Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 687 Wind Demon (Part 2)

You're too superstitious about your superpowers, using them every time you fight. But you must understand that they're merely tools and means to achieve victory, like weapons or armor.

This was that damned Marius, the one he said to Rolf one afternoon when they were still in the Mindis Hall.

[I know His Highness trusts you greatly, even more than the Star Lake Guard… This is an honor, but also a burden. Therefore, to prevent you from holding His Highness back and endangering him, you must join the Guard's daily training, no matter how much they despise, ridicule, or isolate you… In addition, you must follow the plan I have set and practice extra every day. This is an order.]

Don't misunderstand, I don't care about you at all. In fact, I don't know you at all, and I don't think His Highness's trust in you is a wise decision. But given that my job is to fill in the gaps in his unwise decisions...

"You're not convinced? How about this, I won't bully you. That kid over there named Neshi is the least senior in the guard. You fight him one-on-one. If you win, you don't have to obey this order, how about it?"

That damned, terrifying blade.

Facing the enemy, Rolf touched the cold, hard prosthetic limbs made of crystalline alloy through his clothes.

He put on this prosthetic limb after they were defeated in their battle against the man in black.

These are completely different from the prosthetic limbs that were hastily made before, which accompanied him for many years and were intended for walking.

These prosthetics—be careful, they're heavy—were made to Captain Marius's specifications. Though they were merely a prototype by Master Ponk, I'd say they're probably more expensive than the glasses for the Grand Duchess… Of course, I offered a small suggestion, since they were ordered in my… to be precise, in my fiancée's name. I… I didn't want to use the Cassel family's money…

This is what that damned Wyatt Cassel said when he came back from outside one day and pushed the big box in front of him.

The young master Casso, who always pretended to be hardworking, simple, and full of bitterness, but in reality had never suffered any hardship since childhood and thought that all his worries were just whining, took out paper and pen and took it seriously.

Here's the high-pressure gas cylinder, this is the switch, this is the adjustment knob, and this bag contains replacement parts. Master Punk instructed me not to disassemble it without permission, and you're to regularly report your experience to me so he can make improvements and upgrades... I suggest you start practicing tonight; after all, this thing really tests your control...

The three knife-wielders were getting closer and closer.

It seems they want to act together to avoid being ambushed like their companions.

Rolf located the knobs on his calves—if he still had any—and turned one of them on.

At that moment, Rolf's body swayed violently!
The air, compressed to its limit, was pressed tightly into the four crystal alloy bottles of the two prosthetic limbs by him controlling his supernatural abilities with all his might.

[Once the high-pressure gas cylinder is opened, most of your abilities will have to be spent controlling the air pressure inside to confine the air. Therefore, you can only fight with the most basic movements. Don't look at me, Commander Marius said that this will train your control. Only in this way can you make more efficient use of the air at critical moments and give your opponent a surprise...]

Rolf was completely focused and dared not relax for a moment.

You need to adjust your breathing and choose the right time. If you don't control it well, at this level of air pressure, well, even a fracture is a minor issue...

nonsense.

Rolf steadied himself and thought coldly.

If I couldn't control this, I would have suffocated, choked, or drowned in Hongfang Street eight years ago!

Who gave this noble young master and that so-called "fear of blades"—these people who at least have two legs—the right to nag him!
So, Rolf, I suggest you stick to your old, calloused legs for everyday walking—I mean, my old prosthetics…—unless, unless it's absolutely necessary, a situation where you'll die if you don't fight for your life…

Screw your old, cold legs.

Rolf stood up slowly but steadily, the air in the high-pressure tank being suppressed by his supernatural power, unable to escape.

"Now!"

Three enemies roared and charged forward, three cleavers coming from three directions at the same time!

This time, Rolf did not immediately resort to his supernatural abilities as he had done before. Instead, he calmly observed his opponent's movements and dodged by spinning around.

Now, he is no longer the person he used to be.

He learned how to fight more efficiently, for example, by no longer wasting energy creating strong winds during battle, and by no longer playing those meaningless human kites...

Instead, the focus shifts to scaling down and increasing concentration and control, such as by precisely and subtly manipulating local air currents, either to strengthen one's own offensive or to impede the enemy's actions.

For example...

"Whoosh-"

The wind whistled, grazing the path of the three blades.

