The area shrouded in black mist finally became visible. After the mist dispersed, what appeared before everyone was a piece of utterly dead, blackened land.

  There was no longer any green grass, nor any corpses of the demi-humans. Everything—living or dead, wood or stone—had turned into a strange black color. It looked as if it had been completely charred by fire, yet there was no trace of smoke.

  The elite soldiers of Selene City surrounding the area all widened their eyes in disbelief. They couldn't believe what they saw; their minds were in chaos.

  The demi-humans who had been lively moments before now appeared as monsters with blackened skin. Their eyes were unfocused, their faces expressionless, only their mouths agape, emitting low, confused roars like some decaying beasts.

  These demi-humans no longer carried weapons, yet they charged madly at the surrounding guards. They showed no fear of death, no retreat, sending chills down everyone's spines.

  Especially terrifying was their strength—more than doubled from before. A single punch could crush an ordinary soldier's chest like it was made of cardboard.

  "Kill!" Lydia's roar echoed through the battlefield.

  At her command, elite soldiers surged forward from all directions, weapons raised to strike. Despite the enemy's madness and incredible strength, the elites were well-trained and well-equipped.

  After the first wave of combat, the demi-humans created by Clara's mutations began to be swiftly eliminated. The rhythm of battle was fierce, the sound of killing continuous.

  Yet, even with the overwhelming advantage, the warriors in the fight felt unease. They had seen bloodshed before, but this was different.

  Every mutated demi-human that fell wasn't scared off or subdued by pain, but was utterly hacked to pieces before stopping. These creatures were like living corpses, utterly fearless of death. They kept charging no matter how many comrades fell.

  The fear in battle seeped like poison into every bone.

  But far away, the Serpent Ancestor watching showed no panic. He even seemed somewhat relieved, a cold smirk appearing on his snake-like face hidden beneath his helmet.

  "So it was only the power of the followers."

  Hearing this, the snake-man Gregor beside him froze. Just as Gregor opened his mouth to ask for clarification, a sudden cheer erupted from the battlefield.

  "Dead! Dead!" someone shouted loudly.

  It turned out Clara had died. With her fall, those mutated demi-humans suddenly lost their nerve and collapsed.

  Some went limp like puppets with cut strings; others twitched a few times before falling silent. In an instant, those terrifying black-skinned monsters all became corpses.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  Meanwhile, far to the south, deep within the blood elf territory, inside a spacious and dim palace—

  Ronan, the dark-skinned man, suddenly pushed away Zora, who was kneeling at his feet. His body was still wet with sweat, but his expression was extremely grim.

  His bare upper body was covered with fine red runes, and his eyes still held a faint blood elf glow, but they were already cold and inhuman.

  "Damn it!"

  He bit his teeth and growled. Zora looked up in panic, her lips still wet with uncleaned moisture, her face pale as paper. She dared not speak and immediately straightened her posture on her knees:

  "Lord Ronan, what happened?"

  Ronan suddenly grabbed her hair and forced her down with such strength that Zora's head slammed against the floor. His tone was like grinding teeth:

  "Clara is dead. The plan failed! That idiot wasted a single drop of my divine blood!"

  His face was twisted as he gasped for breath. That drop of divine blood was not only a source of power for him, but also a symbol—symbolizing his steady approach toward godhood. And now, all of it was ruined by a woman's failure.

  If Draven were here, he might find the name Ronan somewhat familiar. Unfortunately, he wasn't.

  After being dragged back to Selene City, Draven had been tossed aside like a rag on the roadside. Covered in blood, clothes torn and ragged, if he hadn't recovered a bit of magic in time, he probably would have had to spend the night lying on the street corner.

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  "That's just too cruel," he muttered softly while getting up.

  Patting his butt, he was about to complain when he suddenly paused. Did he just pat Selene's butt?

  "Could she be holding a grudge?" Draven frowned.

  But then he laughed to himself. Just surviving and making it back alive was already a blessing. The enemies were dead, he escaped unharmed, could still walk, and maybe even get some benefits. Although most of the credit would go to Selene, he had contributed too.

  He wouldn't believe she'd dare to withhold the promised Black Wolf tribe slaves.

  Draven grinned and muttered,"If she dares to do that, I'll put up flyers all over town tonight, writing a thousand words about Lord's butt-touching impressions!"

  Walking on with a light heart, he still had one thing to do—retrieve the Spear of Slaughter.

  At that moment, the four gates of Selene City finally opened. With the crisis lifted, a large number of demi-humans poured inside.

  Torvald stood guard at the west gate with his tribe, watching the scene with a growing dark expression.

  Torvald saw Selene return to the city, carrying a barely conscious black wolfman in her arms. It was clear that the wolfman had completely lost consciousness.

