An Unstoppable Power Rises

The three legendary leaders of the enemy clans, who had been observing the battle from a distance, gasped in unison, "What kind of monstrous being is this?!" Their expressions twisted in shock, and without hesitation, they launched themselves toward the castle at full speed.

The immense celestial force poured over the battlefield like a tidal wave of molten silver, sweeping through the ranks of vampires, werewolves, and mages with the merciless precision of death's scythe.

Panic spread like wildfire.

The vampires, still in mid-flight, collided with each other in sheer desperation, unable to avoid the devastating energy. The werewolves—normally fearless in battle—dropped their massive battle-axes and turned to flee, scrambling to escape the all-consuming force. Their chaotic retreat crashed into the ranks of mages behind them, sending the once-disciplined formation into disarray as they trampled one another in blind terror.

In mere moments, the battlefield outside Cliff Castle had turned into a nightmarish inferno.

Vampires, werewolves, and mages alike were torn apart by invisible forces, their blood igniting into raging flames the instant it hit the ground. The sickening sound of flesh burning and bursting filled the air, while the acrid stench of charred meat turned even the strongest stomachs.

The agonized screams of those consumed by fire sent waves of dread through all who heard them.

Inside the castle, the Fairchild family members stood in stunned silence. Just moments ago, their enemies had been charging forward with unshakable arrogance. Now, in the blink of an eye, bodies were bursting apart, and the survivors were writhing on the ground, screaming in agony.

The younger family members were the first to break. "Ugh! Ugh!" Their stomachs twisted violently, and one after another, they collapsed against the castle walls, vomiting uncontrollably.

As if under some spell, the sickness spread, and soon, nearly everyone was doubled over, retching until there was nothing left to purge.

Then, Fanmuir descended onto the castle walls, moving with the unshakable grace of a god.

No one dared to meet his gaze.

My God…

What kind of power was that?

At the very least, only a Grand Demon Ancestor or a being of legendary divine status could wield such unfathomable might.

This mysterious young Italian had obliterated an entire army with nothing but a wave of his hand.

He wasn't human.

He couldn't be.

He must be a Demon Lord reborn…

Or perhaps—he was something even greater.

André Alexandros was just as stunned as the rest of the Fairchild family—if not more so.

This young man… he was beyond anything André had ever imagined.

His gaze toward Fanmuir shifted from mere admiration to awe.

The immense, overwhelming energy that Fanmuir had just unleashed… It was unmistakable.

It carried the exact same essence as the legendary martial techniques passed down within his own clan.

Fanmuir had just executed a divine technique—one that belonged to the Alexandros lineage.

Ignoring the stunned expressions around him, André Alexandros stepped forward hurriedly. Bowing his head slightly, he spoke in a hushed, reverent tone:

"May I ask… what is your connection to the Alexandros clan?"

Fanmuir glanced at him and replied with indifference, "My name is Fanmuir Hershville."

The moment the name Hershville reached his ears, André froze.

He mouthed the name again, his mind racing.

But then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck him.

His face drained of all color.

His entire body began to tremble violently.

And before anyone could react—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

André Alexandros had dropped to his knees, his forehead knocking against the ground three times in rapid succession.

Hershville?!

He knew this name.

The Hershville clan was not just powerful—

It was the ruling house of the Alexandros bloodline.

Dear God, how could I have been so blind?!

I called him "little brother" before… Have I committed an unforgivable offense?

André swallowed hard, hoping—praying—that his Lord would not take offense.

With his head lowered, his voice shook as he declared:

"André Alexandros, humble servant of the Alexandros clan, pays his deepest respects to the Lord!"

At that moment, the entire Fairchild family stood frozen.

If shock had a physical form, it would have shattered into a thousand pieces right then and there.

The battlefield, the enemy forces, the chaos of war—

All of it was forgotten.

Even the younger Fairchild members, who had been violently sick just moments ago, had ceased vomiting altogether.

Instead, they could only watch in stunned silence.