The wind is not strong; those not in the wind may not even notice it. It can only deflect the blades cutting through the air by a tiny bit.

But that's enough.

Rolf spun around perfectly, and two blades grazed his body, one in front and one behind, narrowly missing each other; one of them even tore his clothes.

The third knife, because of this, became disconnected from the other two knives and slowed down slightly.

At that moment, Rolf, sandwiched between the three, suddenly sharpened his gaze.

That's it.

He pushed off the ground and raised his leg, his target being the third person!

With superpowers at his command, the air in a high-pressure cylinder was instantly released, like a flash flood!

Swish.

Rolf's kick accelerated instantly!
"boom!"

Amidst a chillingly loud crash, the third knife-wielder was struck in the armpit by Rolf before he could even reach him. He was sent flying dramatically, crashing into the crowd and knocking down three or four people in his path.

But this is not the end.

Rolf landed with his front foot, spun around, and swept his other leg—or rather, his prosthetic leg—back!
Swish.

Another high-pressure gas cylinder exploded instantly, propelling his leg with unparalleled pressure and slamming it into the first knife-wielding assailant!
"Thump—bang!"

A crisp sound of bone breaking was heard.

Before the first knife-wielder could even cry out, he was sent flying sideways, crashing into the second knife-wielder. The two of them flew out one on top of the other and slammed into the wall!
"boom!"

With a terrible crash, the warehouse shook, kicking up dust and cobwebs.

At that moment, the two machetes clattered to the ground.

As for the instigator of all this—Rolf—he spun around in place, pulled his legs back, landed, and lay down to dissipate the impact.

Crisp and neat.

All in one go.

As the dust settled, everyone in the warehouse was stunned for a moment, then erupted in an uproar!
"Fuck——"

"Who is this person...?"

"Is it a superpower?"

"The Terminator Swordsman! The Power of Termination!"

Nekra, Fogg, Duro... everyone who witnessed this scene turned pale.

Most people only saw the three knife-wielders attacking together, but before they could even touch their opponent, they were all sent flying by a terrifying spinning kick.

and……

Nekra glanced at the cracks in the wall caused by the impact, then looked at the three motionless swordsmen:
The knife-wielders who were kicked didn't even utter a cry of pain after landing.

The red viper felt a slight tingling sensation on its scalp.

"His leg strength—it's ridiculous!" Gutierrez exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Where did this guy come from?" Sangare instinctively took a step back.

Beside Nekra, the puppeteer Ping Shen frowned deeply, while Dumuna from the grasslands drew his scimitar, eager to try.

"Your brother... holy crap, that's pretty impressive." In the crowd, Zimicas gaped and tugged at Largolov's sleeve.

Golov nodded subconsciously.

He was also stunned, staring in disbelief at the signboard still trembling and swaying above him.

This mute...

So strong?
With just those two simple legs... is there anyone in the royal guard who can stop them?
Could it be that he has been keeping his abilities hidden all this time?

No wonder she's been with the prince the longest... she's so cunning.

With precedents set, fear spread.

The thugs surrounding Rolf looked at each other, and for a moment none of them dared to make a move.

No one knew that at this very moment, Rolf, who had displayed such great power, was squatting on the ground, pressing tightly on the painful connection point of his prosthetic limb.

But he cannot rest.

Rolf gritted his teeth.

Two of the high-pressure gas cylinders are already empty.

Taking advantage of his opponent's moment of surprise, he quickly activated his superpower. The surrounding air obeyed his command like servants, pouring back into the two empty high-pressure cylinders—all four cylinders must be kept at full pressure to cope with the ever-changing battle situation and to deliver lethal leg strikes.

“An attack of this magnitude must come at a great cost,” the black-clad assassin’s voice echoed softly. “He can’t possibly use such attacks every time, otherwise his body wouldn’t be able to handle it. Let’s attack now.”

Upon hearing this, Rolf's heart skipped a beat.

Damn!

The black-clad assassin's words jolted the shocked crowd awake. The next second, Mu Na, a man from the grasslands, moved swiftly, his unique grassland scimitar swinging in an arc rarely seen in the Western Continent as he attacked him!

Rolf gritted his teeth and got up, intending to use his supernatural ability to deflect the blade again, but the sound of the scimitar cutting through the air made him shudder.

Damn, this sword technique and trajectory... is not the kind of attack he's used to.