  Torvald's throat moved, but no words came out.

  The Freya he cared about so deeply was likely already dead.

  What made it even more ironic was that Freya had once personally told him that it definitely wasn't the southern succubus who killed his brother Bronan.

  The anger on Torvald's face was no longer hidden. He stared at the empty ground before him and issued a cold command in a low voice:

  "Investigate. Find out who that Black Wolf is—dig him out, no matter where he's hiding."

  "Yes, sir!" The tribesman beside him was stunned for a moment, then quickly responded, bowed his head in salute, and turned to leave.

  Meanwhile, Draven finally retrieved his Spear of Slaughter.

  This spear meant a great deal to him—not just a weapon, but a powerful relic that had absorbed lord-level power.

  Gregor and the Serpent Ancestor had been guarding it, so it wasn't hard to find.

  Still, Draven didn't recklessly touch it. He fetched a thick piece of beasthide and carefully wrapped the spear before putting it away.

  He understood in his heart that the power absorbed in that weapon was too strong—if accidentally triggered, the consequences could be unbearable. Although his magic had somewhat recovered, caution was still necessary.

  He glanced at the Serpent Ancestor, whose serpent eyes slightly contracted, as if fearful of something.

  Draven immediately realized the other must have guessed he sensed some unusual power from the spear. He felt a hint of amusement but held it back.

  "This guy still has use. I won't move against him for now," Draven thought silently.

  From Gregor's account, Draven roughly understood the nature of the Follower's power and the Evil God's power. Even if it didn't directly concern him now, it was worth serious consideration.

  After all, he was now the son-in-law of the Elven Kingdom's royal family, engaged to the princess. These strange and mysterious powers might one day involve him.

  Not to mention, his father-in-law was leading the Elven army in the south against the Blood Elves. If he could tell them about the Evil God force behind Clara, it would definitely raise enough attention.

  He didn't say much but gestured for Gregor and the Serpent Ancestor to follow him. He no longer hid anything—after all, most enemies were dead, the city situation was stable, and he could act openly.

  Gregor's identity was already exposed, and Selene didn't fully trust him anyway, so Draven simply took them to the stone house from before.

  Inside, Draven wasted no words and pointed at the Serpent Ancestor."Tell me everything you know. Especially about the Evil God and the so-called Followers."

  The Serpent Ancestor looked bitter but complied.

  He was reluctant to speak much about the Evil God itself, only saying it was a power on the level of a deity, whose name could not be casually spoken nor lightly discussed. Moreover, the Evil God seemed to be awakening, with increasingly obvious signs.

  However, he spoke in detail about the Followers. He mentioned that Clara's black skin transformation nearly confirmed she had been completely corrupted by the Evil God's power, becoming a vessel for one of its Followers.

  Her frenzy, immortality, and corruption abilities were all characteristics of a Follower.

  "Such a pity for an Elven princess," the Serpent Ancestor finally shook his head."Completely consumed."

  Draven showed little reaction. He leaned against the wall, crossed his legs, and said casually,"You yourself slept for ten thousand years, right? You could wake up—why not the Evil God?"

  The Serpent Ancestor was stumped, opening his mouth but saying nothing.

  "Alright, go rest." Draven waved his hand.

  After the Serpent Ancestor and Gregor left, Draven collapsed onto the bed, not wanting to say a word.

  Since last night until now, he hadn't closed his eyes once. The continuous fighting and the mental processing of information made him feel as if his body no longer belonged to him.

  "Sleep. I have to sleep first," he told himself."Even if the sky falls, I'll deal with it after I wake up."

  He slept deeply until early the next morning.

  Outside, the pouring rain battered the stone roof, as if the entire sky was venting its fury. Gregor, wearing a tattered gray raincoat, stood at the door and knocked.

  Rubbing his eyes, Draven sat up and looked out into the rain. The sky was gray, rain cutting through the view like blades. He shook his head involuntarily, his mind still not fully awake.

  "Sleeping alone really isn't comfortable," he muttered as he got up, quickly washed, put on the old raincoat, and prepared to leave.

  He knew that unless it was something important, Selene wouldn't send anyone to find him.

  Besides, judging by her attitude yesterday, she was probably quite annoyed with him.

  Draven frowned as he walked. He was thinking that today he'd have to shamelessly beg to see her, but unexpectedly, she had sent someone first.

  What exactly was this woman thinking?

  When he entered the lord's hall, he bumped into Lydia. She wore her usual cold expression, neat attire, and steady steps.

  Draven quickly stepped aside, lowering his posture and bowing his head respectfully.

  Lydia didn't notice him at first, but when she realized it was him, her expression became complicated—partly like she saw a somewhat capable kid, partly filled with undisguised disdain and coldness.

  That look made Draven feel uneasy all of a sudden.