No one harms my friend—not even a god

A lightning bolt struck Lathel's head, yet it caused no harm. Instead, he grasped it firmly in his hand.

The lightning gradually condensed, forming into a scythe. The handle was forged from molten lava, the blade crackling with electricity.

Holding it in his hand, Lathel resembled the Thunder God. Countless bolts of lightning surged from his body, serving as a dire warning to the opposing crowd.

"Foolish!" a man in black robes shouted. "He's merely using a forbidden magic to amplify his strength momentarily. Don't worry. Drag the fight out. That boy will burn out his energy, just like the High Priest. They will inevitably lose."

Hearing this, the group immediately encircled Lumiana and Lathel, but their attacks were deliberately restrained.

Their strikes weren't overwhelmingly powerful but came like relentless ocean waves—ceaseless and unending.