He wasn't sure.

Thinking of this, Rolf had no choice but to dodge.

With a retreat, Dumuna's offensive intensified, and Rolf had no choice but to dodge repeatedly.

“It seems to be true,” Nekra squinted. “His only intimidating move is those two legs.”

Seeing that someone had exposed the truth, the gang members were emboldened and their shouts rose again.

Encouraged, Gutierrez roared, tightened his arm guards and gauntlets, and attacked from the other side!
Rolf was attacked from both sides, and his situation became critical.

Golov gritted his teeth, but Zimicas clung tightly to his arm: "Calm down, calm down, don't go! You'll die!"

Rolf narrowly dodged Gutierrez's fist, and Domuna's scimitar then slashed across his shoulder, leaving a bloody gash.

He groaned and gritted his teeth in pain.

Fortunately, in that short time, he finally filled the high-pressure gas cylinder.

Dumuna roared, his machete slicing through the air as he came hurtling towards them once more.

Gutierrez's fist pressed forward from behind.

Rolf's expression hardened, his knees slightly bent, ready to counterattack.

But in that instant, Rolf frowned as he watched the trajectory of Domuna's blade.

That could be a weakness, but it could also be a trap to lure the enemy, who may have already prepared to dodge.

My prosthetic leg might... miss the target.

Have you ever drawn a bow? Do you know what it means to fire a bow without firing it?

After a near-fatal training session, Wyman—still holding pen and paper, looking like an annoying pedantic scholar, only missing a mustache—sat seriously by his bedside.

That's just nonsense.

I'm not like you, a noble second-generation official, who had the chance to touch a bow and arrow when I was a child.

Young Master Kaso from the Gobi Desert, have you ever been a wanderer? Do you know what "cold rice" means?

Hold.

As his thoughts raced, Rolf's face tightened.

At that moment, he forcefully suppressed the urge to kick.

In return, he dodged Gutierrez behind him, but was slashed across the chest by Domuna's scimitar!

Swish!
A stream of blood spurted out.

The sudden pain made his brain pause.

[Remember last week? His Highness Thales made a novice mistake at a hunting equipment shop in town: while testing his bow, he drew the string, aimed, and then released it—the sound was nice, but it was just firing without aiming.]

Because there was no arrow loaded, the enormous energy released by the bowstring had nowhere to go but to be borne entirely by the bow arm, which was extremely damaging to the bow... Too many times of firing without a bow would ruin even the best bow... So no matter what Far Eastern idioms His Highness used as an excuse, like "a bird startled by the mere twang of a bow," it was useless. He had no choice but to spend money to buy that bow, making things even worse for the logistics wing...

Rolf observed the enemy before him, gritting his teeth.

He was covered in blood and looked terrifying.

But he only felt relieved after enduring that knife wound:

Sure enough, that last strike was completely powerless; it was just a feint.

That means... if I just kicked out, he would dodge it...

In short, what I'm trying to say is that the gas cylinder in your leg is like a bow. If you kick it into empty air after releasing the pressure, it's like drawing the bow and releasing it without a target. The enormous energy that can't be released will all be borne by your leg, or rather, by the connection between your flesh and the prosthesis... Imagine a strongman dragging your prosthesis, bending it upwards to your ear in one go, and then snapping it backwards with great force...

Therefore, if you want to use it, every attack you make must hit the target, because if you miss... well, you know what I mean.

Wyman's voice disappeared from my ears.

Rolf's expression instantly tightened.

A gentle breeze swept past Gutierrez's eyes, causing him to squint.

The next second, Rolf executed a spinning back kick, the high-pressure tank exploding at the perfect moment, propelling his heel with unimaginable force, slamming it heavily onto Gutierrez's arm guard!
"boom!"

The sounds of metal clashing and bones breaking rang out simultaneously!
"Ah! Damn it!" Gutierrez screamed as he flew backward.

Rolf calmly turned sideways, landed firmly, and put his mind at ease.

Fortunately, it was the enemy's bones that were broken.

This time, he didn't "leave it empty".

The next second, Rolf raised his head and faced Dumuna, who was seizing the opportunity to slash down with his sword. He then kicked Dumuna sideways with his leg!

Like a fighter risking everything.

Dumuna was startled at first, then delighted, and slashed at Rolf's raised leg with his scimitar!

clang!
The crisp metallic clanging sound startled Dumuna.

