Ke-style law enforcement officers

Chapter 520 Bloodline

The chaotic battle on the horizon, where one fought against many, was probably hard to witness. In a forbidden zone, a place where order generally lacks vitality, such a terrible commotion was stirred up.

The storm zone became the sole source of light for the entire eastern restricted area, a light source more dazzling and brilliant than ever before, and also possessing deadly destructive power.

However, the light illuminating the entire restricted area only clung to the outer edge of the storm, intertwining with flames and thunder, while at the very center of the storm, there was a vast area of ​​darkness.

The reason is that, whether it's Milo from the Shadow Sequence or the groups of Black Blade Wielders, they are all skilled in the power of the dark realm.

……

This is even clearer on the battlefield on Dirasha's side.

On one side are the divine servants who have received the blessing of the Golden Tree and possess the true primal power originating from the Golden Tree.

On the other side are the affiliated forces that depend on the Golden Tree, which can be understood as the Golden Tree's believers or members of the cult.

However, the two combatants displayed vastly different power attributes.

The black blade, illusory and extremely dark, constantly exuding a terrifying aura of death, releases power that is completely contrary to the Golden Tree's previous image.

These tall warriors clad in light armor did not seem to be creatures derived from the Golden Tree, but rather more like dark species that resided on this towering tree, unlike Jon Byrne who shared the same origin as the Golden Tree.

Those unaware of the situation, witnessing this battle, would likely mistakenly believe that Dirasha was the messenger carrying out the purge with the Golden Will.

……

...

Inside the restricted area, the few remaining creatures all fell silent in fear.

This is the biggest disturbance this land, which has no historical records, has experienced in the last few hundred years. The survivors, who barely live in this desolate and forbidden area, have an average lifespan of less than forty years. The number of times they can see the sky in their short lives can be counted. Today's celestial phenomenon has, to some extent, awakened those things sealed deep in their blood.

Over the long years, the remnants of the race have forgotten its former glory. The real scenes of fighting against the forces of the gods on the battlefield have been obliterated, and only some distant and ethereal ideologies remain in this race.

People like the boy only have a moment to listen to the elders of the tribe recount the details of that distant era of conquerors after a day of hunting, dragging their wounded and exhausted bodies back to the cave of the tribe, before drowsiness drags their consciousness into dreams.

But how many people still firmly believe in the origin stories of those traditions remains unknown.

Because in the short lives of the survivors, they never witnessed anything about the origin story.

The pride of the conquerors is gone; all that remains is the disdain for the faith in the gods that they have clung to through the hardships of the past.

This is actually the true purpose of the gods.

Time is the most powerful weapon they have created; it can annihilate everything.

If this race is allowed to spend a long enough time in a closed environment, their past glory and will will eventually be forgotten, and they will also forget their "fearlessness" in the face of the gods.

At that time, the gods will descend again, and the survivors will become their devotees, just like all other people.

……

But this will take a very long time.

The slightest mishap could reignite that dying embers.

Like today.

What is the most potent remedy needed to awaken the conqueror's bloodline and will?
It was a battle of gods.

That is something deeply rooted in the soul of this race.

While other races tremble in fear before their superiors, the first reaction of the young men of the remnant people is to draw their bows and pull the strings—that's the difference.

For this race, whose fangs have been removed and who are now weak and powerless, the battle between Shadow and Black Blade is equivalent to a war of gods.

...

The sky was filled with sparks and arcs of electricity, and the deafening roar of explosions. These elements, which usually represent destruction, became the source of fire that reawakened the soul at this moment.

Neither the past glories nor the humiliations of a race should be forgotten.

The conquerors' iron hooves once shattered the shrine that claimed to have supreme will, and in their defeat, their wings were torn off by the iron fist of the gods, and they witnessed their people being burned to ashes by the gods' wrath.

To this day, there is no complete statue of the conqueror in the world.

……

As the battle raged in the heart of the battlefield, terrifying aftershocks rippled throughout the entire restricted area.

None of the survivors, though frightened, hid in caves; instead, they rushed out to meet the aftershocks, a wave of danger mixed with surging vitality. Perhaps they were the only race in the world to open their arms in such a moment.

All the emotions—grief, indignation, humiliation, and so on—that had been simmering in the past years burst forth and were released at this moment.

...

They felt the long-lost scorching light, and it was no longer the residual light overflowing from "Os-Nargai"; this time it was the flames bursting forth from the collision of real forces.

The survivors were moved to tears.

The boy closest to the battlefield broke down in tears.

At this moment, they finally remembered the terrible reckoning that the conqueror's army had suffered on the day of its defeat.

They remembered "Os-Nargue," the country they could now only glimpse in a mirage, which had once belonged to them.

I also remembered how the endless gray-white desert in the restricted area came to be.

Those were their ancestors who were burned to ashes by the gods.

……

While the Shadow, the Divine Servant, and the Black Blade Messenger were locked in a fierce battle.

The boy carrying the longbow cried out incessantly amidst the swirling sandstorm.

"what--"

He cried heartbrokenly.

Because, ever since he was old enough to understand, he had hated this cold, desolate desert to the core. It had taken the lives of many of his people, including his parents, brothers, and sisters when he was young. He had watched helplessly as the shifting sands swept away and buried his loved ones...

Now, the boy slumped to the ground, his arms, torn and mangled, clutching the cold, gray sand, tears and blood mingling together.

The oppressive aura of those in power had not shaken his soul in the slightest, but the grief he was experiencing now was almost shattering his mind.

...

……

“Kill them…”

“Kill them…”

"kill!"

"Kill!! Kill!"

...

From scattered shouts to deafening roars that overwhelmed the storm.

The survivors from several sub-tribes recognized the hideous black knives that had fallen from the sky.

Because the deathly aura that lingered within the black blade came from the flesh and blood of the conquerors of the past.

"kill!"

"kill!!"

"kill!!!"

...

A terrifying will rose from the forbidden zone like a rainbow.

And the ultimate recipient of this will, or rather, the one currently carrying out this killing intent directed at the Black Knife...

It was the dark shadow at the eye of the storm.

Milo Valrocan.

...

Feeling the immense power emanating from this terrifying will, a sinister smile gradually appeared on Milo's face.

(End of this chapter)