Return of the Mythic Bloodline

The moment the day was laced with darkness, the demons—just like every other night—surged forward. Their numbers were only three-fourths of what they once were; however, it would be foolish to assume that they had grown any weaker. The war itself was nurturing the remaining demons, helping them grow at a terrifying pace.

From the human side, the soldiers also surged forward, clashing against the demons with ever-high morale and enthusiasm, all thanks to Taranis' speech.

Taranis and his platoon left the wall as well, advancing onto the battlefield. Unlike two and a half years ago, Taranis no longer fought at the far edges of the battlefield where weaker demons swarmed. His place had become irreplaceable near the center, where demons possessing catastrophic strength were stationed.

Drawing his sword, Taranis began a brutal and terrifying dance of lightning and steel, cutting through the ranks of demons with a mere swing.

"T-the Lightning God has appeared!"

"R-run for your lives!!!"

"W-we are as good as dead!!"

The demons screamed as raw, primal fear surged through their veins, their instincts urging them to flee from the judgment of the god himself.

However, before they could even make a move, golden lightning spread across the battlefield like a spider's web, striking hundreds of demons and scorching them on the spot.

"Wh-what has happened to Platoon Leader? He seems more aggressive than ever," one of Taranis' subordinates murmured, his eyes widened in shock.

"Don't daze out!" the soldier beside him shouted. "This isn't a platoon leader, this is the wraith of the God of Lightning and Thunder unleashed upon the cursed demons! Kill them all!"

"Kill the demons!!"

"Kill the demons!!"

The roars rippled through the battlefield, each scream bolstering human morale while sending shivers through the demons.

There was no stopping Taranis. It had only been an hour since the battle began, yet he had already slain more than five hundred soldiers of the demon army.

Witnessing the might of the Lightning God firsthand, not a single demon dared to move forward. Their bodies froze as Taranis stood before them, his sharp golden eyes daring them to make the first move.

"As long as he is here, we can't advance," the demons murmured, their bodies trembling.

"Is-is he really sent by the heavens to stop us?"

"I don't think anyone except the Archdemons and the Demon Sovereign is capable of stopping him—"

Before the demon could finish his words, bone-chilling frost crept over his skin, turning him into a statue of ice in the blink of an eye.

"How bold of you to claim no one can stop him when I am still here," a deep, chilling voice echoed as a demonic figure emerged.

The demon possessed white skin, literally white, with long, jet-black hair and a single horn of the same color protruding from his forehead. His pale demonic slit eyes locked onto Taranis like a hunter eyeing its prey.

"L-lord Iskandor," the demons murmured, hope returning to their dread-filled faces.

"If it's Lord Iskandor, that arrogant human will surely die."

"Kill him, Lord Iskandor!"

"Avenge the demons!"

The demons shouted, smirks and excitement spreading across their faces.

Meanwhile, the reactions among Taranis' subordinates were the complete opposite.

Every human who had participated in this war had heard of the Ice Demon Iskandor—a ninth-level Demon Lord. Countless human soldiers had fallen to his bone-chilling ice. The last human Iskandor had slain was the empire's representative, a veteran warrior at the True Sage Realm. The most horrifying part was that Iskandor had killed him without suffering even the slightest scratch.

Now, that same demon had appeared once more, and his next target was none other than Taranis—the god fighting alongside humanity against the cursed demons.

Meanwhile, Taranis didn't react in the slightest, as if Iskandor's appearance didn't bother him at all. With an expressionless face, Taranis stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Iskandor.

After taking a few steps, a smile slowly coiled across Taranis' serene face. That arrogant smile deeply offended the Ice Demon. Iskandor knew that Taranis was only as strong as a True Sage—someone he could defeat without even going all out. Yet not only was Taranis calm in his presence, he was smiling on top of that.

"What do you find so amusing, Thunderbane brat?" Iskandor asked, also moving forward.

"I've found the perfect reunion gift to give my wife," Taranis replied casually.

"Ohh~ and what might that be?" Iskandor asked, curiosity lacing his voice. To him, it was utter disrespect that Taranis dared think about such a trivial matter while standing before the Ice Demon Iskandor himself.

Taranis' smile widened into a sharp smirk. Pointing his sword at Iskandor, he declared,

"I will dig out your core, forge a sword from it, and gift it to my beloved wife."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell upon the battlefield in the wake of Taranis' bold declaration.

Several veins bulged on Iskandor's temples, his fists clenching so tightly that his sharp nails tore into his own flesh, blood trickling down.

"Y-you arrogant bastard!!" Iskandor roared as he rushed toward Taranis.

With his movement, the crimson land, soaked in the blood of countless fallen soldiers, turned white as a sheet of ice rapidly spread toward Taranis.

Both humans and demons in the vicinity halted their clashes, every pair of eyes shifting toward the confrontation between the two mighty warriors of opposing races.

The ice soon reached Taranis' feet, halting his steps before engulfing his entire body, freezing him within a thick shell of ice.

"Hahaha! Is this the might of your god, humans?" Iskandor barked, his loud laughter sending shivers through the human army.

In the very next instant after freezing Taranis, he kicked the ice shell, shattering it into countless fragments, along with what he believed to be Taranis' body.

At least, that was what he thought.

When his eyes fell upon the shattered ice, it was only then that he realized Taranis' body had never been inside the ice to begin with.

"An afterimage!?" Iskandor murmured, understanding what Taranis had done.

A jolt of primal fear surged through his body as he sensed something life-threatening forming behind him.

He turned instantly, only to find Taranis standing there, a sharp lance of golden lightning roaring in his grasp. Violent electric pulses rippled outward, scorching the ground beneath into blackened cracks from sheer heat.

With a low, cold voice, Taranis murmured,

"Divine Lightning: Lance of Annihilation."