With a dull ache in his knee, Rolf roared!
With his superpower unleashed, the high-pressure gas cylinder exploded with a deafening roar.

"boom!"

The scimitar deformed under the heavy blow, and Dumuna flew out along with the sword, crashing heavily into the wall!
After this jaw-dropping duel, Rolf, who had defeated two super-level experts, took a deep breath, retracted his legs, landed, and began to gather his energy again.

The warehouse returned to silence.

Nekra and Fogg exchanged a glance and saw the astonishment in each other's eyes.

"I can tell!"

Looking at the unconscious Dumuna, Ping gritted his teeth and said, "His legs have armor! Metal armor!"

Armor?

Rolf sneered inwardly.

Armor, my foot! "No!"

Gutierrez, who was lying on the ground, struggled for a moment and painfully spat out a mouthful of blood.

"The ultimate realm..."

He was helped up by his men, and even forgot the pain, only staring in horror at his hand, which was deformed along with his arm guard:
"He's a damned master of the extreme realm!"

Upon hearing this, the gang members in the warehouse began to whisper among themselves, and many of those who were close by started to back away.

Extreme conditions.

Not bad.

This is probably the highest praise he has ever received in his life.

Rolf took a deep breath, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He suddenly realized that after experiencing so many life-or-death moments over the years, after seeing all sorts of experts ranging from super-level to extreme level, and after fighting so many different enemies, the kind of combat he knew was no longer just street brawls between thugs.
Instead, it's about fighting the enemy on the battlefield.

As for him, he was no longer the naive young man who went to the battlefield for the first time and was mocked by the Kingdom's Wrath for using a hidden blade.

He began to understand when to advance and retreat, how to attack and defend, how to grasp the rhythm, and how to give up and take.

Now, he is...

Rolf stood up again.

The gang members at the front, weapons in hand, nervously took a half-step back.

The third time, gas storage is complete.

“Everything else is mediocre,” the black-clad assassin in the shadows of the crowd spoke again at that moment, “His strength lies entirely in his legs.”

Rolf looked at the assassin in black, his brows furrowing slightly.

Damn.

Of all these people, that guy should be the strongest.

Just why...

Why hasn't he made a move yet?
Forget it.

According to the plan, we'll take down a few tough guys first to demoralize them, then adjust our formation...

Rolf glanced at the exit out of the corner of his eye; the crowd there had thinned considerably.

“A master of leg techniques,” Nekra said with apprehension, “Old Fogg, have you heard of him?”

This level of explosive power, once encountered, will either result in death or serious injury.

Even at the extreme level, one must be extremely wary.

“To cause destruction with instantaneous explosive force… I can only think of the Brotherhood’s ‘Uncrowned Fist’, Cincha,” Fogg said in a deep voice, his gaze toward Rolf changing, “but that guy is a boxer.”

The assassin in black gazed at Rolf from afar and chuckled softly.
"interesting."

The next second, Nekra, his face full of vigilance, waved his hand behind him, and Dalton behind him suddenly roared and charged forward:

"Joker! Joker! Joker!"

He roared repeatedly, smashing through everyone in his way, seemingly oblivious to the pain, and charged at him, brandishing two chairs in his hands.

Faced with such a wide-ranging and reckless attack, Rolf was startled and was about to respond when, on the other side, Ping flung out two "Chaos God Weapons" tied with silk threads, which flew towards him!

boom!
The next second, Rolf dodged Dalton's charge in a very awkward manner, rolled to avoid a strangely trajectoryd "Divine Weapon", and then kicked another one away.

But just like before, the Chaotic Divine Weapon sent out countless blades with a snap!
Rolf had nowhere to dodge, so he could only sweep his legs around, the blades striking the prosthetic limb with a clanging sound.

But the prosthetic limb was not a shield, and he was eventually hit by a blade, groaning as he staggered back.

“As expected,” Ping sneered, tugging at the silk thread and pulling back another Chaotic Divine Weapon. “With power comes a lack of agility—madman, continue!”

Damn.

Rolf endured the pain and pulled out the razor blade.

On the other side, Dalton, who had just crashed into another wall, roared again and charged at him!
The situation was critical, and Rolf took a deep breath.

Ok.

no solution anymore.

