity of their vengeful wrath—an uncontrollable fury that even his commands could not temper. These beings, born of the Abyss, were once among the greatest angels in heaven. But when heaven fell in the great war against the Abyss, they were abandoned, forced to fight to their last breath before their inevitable descent. By the time heaven returned to reclaim them, they had already changed, their souls hacked and overwritten with an insatiable thirst for vengeance.

When the reclaimed fallen angels turned their blades against the hosts of light, that slaughter was recorded as the darkest day in heaven's history—a tragedy that the Primordial God Michael mourned every year, for if he had not fallen to the God of Destruction, billions of angels would not have perished in the Abyss.

Meanwhile, in the north, the undead epic hero rode his monstrous Hellcat Lord—a massive beast that no longer resembled a mere hellcat, with a lion's head and a serpent's tail.

Upon his head rested a black crown, and as he led two hundred thousand hellcats, his gaze was set on yet another small fortress in the north.

Through masterful tactics and relentless assaults, he left every local lord's army in disarray, carrying death from one village and fortress to the next—leaving behind only the dead, forcing the armies of vengeance to waste time clearing away his cursed remnants.