Ansel’s power pierced through the interlaced, stacked spaces incomprehensible to ordinary extraordinary beings. No other could have withstood the feasting flas for so long, extending their power into the labyrinth’s depths, let alone breach the barriers Evora had erected.
Yet Ansel sensed himself drawing ever closer to the fugitive, the vanquished one, who had inexplicably gone berserk, unleashing endless blood-flas upon the Western Lands.
...Hmm?
For an instant, Ansel felt his unstoppable force not collide with the labyrinth’s barrier, but pass through as if... welcod.
However, the next mont, the path distorted by spatial elents reappeared. The serpentine shadow, nearly a third consud by flas, nearly found itself redirected towards another portal’s exit, poised to obliterate so unfortunate soul at random.
Fortunately, Ansel reacted swiftly, forcibly boring through Evora’s intentionally twisted passage. In the next second, he encountered feasting flas a hundredfold more intense!
So, it was a deliberate lure? This isn’t like you, but no matter... I’ve caught you, Evora!
A deep, pure obsidian hue flashed across Ansel’s sea-blue eyes. Traversing within the portal, the fla-scorched spectral serpent suddenly swelled. Its indescribable screech pierced the world’s barriers, resounding directly in the sky above!
The once-ceaseless torrent of blood-flas suddenly erupted from the fissure like a great deluge, intertwined with endless tendrils of darkness, as if the firmant itself had been wounded, gushing forth crimson-black ichor.
The intensity of these flas far surpassed that of the endless inferno within the portal—no, it was exponentially more potent! Approaching the very source fla, a conflagration no ordinary Flafeast bloodline could hope to ignite.
Sensing the ferocious flas, Clent, now mirroring his colossal dragon, instinctively recoiled. Yet, as he attempted to retreat, he felt an inexorable force seize control of his form.
"Fear not, Lord Wyvern," the young Ansel of Hydral smiled, his voice a silken whisper. "You must join in witnessing the unfolding of these extraordinary events."
Clent’s initial thought was one of paranoia—has Ansel discerned my murderous intent? Does he intend to end my life here and now?
… No, impossible. I had only realized his own intentions after returning to the manor. How could he possibly know?
This realization swiftly surfaced in his mind, forcing Clent to regain his composure.
At the very least… he couldn’t brazenly slay in broad daylight, nor could he extinguish my life with a re gesture.
Though the notion seed absurd, he was indeed beyond the reach of instant death at Ansel’s hands. And as long as he survived the initial assault… the opportunity for the Dukes to unite against Ansel would be plentiful… Surely, Ansel was aware of this and would not act rashly.
These tumultuous thoughts vanished as swiftly as they had appeared. Clent yielded to Ansel’s will without resistance, steeling himself as he faced the fissure spewing forth intense blood-flas. He could only perceive the intertwining of sacrificial fire and abyssal essence, annihilating and devouring one another, obscuring all else from view. And then...
"An...sel."
These two syllables—or rather, the voice that uttered them—sent a frigid chill cascading down Clent’s spine.
Despite the blood-flas surging towards her, he felt an all-encompassing, bone-deep cold in that instant.
"ANSEL!!!"
The blood-flas, the dark mist, all were scattered by this rage-filled roar. In that mont, through the passage forcibly carved by Ansel, Clent beheld Evora, hidden in the labyrinth’s deepest recess, perched upon a dilapidated throne. Still wreathed in blood-flas, half her form reduced to bleached bone, she appeared as a forsaken cur.
Evora raised a hand, as if in her frenzy she sought to drag Ansel into her domain. But the fractured, narrow passage closed almost instantly, leaving only a frenzied, hate-filled gaze etched into Clent’s psyche.
The Elder Princess Evora... she truly lived.
That grotesque visage of exposed bone and those eyes, seemingly bereft of all reason, sent tremors through Clent’s very being.
Ansel exhaled wearily, "rely locating her has exacted such a toll on my powers. From whence does she draw such strength? It defies comprehension."
"A perilous situation indeed."
These words jolted Clent from his initial shock, plunging him into a more lucid, yet far more terrifying state of dread.
The young Hydral turned to Clent, his voice laden with gravity: "Should she traverse the Zero Realm Enigma and return to the continent..."
All would be… lost!
The Elder Princess, more brutal and savage than her mother, now tortured by feasting flas to a state barely human or ghostly, seemingly driven to utter madness—the re thought of her reclaiming the throne painted a picture of unimaginable despair!
This woman had already descended into insanity! She had unleashed the feasting flas directly upon the Western lands, perhaps even seeking to incinerate the entire Empire… She must not be allowed to return, at any cost!
Compared to this, Hydral’s threats… Ansel’s machinations… paled into insignificance.
"Lord Ansel," Clent’s voice was hoarse, "We must imdiately convene all the Dukes... no, all high-stage extraordinary beings!"
"Indeed," Ansel replied, his eyes narrowing as he observed the blood-flas surging from the portal.
"The Empire has no need for an heir bent on its destruction. It seems our forr Lord Evora, like her mother, has proven herself an unworthy failure."
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To turn enemies into temporary allies requires only a common, greater foe.
Though Hydral would, at the Empress’s behest, enact a rciless culling of the Empire’s nobles, the fear etched deep within the Dukes’ hearts still favored the Flafeast bloodline.
For Hydral... was not human.
It was the Emperor, that lofty being who truly crushed all beneath him, who gazed down upon and manipulated everything, who instilled a bone-deep terror in the Dukes—fellow humans reduced to re playthings or cattle.
In a sense, the Flafeast bloodline represented the true nesis in the eyes of the Dukes and extraordinary beings.
However, the situation was far from simple.
Ansel sensed the tremors emanating from the Head of Strength; Seraphina had clearly detected the power that had just commanded Hydral’s projected form and was growing anxious. The young Hydral silently soothed his Head of Strength while advancing the plan gradually taking shape in his mind.
This counterattack... was a gift from Fate.
Fate had orchestrated Evora’s forceful and manic entrance, which could not possibly be a re blunder. It had provided Ansel with a fulcrum to overturn the situation, but also implied that deeper machinations lay hidden beneath the surface.
Nevertheless, it mattered not.
"Let us proceed thus, Lord Wyvern," Hydral maintained his composure despite the dire circumstances. "Since I am fortuitously present, shall we summon all the Dukes to your manor? Would that be agreeable?"
The Duke of Wyvern promptly acquiesced: "Most certainly, Lord Ansel. I shall comply with your will."
"Excellent," Ansel nodded. "I believe the Dukes will swiftly grasp the gravity of the situation and hasten here... Ah, one more matter."
His gaze drifted to the land below, where blood-flas had engulfed half a city. From their elevated position, they could hear neither cries nor pleas for help, only the howling wind.
"Your innocent subjects require your aid," the young Ansel gestured downward.
"Evora’s madness is no justification for us to disregard the lives of your people."
Clent hesitated for a mont, initially expecting so extraordinary demand from Ansel. This seemingly trivial request surprised him, but considering Ansel’s persona, he found it not entirely out of character and agreed.
He uttered a series of peculiar syllables, then turned to Ansel with deference: "Great dragons will assist them in escaping Evora’s destructive rampage. Rest assured, Lord Ansel."
Regardless of circumstances, in this world, Hydral remained the only formidable force against the Flafeast.
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