His hands hung naturally at his sides, covering the knobs on his prosthetic limbs through his trousers.

Rolf looked at Dalton and his expression darkened.

Originally, this was prepared for Neshi, to be used unexpectedly during their second duel.

But now, these people are getting a good deal.

Wyatt's annoying voice rang out again:

【Um, His Highness saw it last time, and he jokingly called it 'cutting off the prosthetic leg,' which probably means 'switching prosthetic limb functions,' although I don't know why he called it that... But he told me to tell you: Develop good habits, and don't forget to cut off the prosthetic leg...】

Cutting off a prosthetic leg...

"Die, clown! Die!" Dalton's roar grew increasingly violent, and the chaotic divine puppet was right before his eyes.

Rolf's pupils contracted.

This time, he closed the four main valves of the high-pressure cylinder and opened the second knob—located in the two prosthetic limbs and connected to the eight small outlets of the high-pressure cylinder.

In contrast, they cannot provide the same concentrated force as the former, but they can…

The next second, Rolf's foot lightly touched the ground, and he instantly leaped two meters, narrowly escaping Dalton's attack range!
The red viper, always on high alert and ready to strike at any moment, was taken aback by what it saw:
So fast!

The chaotic divine soldiers flew in, blocking Rolf's path, but amidst the exclamations, he deftly pushed off the wall, using the momentum to rise again!
He leaped over the blades of two Chaotic Divine Weapons, then turned and swerved in mid-air, his figure flashing left and right, using absolute height and agility to avoid the countless blades shot out by the Chaotic Divine Weapons!
But that wasn't all. Rolf grabbed the boom bar on the top of the warehouse, turned upside down, and kicked off the ceiling with one leg!
The next moment, incredulous Ping only felt a blur before his eyes, and Rolf, leaving afterimages, landed right in front of him.

"you--"

Ping only managed to utter one word before Rolf struck him on the forehead with an elbow, knocking him unconscious.

The Chaotic Divine Weapon, now deprived of its master's control, fell to the ground, its spring still wound, struggling helplessly.

"No! Everyone! Kill him!" The Red Viper was furious after losing so many men.

"The Joker must die!"

Dalton roared and charged at him!

But Rolf just smiled slightly. He dodged the two thugs, and once he had finished gathering his energy, he rushed towards the wall again, leaping into the air!

To the disbelief of many, Rolf moved with the agility and grace of a bat, gliding across the warehouse.

Air circulates through his prosthetic limb, bursting out from different vents and rebounding against the walls, the floor, or even the ceiling, providing him with the energy to move.

As long as there's a way to leverage...

Rolf landed lightly in the crowd, attracting Dalton, who then knocked over and smashed into a group of people.

"careless--"

"Don't hit me!"

"Madman—no!"

"Ahhh!"

Amidst screams of agony, wherever Rolf went, men and horses fell to the ground.

The next second, just as Dalton was about to strike Rolf, Rolf dodged again, disappearing in a blur, leaving Dalton roaring behind him.

Stepping through the window, vaulting over the wall, flipping through the air, landing, speeding away, dodging...

With the added benefit of the "fake leg," Rolf sped along happily, leaving Dalton behind and reveling in the fear of his gang amidst their panicked cries.

"Throw a knife!"

"Damn it, you threw it at me!"

"Behind me!"

"Idiot, he's up there!"

"Don't block me!"

"Damn, that lunatic is charging at us!"

"Hold on!" Nekra roared furiously in the warehouse.

At this moment, Rolf's battlefield was no longer the ground, but every inch of space, every corner, in all directions.

If the gas cylinder is about to run out, he will hold back a little or even find an opportunity to replenish it. Once the gas cylinder is full, he will repeat the same trick.

But Rolf himself felt very strange.

While working in the underworld, "Ghost of the Wind" became known for his agility and ghostly movements with the help of his supernatural abilities.

Since the sudden change in Red Street that night, which resulted in the loss of both his legs, the drastic changes in his balance and center of gravity, the distraction of his supernatural energy due to the need to assist his breathing, and the significant decrease in his leg control have all made it difficult for him to walk, move clumsily, and his strength is far from what it used to be.

He once thought that he would never again be able to freely gallop among the enemy as before.

but now……

Rolf spun in the air, pushed off the wall, and the air pressure propelled him backward.

