Chapter 68: The Reason Why the Demon Lord Brother Who Descended from the Sky Arrived in Time

The snow had become lighter.

But the fighting had not stopped.

At the edge of the forest, sword wind swept up the remains of monsters as Paul's figure tore through the snow like a meat grinder.

"The net is broken!!"

"This side too!"

"The monsters are gnawing on the tree trunks!!"

An hour ago, the monsters had stopped charging the net. To avoid Paul's killing zone, they started attacking the base of the trees where the protective net was secured. Once the trees fell, the net would collapse naturally.

Fortunately, many monsters continued to attack each other—just a result of their chaotic instincts in small-scale groups.

Even so, Paul was exhausted.

Unlike in his adventurer days, when he fought in formation with Ghyslaine on offense and Elinalise on defense, with Roxy occasionally flanking, and his wife offering support—now, he was alone on this defense line.

It was exhausting to hold it all himself.

Paul slashed away the piled snow around the protective net. The monsters' sharp screeches rang out just as a new wave of villagers' screams rose behind him.

He turned, about to rush to help, but from the snow piles he had just cleared, dense scarlet eyes emerged again.

"Damn it."

Paul halted and raised his sword again. His legs buckled; he nearly collapsed.

His battle aura was exhausted.

He assessed his condition grimly—three hours of non-stop combat had drained his stamina completely. He needed rest.

He began to miss Ghyslaine and Zenith deeply.

Then, a long screech and terrified cries rang out.

Paul's pupils shrank. He turned toward the cry for help.

A terrifying scene unfolded before him.

A tree trunk, thick enough to take two adults to hug, was being swarmed by giant rats and saw-thorn rabbits. It snapped at the base and began falling southward—pulling the protective net with it. The monsters in the tree leapt down like a shower of death.

Below them were the horrified villagers.

"Get out of the way!!"

Paul roared and dashed forward, sword at the ready—but suddenly stopped, a look of relief flashing across his face. He turned back to slash at the monsters near the tree.

Because...

Before the tree had even hit the ground, before the monsters landed—

A figure "squeezed" out of the air like green smoke, appearing between the villagers and the falling horde.

Allen, blade in hand, squinted up at the descending monsters. The rats' fangs gleamed. The wind rushed in all directions. The monsters' rank saliva misted in the air. All ambient sound faded into a dull ringing, the very vibrations of the air still echoing.

Snowflakes extended their six-sided wings before his pupils.

Although his participation score in the system hadn't budged in a year, Allen's strength hadn't stopped growing.

This was the Water God Style: Mystery of Sensation Flow.

In that ultimate perception, Allen made the most optimal choice.

A slow, lazy voice rang out.

"Twenty cuts."

The moment the words fell, a flurry of rapid, high-pitched slicing noises followed.

The horde of monsters descending from the sky was suddenly swept away—like a layer of mist or frost—by streaks of dark, flickering light. They disintegrated mid-air, bursting into fragments and splashes of blood.

The view blocked by their bodies cleared.

Allen looked up through the blood rain at the falling tree trunk.

The "Sensation Flow" was still active. The world moved like slow motion. The monsters, relentless, kept charging along the trunk.

Allen shifted his gaze to the falling tree above him.

He pierced through the blood rain and began to climb.

"Four-legged stance."

The battle had been planned. Allen exited Sensation Flow.

A blur traced along his hand as he touched the falling trunk. In the next moment, he scrambled up it like a squirrel.

Before the tree hit the ground, he launched forward along the wood like a violent, beast-shaped blur.

As he passed, the monsters exploded into blood mist and shredded flesh—like balloons popping with a single touch.

With a bang, the massive trunk hit the ground.

But there wasn't a single monster left on it.

Allen didn't fall with it. His body coiled and sprang upward like a leopard.

He soared.

Then descended like a cannonball, smashing into the heart of the monster tide near the roots.

Dragon Saint Dou Qi Amplification—Avalanche Fall!

The shockwave from his battle aura spread outward from his landing point. Snow flew upward, then scattered like a wave of wheat blowing in the wind.

Where he landed became a splash of scarlet on white snow—as if a drop of crimson ink had been spilled on a pure-white canvas. The 20-meter radius around him instantly became a dead lake of blood.

In its center, Allen rose from the blood lake, his body dripping with monster blood.

He kicked a snow pile.

A few rabbit- and mouse-shaped monsters tumbled out, soft as rubber. Blood leaked from their mouths, staining the blood-splattered snow.

The force of the Avalanche Fall had shattered their bones.

And yet—from Allen's appearance to the massacre's end—only ten seconds had passed.

This was the Saint-level.

The thick, oppressive stench of blood spread through the densely falling snow, carried into the forest by the holes left by monsters.

A little blood might excite monsters. But this—a flood of same-species blood all at once—sparked fear.

Their instincts whispered: this was no battle. This was a natural disaster.

And how do you resist a disaster?

You don't. You run.

The monsters panicked and made their choice. In the eyes of the stunned villagers, snow piles in the distance began to tremble and vanish deeper into the forest.

They fled in terror.

Paul, watching from afar, saw the monsters he'd been struggling with suddenly flee. He sniffed the bloody air and immediately understood.

He sighed in relief and leaned against a tree.

Turning his head, he looked to the center of the blood lake.

Allen stood there, returning Paul's gaze.

The two exchanged smiles.

Cheers erupted.

Allen was hoisted out of the blood lake by the crowd, thrown into the air, and caught again.

He didn't resist. While airborne, he glanced back in the direction he'd come from.

Outside the blood lake, the other three travelers had finally arrived—panting.

Roltz looked exasperated.

Sylphy puffed her cheeks.

And Rudy stared resentfully.

"Allen!!"

The person called was tossed into the air again, snow and blood flying in a crimson arc.

The scene looked like a cult sacrifice to a dark god.

Allen, clothes fluttering midair, wiped cold sweat from his forehead, avoiding Sylphy's intense gaze.

"Why did I run just now? Instinct, I guess… I mean, I do miss Roxy. I even mention her in every letter. So sure, Rudy's sour look makes sense. Sylphy's probably jealous because I write more to her teacher. But… what's with Roltz's face? Why do I feel like he's about to kill me? What did I do to him??"

"…Weird."

"Good thing I ran fast."