Wait for the final showdown.

Even now, the battlefield is extremely fierce, everywhere is the flower of withered life, blood stains the earth, and the rich smell of blood makes this place a slaughterhouse.

But in fact, the real climax of the battle has not yet arrived, and both sides are waiting.

Gibran watched coldly.

Just watch as the army of semi-demonized believers that he had worked so hard to cultivate was slowly worn away.

These fanatics, who could easily defeat the Dongjun Territory and nearly 10,000 elite troops, were slowly ground to death by the troops led by Kant, like a grinding plate, crushed head-on, and suppressed with absolute numbers.

Those half-demonic knights were almost wiped out.

No way.

There were too many Salander cavalry surrounding this group of knights.

The Mamluks, the Salander riders, and the desert bandits who rushed up from behind, surrounded the members of the Order, even if they fought for their lives, causing the number of knights and knight squires of these Knights to plummet.

What's more, there are also fanatic infantry who are pressed and beaten.

They don't have a good defense.

Under that black robe, most of the protection was only leather armor, not even armor.

It's just a group of fanatical believers gathered, carrying long swords and short-handled axes in their hands, relying on the power bestowed by demons, incarnating into a terrifying half-demon state, fighting with brute force and madness.

Under the head-on counterattack of the elite Sergeant Rhodok and the veteran spearmen of Rhodok, there were heavy casualties!

Covered by several rounds of arrow rain.

Bombarded with two more rounds of spells.

By virtue of the Roddocks' porcupine-like defensive counterattack.

The number of these fanatics decreased sharply, and the number of fanatics who also died in battle also increased, and finally turned into corpses all over the ground, and all of them died in the layers of encirclement.

These fanatics are not qualified legionnaires, but they are excellent warriors.

All the men were killed in battle, and no one fled and retreated.

Extremely heroic.

But Kant laughed sarcastically.

Of course, he understood that this was not true heroism, but an act that came from the madness and bloodlust that had been intensified in his heart, and that he had completely lost his mind.

It's all the lonely figure who is still standing on the battlefield in the end.

Viscount Gibran.

Caused!

The blood mist was already extremely thick, because the ground outside this death penalty mountain was already soaked with blood like a low-lying area.

There are corpses everywhere, and there is blood flowing from corpses everywhere, like a river, like a stream, more like a puddle, more like a swamp, more like a hell that will sink forever!

The battle had come to an end with the death penalty at the foot of the mountain and the death of all the enemy's troops.

The only remaining Dark Crimson Sect is Gibran.

He stood alone.

But no one dared to move on, because the thick blood mist wrapped around his body almost like substance, and more and more, superimposed, as if it were a terrifying demon from hell.

Besture retreats to Kant's side.

There were still more than a thousand desert bandits left, and they still scattered out and slowly roamed around the battlefield.

The Mamluks and Salander riders, who had lost more than half of them, also formed a charge formation and were far away from Gibran, waiting for orders from Kant to charge again.

Even the Rhodoks are still the same.

Broad-shielded spears lined up.

Low walls are formed.

One by one, expressionless, stepping on the corpses of their companions or fanatics, they slowly moved and lined up in the direction of Gibran, forming the dense phalanx they were most proud of on weekdays.

Surrounded by veteran Rhodoc crossbowmen and Ravenston rangers.

These crossbowmen scattered.

Skirmishers.

The heavy crossbow and war bow in hand are ready.

At any time, he can aim ahead, less than 300 meters away, and carry out rounds of arrow rain covering.

If they wanted to, they could shoot right now, after all, for these most elite crossbowmen, a long-range shot of 300 meters was still a fixed standing target, and hitting was not a problem.

But Kant did not give the order to attack.

He gripped the hilt of his sword.

This sword of kings emitted a faint golden light.

A strong positive energy filled his heart and soul, and faintly dispersed, sheltering the troops around him, forming a force as if it were substantial, as if it was about to crush Gibran to pieces.

But a faint force from the ground made Gibran insist.

No.

To be exact.

It is the power that seeps from the majestic and precipitous death penalty mountain behind him!

Through the ground that has been reduced to a slaughterhouse as muddy battlefield, the corpses of the innumerable dead, the remnants of the resentful souls, the power that the medium has penetrated and imposed on Gibran!

Lord of the Demons of Hell, Lord of Sin, Flaming Lasher, Frentos!

Kant remembered the title.

He won't forget.

Because when Gibran said this name, Kant understood that his real enemy was this abyss demon lord who was sealed in the ground in ancient times!

"Huhu

The wind blows.

It was a storm from the side of the Death Mountain, surging in the void.

But this fierce wind carried an extremely deep negative energy, whistling and rushing towards the direction of Gibran, which had been entangled in the blood mist, almost eight meters high, and then accompanied by a cruel smile, a figure appeared in the blood mist.

The appearance of pitch black, the faint light of fire, the flamboyant and hideous horns of the goat.

"Abyssal Demon."

Kant spoke softly.

He was no stranger to the figure that was condensed in the blood mist and rapidly formed.

Once in the ancient passage, he led the still weak troops to fight against the Abyss Demon Lord who had been sealed for 10,000 years, had just been freed from the trap, and had not received much replenishment.

And it was that battle that made Kant understand that the world is not so simple.

Now I've met it again.

But it's not much different from the beginning.

This demon may be powerful, but Kant and his troops are also even stronger!

50 mages of the Einface Empire.

30 Lion Knights of the Kingdom of Saarion.

20 royal knights of the Kingdom of Svadia.

These top-level extraordinary troops are completely the real elite of the regular troops, and they are the trump cards that Kant can come here to use as a hole card to brazenly launch the battle against Death Mountain!

"Haha-"

The terrifying figure broke free from the blood mist.

Or rather, the blood mist evaporated, and streams of blazing blood-colored flames burned in the massive mountain of demonic bodies, from the hideous head of the goat's horns, to the thick legs, and the longer tail behind it, which was still whipping the ground.

and in his hand, he was holding a long whip of scarlet blood-colored flames.

A demon lord from the Mountain of Death.

Franças!