He hadn't felt this carefree in a long time.

just now……

In the midst of his leaps and bounds, he closed his eyes, relying on the wind to orient himself.
Now, he has rediscovered what he was once best at in a different way.

(Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely, absolutely has nothing to do with that complicated, tedious, and painful special training program devised by Marius! At most, it's related to the knowledge and experience he's accumulated over the years traveling around, and his own relentless hard work. At most, at most, well, at most it's related to that young master Casso, no, to be precise, it's related to the money his fiancée paid, but that's easy, he can just pay it back in installments.)
He also regained his former identity.

With the wind... with the wind...

"Damn! He flipped that far with just a light step, does he have springs in his feet?!" Nekra shoved aside a subordinate who bumped into him and cursed fiercely.

Ferguson was filled with doubt:
"How did he find a foothold in the air?"

Could it be some kind of rare, ultimate power?

"Besides his incredibly powerful kicks, he's also swift, agile, light-footed, and has impressive jumping ability," the black-clad assassin nodded slightly from outside the crowd, his tone appreciative. "I never expected Little Knife to have such a master under his command."

"You didn't, you didn't say your brother's legs were bad!" Zimicas, like most people who just wanted to hide, covered his head and crouched down, carefully watching Rolf darting from the walls to the ceiling while dodging Dalton who was charging around recklessly.

“Of course, if you’re in good shape,” Golov gritted his teeth, shielding himself from the dust falling from the ceiling. “Who the hell walks like that!”

In a short time, Rolf flew up and down, killing only a few people directly, but the chaos and mental stress he caused among the crowd were immeasurable.

Finally, as Dalton collapsed and could no longer move, Rolf landed lightly.

He slowly got up and took the opportunity to recharge his energy.

Before him, the gang members, disheveled and terrified, retreated in a flurry.

The red viper and the wanderer were revealed behind them.

Rolf raised his head slightly, his gaze fixed on Nekra.

Seeing that there was no way to avoid it, Nekra subconsciously swallowed.

Strangely—Rolf suddenly realized: Nekra, the infamous, vicious, and ruthless Red Viper, was on guard, wary, nervous, and…afraid?
Afraid of that... the useless man whose legs he once crippled?
Rolf was momentarily dazed.

Red Viper glanced at the man in black, but the latter, while observing the situation, remained silent and indifferent.

He seemed like an outsider.

Damn!

“Hey, Fogg, old buddy,” Nekra could only look at Fogg with a long-lost friendly smile, “Same as always, two against one?”

But Ferguson ignored him; he was focused solely on Rolf.

"With skills like yours, there's no way you could be subordinate to Catherine. No, you couldn't even be a member of the Blood Bottle Gang!"

Ferguson said coldly:
"who are you!"

For a moment, Rolf was in a daze.

Who is he?
Of course it's the ghost that flies with the wind—no.

Rolf felt a jolt in his heart and suddenly understood.

It turned out to be the case.

He looked down at his hands, then at his legs, and then took a deep breath.

He is not.

He is not a ghost that drifts with the wind.

No longer!

Yes, he is still a "ghost," the one from humble beginnings, an insignificant "ghost" in the Mangcao Manor, the one burdened by a heavy past, dragging his ailing body, barely clinging to life, struggling to survive.

but.

But from today onward—no, to be precise, from some unknown time onward—he no longer followed the wind, accepted whatever came his way, drifted with the tide, struggled with fate, or rose and fell with the waves.

The ghost that once "followed the wind" is long dead.

He died in a bloody night on Red Town Street.

Rolf looked up at Nekra.

His actions today were not for the prince's mission, nor for Catherine, nor even for Nekra.

It was for his own sake.

As soon as he stepped onto the ground, his leg gave him the unique sensation of friction and collision between metal and flesh.

What surged in my chest was an unparalleled sense of exhilaration and joy.

One night on Red Street, he was rejected, abandoned, and discarded by the very wind he had always followed.

Feeling lost and confused, filled with despair and confusion.

But that night at the Mangcao Manor, and even in the countless days and nights that followed…

Under the witness of the night sky and starlight, he regained his grasp...

The winds of fate.

Rolf's gaze sharpened as he looked at the red viper, who was gritting its teeth.

From that moment on, standing here facing the enemy, facing life, and facing himself, was the reborn Midila Rolf.

It's truly...

The Wind Demon.

(End of this chapter)