A white-haired legend, a martial powerhouse, a man feared throughout the Western world—

André Alexandros—

Was kneeling.

Was shaking.

Was bowing before a young man.

Why?!

Even if Fanmuir's strength was extraordinary, was this kind of submission really necessary?

This was André Alexandros, for God's sake!

And shouldn't it be the Fairchild family kneeling instead?

What reason did a legendary warrior like André Alexandros have to kneel before anyone?

The entire Fairchild family couldn't comprehend it.

Their minds simply shut down.

They had been too overwhelmed to even register the word "Lord" that had just escaped André's lips.

But had they truly understood the meaning behind that word—

Their reaction would have been something far beyond mere shock.

"Rise," Fan Muer said softly. A wave of gentle energy lifted André Alexandros effortlessly to his feet.

As that familiar power surged through him, André Alexandros was overwhelmed with emotion. My lord himself has come to aid the Felcherci family, standing with us against our enemies! I have witnessed his divine strength with my own eyes!

Yet, despite the elation in his heart, André Alexandros dared not act recklessly. Keeping his hands respectfully at his sides, he stood still, waiting in silent reverence for Fan Muer's next command.

Watching the legendary warrior barely even breathe in his presence, Fan Muer couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Why do all the Alexandros clan members react this way when they see me?

Nathaniel Felcherci finally snapped out of his daze, but inside, he was practically ecstatic. As the head of a long-standing noble family, he had seen it all—but André Alexandros' reaction told him something crucial.

There was no doubt—Fan Muer's status far exceeded even that of André Alexandros. Perhaps… far more than anyone could have imagined.

In the world of the strong, status was power. And Fan Muer's display of strength just now—it wasn't just powerful. That was the might of a Magus Lord—a force straight out of legend.

If this was true, then… Good heavens!

The Felcherci family had struck gold. A Magus Lord-level son-in-law—one so powerful that even a warrior as revered as André Alexandros bowed before him!

The Felcherci family's rise was now unstoppable!

To hell with the blood clans! Let the werewolves crawl back to the wilderness where they belong! May the Pembroke magus family rot in their own filth! All their enemies—let them tremble and retreat!

At this moment, in Nathaniel's mind, Fan Muer was already Olivia's destined partner.

Olivia, on the other hand, was completely stunned. Her eyes widened in pure disbelief.

Fan Muer… was beyond extraordinary.

It's often said that women are drawn to heroes. And now, after everything that had happened, Olivia could no longer ignore the truth—her heart already belonged to him.

It didn't take long before the three great clans launched their third assault.

At the forefront of the attack were three legendary figures—Haiman Pembroke, Haidenr Ustair, and Haier Tanley. The moment these three titans entered the battlefield, their broken army rallied behind them. Warriors who had been fleeing in terror just moments ago now surged forward once more, their confidence rekindled in the blink of an eye. It was a testament to the sheer dominion these legendary warriors held over their forces.

As they advanced, corpses of vampires, werewolves, and Pembroke sorcerers littered the battlefield. These near-mythical beings—who had spent centuries untouchable—had never before suffered such devastating losses. The brutal carnage shook them to the core, but more than anything, it infuriated them. Their thirst for vengeance burned hotter than ever, and in their hearts, they swore—the Felcherci family would be utterly destroyed.

As they neared the castle gates, the Vampire Prince transformed—his enormous violet wings unfurling with a wingspan of several meters, kicking up a storm of dust with every powerful beat. The hulking werewolf, whose massive form seemed too heavy for flight, soared effortlessly into the air, his glowing emerald eyes piercing through the darkness. Meanwhile, Haiman Pembroke, his pitch-black robes blending seamlessly with the night, cast a levitation spell, rising ominously into the sky.

Now, the three floated above the battlefield, their gazes fixed squarely on Nathaniel Felcherci and André Alexandros, burning with pure, undiluted hatred.

These three ancient monsters were nothing short of master tacticians. With just a single glance, they analyzed every single warrior present, assessing their strengths and weaknesses with terrifying precision.

