Don't confiscate my identity as a human race

Chapter 821 - 687 Loren: I give you the chance to challenge me

Poseen District 10 Center.

In this evening of flashing lightning and pouring rain, the very northern edge of the Demon World of Poseen seemed to have become the battleground of the gods’ fury.

Gathering her breath, Aitio, the one to confront Lord Perlman, gathered all her magic power.

In an instant, a chilling current surged across the ground; the summer night felt as if winter had descended, turning even the violent rain into hail.

Where the magic power swept, the ground instantly frosted over, and ice pillars shot up, connecting with the lightning, intended to trap Lord Perlman within.

Perlman neither dodged nor avoided; with a single-handed wave, an invisible psychic barrier met the ice pillars.

The two energies collided in mid-air, erupting into a deafening boom.

Ice shards flew in all directions, psychic power scattered, and Perlman stood unmovable.

"Not bad, you’ve improved quite a bit."

A faint smile crossed Perlman’s lips, and his figure suddenly vanished from the spot.

"But if you want to confront me, you should call your teacher instead."

In the next second, he appeared behind Aitio, his staff lightly striking towards her back.

Aitio’s reflexes were extremely fast, narrowly avoiding the deadly blow.

But the next wave of attack had already arrived; Perlman’s psychic power, like a violent storm, assaulted from all directions, causing the ground to crack and cave in deeply.

Aitio remained vigilant, resisting with all her might.

She knew that taking a blow from an enemy of Perlman’s level certainly wouldn’t leave her unscathed.

An adversary of his caliber, indeed, could only likely be countered by her teacher, Duke Migaya.

But now with her teacher missing, it was up to her to protect the honor of Poseen’s Demon World and Isatia.

Aitio’s magic power, crystalline ice flowers formed around her, creating an unbreakable ice crystal shield, barring Perlman’s psychic power and, simultaneously, shadows swirled, slowing down Lord Perlman’s movements from his feet up.

This shield wouldn’t hold for long.

Cracks began to appear in the ice flowers, shaking on the verge of collapse under the impact of the psychic power.

Aitio was clearly forcing herself to keep going.

Perlman’s expression unchanged, his psychic power intensified exponentially in a moment.

The ice crystal shield shattered with a crash, Aitio staggered, nearly kneeling on the ground but still forcibly maintaining her posture.

"Who would have thought that the last lesson would have to be given by me in Migaya’s stead."

Perlman made his move again.

This time, the psychic power turned into an invisible blade aimed straight for Aitio’s throat.

"Perlman, once I respected you too, but you no longer deserve to call yourself a teacher!"

With no other choice, Aitio faced Perlman head-on for a decisive battle.

All her magic power converged in front of her, and in an instant, a burst of ice-blue light exploded like fireworks, with countless sharp thunder blades condensing around her and hurtling towards Perlman like a downpour.

Psychic power gathered into an invisible shield wall around him, blocking the attack once more.

Seizing the moment, accompanied by a thunderous noise, a black meteor-like figure crashed down between them, smashing the ground into a web of cracks and deep pits.

Nigel had already drawn his sword, transforming into a dark shadow slashing down at Perlman!

"Just in time!"

Aitio took the opportunity to withdraw, readjust her stance, and gather her mana again.

Nigel’s attribute wasn’t too important, as his approach was basic mastery, enhancing normal attacks, and martial artists like him would usually equip functional Magic Cards, possibly choosing Regeneration or Strengthening attributes based on their own conditions, occasionally swapping elemental attributes in specific moments.

In a magic confrontation, he was the best front-liner.

"Nigel, aren’t you rushing back to the South Bank to help Duke Tiffany?"

Perlman, surprised, raised his hand to support Nigel’s blade, as if using that force to lightly leap backwards.

Logically, Nigel should have sped to Duke Tiffany’s side at the earliest, only then could the speed at which Beelzebub of the South Bank obtained the three Crystal Keys and controlled the city’s Barrier be delayed.

Although even if Nigel returned to the South Bank, he wouldn’t be able to confront Beelzebub of the Eighth-order Demon Tribe under the overloaded state of the city’s Barrier, helping Aitio here would only slow her defeat a little.

"..."

Nigel did not reply, simply tightening his grip on the hilt once more.

Facing Aitio and Nigel, who were fighting with all their might, Perlman stood spotlessly amidst the ruins, staff held behind his back.

He stood in front of a torn open-air curtain of a shattered plaza, with the image behind him still showing the purgatory-like South Bank.

The battle on the North Shore had reached a terrifying level, and the situation on the South Bank wasn’t much better.

The giant screens scattered across buildings continued to operate dutifully, broadcasting live scenes of buildings collapsing like houses of cards, crowds running in panic, and cries filling the air.

And yet, Perlman showed no pity.

As if he felt those humans deserved their fate.

"Look, this is the end of the old era, retribution, the cycle of Destiny."

Perlman’s voice was cold,

"And I, Perlman, shall lead Floral City Pariel, the Poseen Kingdom, toward a new era."

His voice, like a curse, echoed across the skies of Poseen’s Demon World.

Many from the Demon Race hiding far away showed looks of reverence, slowly being convinced by Perlman’s might.

The aftermath of the melee continued.

Every now and then, the giant screen images of the Demon World would distort and shake due to the shockwaves, and even begin to produce static noise.

Finally, the giant screen behind Perlman shattered to dust amidst thunder, followed by another screen disintegrating amidst slices, in just a few seconds several images and sounds were cut off, the tragedy of the South Bank concealed, leaving only a dead silence of electric light and snow.