Chapter 201: The One-Man Army

Deep inside the towering, oppressive structure of the Devil’s Lair, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bloody slaughter happening miles outside its walls.

In a grand, dimly lit hall carved from dark stone, the group of high-ranking Devils who had captured Ravena were lounging around. They sat comfortably around a massive table, drinking a foul, dark liquid from large goblets and casually playing a twisted, demonic version of chess.

"Hey," one of the Devils spoke up, moving a bone-carved piece across the board. "I tried to absorb that little spirit’s power earlier while we were transporting the cage..."

The Devil across from him paused, taking a slow sip from his goblet. "And? What happened?"

"It’s bizarre, my skin began to melt away just by absorbing a little bit of her aura. I had to forcibly cut off the connection immediately," the first Devil grumbled, checking his hand, which still looked slightly charred.

A third Devil, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed and nodded. "Yeah, I tried it too when we first grabbed her. But that power unconsciously started to backfire towards me. It’s incredibly dangerous. It doesn’t act like normal spiritual energy at all."

"Hmm... don’t worry about it," the Devil at the head of the table said, waving his hand dismissively. "I have already informed his majesty the Demon Lord through a messenger. After he wakes up from his deep cultivation, he will come here to handle the spirit himself."

A greedy glint flashed in the eyes of the others.

The first Devil smirked, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Yeah, if his majesty finds the spirit useful, he will definitely reward us. We might also become Dreadlords for this contribution."

"Speaking of Dreadlords..." the third Devil sneered, his gaze shifting toward the massive, empty throne room down the hall. "Whatever happened to our grand reward, what is that bastard Shitra doing sitting around the throne like a lazy piece of shit? Does he have a death wish, sitting in the Demon Lord’s seat?"

"Tchh! It seems just because we let him absorb the Devilheart from that corpse, now he thinks he is way above us," the second Devil spat, crushing a chess piece in his grip.

"Whatever," the head Devil muttered, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Just let him enjoy his newfound power for now. When we climb up to the Dreadlord rank, we will let him know his place..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the massive doors of the hall slammed open.

A low-ranking Demonkin burst into the room, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. He was covered in purple blood, panting heavily, his eyes wide with absolute terror. He threw himself to the floor, sliding across the floor and bowing frantically before the high-ranking Devils.

"My lords!" the Demonkin gasped, his voice trembling violently.

The Devils frowned, their relaxed posture instantly turning into annoyed glares.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the head Devil demanded, slamming his goblet onto the table.

"It’s... it’s outside! The outer perimeter!" The Demonkin choked out the words, practically hyperventilating. "A masked figure appeared out of nowhere! He is wiping out our whole army without getting even the slightest bit hurt!"

The Devils froze.

"What did you just say?"

"Our armies, my lords! He’s slaughtering them all!"

Their eyes widened in sheer shock. They looked at each other, completely unable to process the ridiculous report.

"How the hell can a person reach all the way up to the palace?" the first Devil yelled, standing up from his chair. "This place is surrounded by a dense amount of Malice! Any powerful Ascender from the Human Empire would hesitate to directly approach here, let alone breach the inner zones!"

"And facing the entire army and wiping it out on top of that?!" The third Devil gritted his teeth, his Malice energy flaring. "That person must be completely out of his mind! It’s a suicide mission!"

The head Devil kicked his chair back, his expression turning vicious. "Just lead us there!"

All of them stood up from the table, abandoning their drinks and their game. They dashed out of the grand hall, following the terrified Demonkin through the long, dark corridors until they reached the massive, open-air balcony that overlooked the main courtyard and the sprawling Deadlands beyond.

As they looked down, the arrogant sneers on their faces instantly vanished.

The ground was painted in a sickening ocean of dark purple blood. Mounds of torn limbs, shattered horns, and crushed skulls piled up like small hills.

And right in the dead center of the endless horde of remaining Devils, a lone figure wearing a dark cloak and a plain white mask was moving forward.

He didn’t hold a sword. He didn’t wield a spear. He wasn’t casting massive, flashy spells.

He was just using his bare hands.

His fists were coated in an extremely dense, blinding layer of mana. He launched himself forward, stepping into the center of a dozens of screaming Fiends. Without even a flicker of change in his posture, he threw a punch.

*BOOOOOOM!*

The shockwave from the single punch caved in the chests of three Fiends instantly, turning their upper halves into dust. He didn’t even pause to watch them fall. He shifted his weight, driving a brutal, mana-infused kick into the side of a towering Demonkin, snapping its spine in half and sending the heavy body flying like a cannonball through the rest of the devils.

He was wiping out their endless army calmly, as if he was merely stepping on insects.

The Devils on the balcony felt a cold sweat break out on their backs. They watched closely, trying to spot a single opening, a single trace of exhaustion, or even a drop of his own blood.

But there was nothing.

Beneath the white mask, Alen’s face remained utterly emotionless and merciless. He wasn’t fighting a war; he was using their entire race for his own personal training along the way to the front door.

*CRUNCH!*

Alen caught a charging Devil by the face, crushing its skull with a sickening squeeze before tossing the limp body aside and dashing forward into the next wave.

Up on the balcony, the Devils who had kidnapped Ravena stared down at the slaughter, their jaws clenched in sheer disbelief and rising terror.

"How... How the hell is he doing that?!" one of them whispered, with a cracked voice.