And yet—once again, they failed to notice Fan Muer.

Nathaniel felt his heart plunge into his stomach. "No… It can't be… Haiman Pembroke… Haidenr Ustair… Haier Tanley!" He staggered back in horror as he recognized the three hovering figures.

A moment ago, he had felt unshakable confidence in Fan Muer's incredible power.

But these three… these were legends. Beasts of war. The sheer amount of time they had spent in seclusion meant one thing—their strength was beyond comprehension.

Nathaniel felt his faith waver once more.

And he wasn't alone.

All around him, the Felcherci warriors trembled. These were names from folklore, beings so powerful that mere mortals could only whisper of their existence in fear.

And yet, here they were—not as legends, but as a very real, very imminent threat.

In that moment, they felt utterly powerless. Like ants before giants.

And so, in desperate hope for salvation, they turned their eyes toward Fan Muer and André Alexandros, silently begging for a miracle.

Andre Alexander? The moment he realized Fanmuir's true identity, the outcome of today's battle was no longer in doubt.

The head of the Alexander family was not someone mere upstarts could challenge. That casual strike just now—it had the power of a Demon Ancestor. A Demon Ancestor! A being capable of crushing a vampire prince with nothing more than a flick of a finger. With such an overwhelming force present, vampires, werewolves, mages—all of them could be wiped out in an instant.

A vampire prince who had lived for over a thousand years was as cunning as they came. Though enraged by the losses on his side, Hayden forced himself to suppress his fury, eager to end the battle swiftly. With feigned sincerity, he advised, "Andre Alexander, this is a matter between our four families. I'd advise you to stay out of it. The more friends you have, the more doors open for you—tread carefully."

"That's not for me to decide—it's up to my lord." Andre Alexander knew that Hayden, like himself earlier, had made the grave mistake of judging by appearances. He grew anxious. Though the words were addressed to him, speaking in his master's presence would be a grave breach of decorum—an unforgivable act of overstepping.

Hayden's words put Andre Alexander on edge; the last thing he wanted was to steal Fanmuir's spotlight and earn his disfavor. His eyes remained locked on his master, ready to react at a moment's notice.

Fanmuir, on the other hand, found himself at a loss. There was no need for such excessive caution—Andre Alexander could have responded on his own without waiting for permission. Did he really come across as so petty and unreasonable?

Yet, seeing Andre Alexander poised so stiffly, waiting for a response, Fanmuir knew he had no choice but to acknowledge the situation. Though exasperated, he made sure to maintain the dignity of his position. In what he considered a kindly tone, he finally said, "Tell them to run while they can. Too many have died today—I don't want any more bloodshed."

Vampire Prince Hayden had been waiting for Andre Alexander's response, only to see him faltering, reluctant to speak. Then, to his shock, Andre turned with utmost deference to a seemingly ordinary young man beside him, as if awaiting permission to answer. What was even more baffling was that this young man actually gave him instructions.

Even with a millennium of experience, Hayden was left utterly speechless. His fangs nearly bit into his lower lip from sheer disbelief. As for the onlookers, their eyes were practically falling out of their sockets.

This world was already chaotic enough, and now they were witnessing something that completely defied logic.

Though they couldn't understand Italian, every individual present was a seasoned fighter with keen instincts. From that astonishing exchange alone, it was clear that this young man's status far outranked Andre Alexander's.

The British elders were quick to read the situation, and Hayden, too, adjusted his demeanor. His crimson eyes flickered as he addressed Fanmuir with newfound respect. "May I ask for your name, young sir?"

Andre Alexander bristled with anger. Young sir? How dare he? This was the lord of the Alexander family!

Fanmuir had no particular hostility toward Hayden, but he certainly didn't feel any goodwill either—especially not toward those who had set their sights on his mentor and close friend, Olivia.

Without bothering to answer Hayden directly, he snapped impatiently, "Take your men and get the hell home! I won't sit by and watch scum like you bully the Fairchurch family."