anwhile, back on the Fifteenth Floor.
The ruined battlefield had not yet settled.
Ash still drifted through the air. The stench of blood, corrosion, and burnt authority lingered like a curse that refused to fade.
The other races remained where they were, their attention still fixed on the unconscious youth and the towering undead guarding him.
Then space trembled.
A thin tear split the air as an older man erged from the rift.
The mont he did, a powerful aura rolled outward, heavy and commanding.
The reaction was imdiate as several Rank Three elites stiffened.
Another Rank Four?
What was happening in Hell? A New Year celebration?
But that tension lasted only a heartbeat because the aura was familiar.
This was a Rank Four from Michael's realm.
An old man many of them had seen before.
Now they rembered why he left.
He had gone to subjugate the Demon Lord. Seeing him looking all tattered here could only an one thing.
Either he succeeded or he did not.
The old man stood still for a mont, brows furrowing as his gaze swept across the battlefield.
The devastation was far worse than when he had left.
Entire sections of terrain had been erased. Craters layered over
craters. Residual authority hung in the air like the echo of thunder after a storm.
Dead bodies lay scattered across the field.
Rank Three corpses.
Fragnts of Rank Four remains.
His eyes narrowed.
"...What happened here?"
Then his gaze shifted.
It locked onto Beginning.
The old man's body stiffened instantly.
His aura surged, sharp and alert, snapping into a defensive posture without conscious thought. His hand moved halfway toward a technique before he stopped himself.
Sixty ters of undead titan stood in the distance, motionless but watchful. The pressure rolling off Beginning was like a mountain.
The old man's pupils contracted.
"...When did such powerful undead appear?"
His gaze flicked downward.
Only then did he notice the youth lying unconscious at the titan's feet.
Michael.
Surrounded by undead.
"...Impossible," he muttered in disbelief.
Though he did not think he had left for a short amount of ti, just what in the heavens happened here while he was away?
Fortunately, the old man was not alone, as the leaders of the three races and a certain silver-glistened Amazari elder who was blinded in
one eye floated toward him.
As for the two Stonekin elders, unfortunately, they had died in battle.
The old man imdiately asked his questions as they all tried their best to answer in their own ways.
After so back and forth, the old man finally had an idea of what had happened.
Basically, after he left, two Rank Four criminals had co to hold them down, which eventually led to a fight, and what stood before the man's eyes was the aftermath of that battle.
After understanding the situation a bit more, the old man cald down.
Since they had briefed him on the situation here, the races also wanted to know how it went on his end.
It was exactly as they had expected.
After the old man left and arrived at his destination, the Rank Four superpower from the drakeblood realm was already fighting the Demon Lord, and though it looked like a pretty equal fight, it was not, as the Demon Lord was gradually gaining the advantage, making the conclusion of the fight uncertain at that ti.
However, after the old man joined, the fight beca more balanced, with his side gaining more advantage.
Though the old man spoke lightly of it, his current appearance told a harder tale.
In any case, after dealing with the Demon Lord and dividing its parts, details which the old man did not give specifics on regarding what he and the drakeblood took, he ca back imdiately.
After telling his own story, the leaders of the other races fell into their own thoughts as the old man's attention returned to Michael, then to Beginning, before returning to Michael again.
The elf caught him looking at Michael and spoke.
"Your realm is fortunate," she said. "To have produced a youth like
that."
The old man's eyes remained on the unconscious figure, then moved to the ring of undead standing guard, then briefly to Beginning's towering silhouette in the distance.
He nodded.
"Mm."
It should have been a simple, natural response. But it was not.
The nod ca a fraction too late, and it carried an awkward stiffness that did not match the certainty in the elf's statent.
The Khar'veth leader noticed it.
The Virellion noticed it too.
Even the Amazari elder, half-blinded and bloodied, tilted her head
slightly.
They all sensed sothing off.
Yet none of them could put a finger on it.
Inside the old man's mind, the truth was simple.
He did not know how to say it.
He had only t this youth today.
For the first ti in his life.
Before today, he had not even known Michael existed.
Not his na.
Not his talent.
But how could he say that here?
In front of these races.
It would make no sense.
It would make his realm look blind.
It would make him look incompetent.
So he said nothing.
He simply nodded again, as if the elf's words were expected.
"Yes," he replied, voice calm. "Fortunate."
The elf's gaze lingered.
For the smallest mont, her eyes narrowed, but she did not pursue
it.
She did not care enough.
The Khar'veth leader scratched his cheek with his remaining hand,
staring at the old man for another breath, then looked away.
The Virellion's expression remained neutral, but her attention
sharpened.
Then the Amazari elder spoke, her voice hoarse.
"What now?"
The elf looked at the old man.
"Treatnt," she said simply. "He needs it imdiately."
The old man's brows furrowed. He did not argue. He could see the
state Michael was in even without touching him.
But there was just one tiny issue.
All the race leaders turned to look at a certain towering undead.
Well, it was quite a big issue.
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