The thunderous sunder echoed not from the blade cleaving the Voroe, but from something far more terrifying. The slash had manifested a few centimeters ahead of the shadowy creature—almost like space itself had been torn before contact was even made.
The Half-Step Legend of the Voroe, though seeing nothing in front of him, felt every cell in his body scream in panic. His instincts roared in horror.
But it was too late. He had committed the full force of his power to that deadly dash and was now unable to halt his momentum. His body carried forward unimpeded—straight into the invisible death that awaited him.
A split-second later, his form was severed in two, sliced cleanly by something unseen but lethally precise.
Gasps of horror and awe swept across the battlefield, from both the human and Voroe sides. To them, it appeared as though the shadowy Voroe had thrown himself into an invisible sword. And in a way, he had.
The creature had charged directly into a spatial cut—a razor-thin tear in the very fabric of reality. The rift was so narrow it couldn’t be perceived by the naked eye, yet it was stable enough to slice through the body of a Sage as if he were nothing more than a snowflake caught in a laser beam.
While everyone else recoiled in shock, a wide, thrill-filled smile stretched across Vlad’s face. He had been charging that attack for over a minute, consuming an enormous amount of energy—but the result had been well worth it.
However, the Depravita of Wrath wasn’t one to bask in his moment. Fueled by wrathful energy, he locked onto a new target, and in the blink of an eye—he vanished.
A blood-curdling scream echoed through the battlefield. Vlad had reappeared behind another Voroe Sage, cleaving the monster in half with one swift stroke.
Without wasting a heartbeat, he vanished again, teleporting to a new position. The Depravita of Wrath became a specter of destruction, bouncing across the battlefield within the confines of the sky-blue forcefield.
Not even a second later, fourteen more figures stormed into the battlefield like unleashed avatars of death. They didn’t move in tight formations or traditional unit structures. They worked as individuals—lone predators—slicing into the Voroe lines with devastating power.
General Tiberius, a seasoned commander with decades of experience, had anticipated the vulnerabilities of rigid battle formations. He understood all too well that strict formations left exploitable gaps—especially against unpredictable and powerful foes. That’s why he had deployed what he referred to as his blitzkrieg unit.
The blitzkrieg unit was a specialized team of extraordinarily powerful warriors, each one capable of wreaking havoc behind enemy lines. Their mission: strike at the strongest foes, disrupt command, and destroy elite targets.
They operated with great autonomy, but the role came with immense danger. Therefore, Tiberius selected only the most resilient, destructive, and adaptable warriors for the task.
Naturally, the team came to be composed of none other than Vlad, Janus, Agamemnon, and their closest allies—powerhouses that had only grown stronger since their journey into the hidden realm of the Dino People.
The Imperial Prince surged through the battlefield like a thunderstorm wrapped in muscle. His sword glowed with a milky-white energy, and his entire body radiated with demonic strength drawn from his inner Demon Cage.
Every swing of his blade cleaved through anything in his path. His body’s momentum alone sent Voroe warriors flying like ragdolls, bones shattered and armor crumpled.
As for the scion of the Solaris Families, he burned like a golden inferno. Flames of gold and black engulfed his form, and with every flick of his wrist, he sent scorching firebolts ripping through the air. His attacks struck with shocking speed and exploded with abyssal force—Voroe soldiers were vaporized before they could even cry out.
Since their return from the secret plane, Janus and Agamemnon had grown exponentially in strength. The demon souls inside their hearts had not only enhanced their powers but their control over Vlad’s agenda increased their status in their families. With their new political standing, they secured rare resources that pushed their bloodlines and abilities to a new, terrifying level.
The rest of the blitzkrieg unit was no less overwhelming. In fact, the Sky-Seed Depravitas were tearing through the Voroe like an unchecked tempest.
Fafnir, though only twenty-five meters tall now, unleashed truly monstrous strength. With demonic scales covering his entire body, his durability had doubled—he was now nearly impervious to anything below the Half-Step Legend level.
Even the strongest Voroe warriors, known for their brute strength and endurance, were smashed under the might of the light-fire dragon.
Ouroboros moved like a phantom. His speed was so intense that it seemed like teleportation. Empowered by the demon soul, the Depravita of Greed’s strikes carried a dark golden aura, giving every blow immense piercing power. Even the strongest armor couldn’t withstand the pressure—Voroe Sages in his path were either crushed or left with gaping wounds that ended them in seconds.
With terrifying grace, the white werewolf tore through enemies with fangs, claws, and dagger. Those who didn’t fall immediately were maimed and left screaming in agony.
And then there was the small yellow cat—Jomrugadr. He had returned to his elemental roots, summoning beasts of lightning and flame. But these weren’t simple constructs—they were living incarnations of raw power.
Massive four-meter-tall tigers crackled with lightning, lunging at Voroe warriors and tearing them apart with primal fury. Above, colossal eagles of fire descended from the sky, claws like scythes, ripping their prey limb from limb.
While these summoned beasts didn’t have strong defenses and could be destroyed by relatively simple attacks, they came with a deadly trick. Whenever one was close to death, it began to glow—before exploding with monstrous force, vaporizing anything nearby in a fiery, electric inferno.
Though Jomrugadr’s abilities weren’t as visibly grand as Vlad’s spatial powers, those who witnessed the carnage couldn’t help but feel a deep, primal fear. What they had seen was no mere magic—it was a domain over the Law of Life itself.