In the beginning, he could never understand the idealistic power that justice partners in those fairy tales possessed, enabling them to passionately overcome their final formidable foes.
Now he understood.
It turned out this was the power of everyone united.
It was truly overwhelming.
"Lankros! Damn your power of friendship!"
Rashar, the Third Ancestor, was at the brink of collapse both mentally and physically, all he knew was that Lankros had completely lost it.
The magical defense around Rashar grew increasingly feeble, and the blood mist became thinner and thinner.
His face was as pale as paper, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Even so, he gritted his teeth, refusing to concede.
In his perspective, as a Duke Ancestor of the Blood Clan, being defeated by Lankros, a seventh-order being, and Calila, an eighth-order being, was a great humiliation.
