CHAPTER 84

Hours passed, and Scarlet's full army had emerged from the portal. With a quick visual estimate, Hazard could count at least five hundred million troops—an intimidating number equal to Luth's army, but the quality of the forces was entirely different. Having already lost nearly fifty Skull Giants, he felt his power significantly diminished. However, with a new ally at his side, he found some comfort in his current strength.

Despite preparing to bid farewell to Scarlet, someone arrived whom he had summoned several days ago.

"My lord, the former Duke Lamorak requests entry!"

The lifeless voice of Vlad came as he stood beside Lamorak.

Seated in the grand throne hall, where he was meeting with several demon kings under Scarlet's command, Hazard granted him entry. But upon seeing Lamorak's face, he was shocked. Though he had previously only seen this man through Abyss Eyes, meeting him in person for the first time revealed that Lamorak's aura and expression were in an entirely different league.

Clad in his former white armor, now bearing several scratches and dents, Lamorak appeared thinner and more dejected. Even in the presence of Hazard's legendary power, his demeanor did not change. The sight of Scarlet's massive army and countless epic creatures held no significance for him anymore.

"I am here at your command and am grateful for sparing the lives of Plenor's citizens."

Hazard, feeling uneasy as he realized this man had lost his once captivating aura, stepped forward, towering over him, and locked eyes with him.

"Do not resist, human."

He then placed his hand on Lamorak's head and activated the Memory Reading skill, acquired from a collection of skill stones—a skill distinct from reading the minds of the dead. After a mere minute, he withdrew his hand and returned to his throne.

"Humans can never make demons feel ashamed…"

Summoning the Medians, he turned to Lamorak upon their arrival.

"Lamorak, I hereby name you Grand Duke of Plenor. I ask you to work with us to restore Plenor's former glory and set an example for the other noble houses!"

Lamorak remained silent. The peace agreement and his submission to Plenor's kingdom had been negotiated by Artemis and Hejena, binding him as a vassal to the Kingdom of Death. Now, Hazard sought to present an image of mercy and governance to the human realm by protecting his territory.

"Restore his mind from its exhaustion! If anyone sees him like this, they'll think I did something to him!"

With that, Hazard left the throne hall, leaving the Medians to use their mental magic on Lamorak.

His reason for summoning Lamorak had been to demonstrate power and spread news of the meeting—a goal that had been successfully achieved. However, Hazard felt no satisfaction in this success. Entering his private chamber, he collapsed onto his oversized chair, released his holy magic, and attempted to merge it with death magic—a new pastime he had discovered upon reaching the legendary level. But once again, he failed.

Turning to the Summoning Timer, he prepared for today's Abyss Summon, the key to surpassing others in the race for world domination.

Luth's Territory – A Human City

Afrit surveyed his surroundings as two Witch Lords followed closely behind, ensuring no one attempted to take advantage of his seemingly immature nature. Their purpose was to guide him toward the objective set by their king.

The sight of a short elf and two similarly short witches, all clad in long robes, led onlookers to assume they were simply three girls on an adventure. No one could have imagined that all three were subordinates of one of the greatest threats to the Empire.

After an hour of wandering through the vast City of Steps, they finally located the Hero's Guild and entered. Afrit, leading the way, was immediately struck by the fantasy-like atmosphere inside. The scene reminded him of every novel and manhwa he had ever read—a mission board with tasks pinned to it, tables filled with ale-drinking heroes laughing and conversing about ongoing events.

The three girls approached the bustling board, reading the posted missions—Afrit using his Skill Stone of Translation, while the witches relied on their prior knowledge. Meanwhile, they all eavesdropped on conversations, gathering as much information as they could.

"The Magic City is in ruins!""The Empire is in shambles! Did you hear what the Guild Leader said?""Even though the elves ruined the Empire's plans, I heard they still have trump cards left!""Nonsense! The entire region around the Magic City is in flames, and rivers of blood have reached other states! Merlin, the Empire's greatest mage, is trapped, and their billion-strong army is just watching!""But I heard the Imperial Army is on the move!""Moving toward a battlefield with hundreds of epics? Arthur must have a death wish!"

The discussions continued until Afrit heard a particular voice—one that caught the witches' attention as well. It was a cliché event, one that gods watching from above would blame on the Creator for raising a death flag just to make it happen.

"Hey, isn't that an elf?""Yeah, an elf… even though she's small, she's got a nice body!""Those two little girls with her aren't bad either!"

Five men, their high-quality gear betraying the fact that they were a Level Five hero party, were staring at Afrit and the witches, hungrily eyeing their bodies as they approached.

They failed to realize that the "little elf" was at Warlord level and that the two "girls" beside her were, in fact, young witches—each between thirty and forty years old, an age still considered youthful among witches.

The men stood before Afrit, their leader sneering as she turned toward him with an angry expression, glaring into his eyes.

"Elf! Since your race is now an enemy of the Empire, you're nothing but a slave!"

With that, he grabbed her by the neck, pulling her lips down to inspect her teeth.

"S-she's healt—"

He never got to finish his sentence.

His hand flew into the air, severed, spraying blood everywhere. Screaming in agony, he finally realized his mistake. He should have assessed his opponent's level before making a move. Now, in a desperate panic, he activated his level-detection skill—something he should have done from the start.

"Warlord!?"

A Warlord, a level recognized as Rank Six among heroes, reserved for only the most exceptional elites. But none of them realized that Afrit was still technically Level Five—his Warlord power came from a hidden factor that his Creator had no intention of revealing just yet.

Afrit stepped forward, raising the dagger that had severed the man's hand, now prepared to slice his throat open.

But before she could strike, a loud shout from the Guild Leader's office halted her.

"No killing in my guild, elf!"

The commotion had drawn the attention of many. The moment the word "elf" was spoken, several adventurers and heroes turned toward Afrit, their eyes filled with undisguised hatred.

And then, stepping out of the office, the Guild Leader—a woman dressed in a blue mage's robe—surveyed the scene.

All around them, native heroes and adventurers turned their gazes upon Afrit.