Fusion Magic
This was Rean’s prized technique—honed over years of magical research: fusing inherently clashing elemental magics to birth an entirely new spell.
Layering the fifth-tier Fire spell [Embrace of the Flame Deity] atop the sixth-tier Earth spell [Earth-Shattering Meteor], their fusion forged a cataclysmic assault beyond orthodox magical limits—[Blazing Starfall].
Aidan’s eyes widened as countless boulders plummeted from the sky. Forgetting the fight entirely, he spun and fled desperately. The moment he glimpsed the two interwoven magic circles, he knew the battle was already lost.
Only one man could unleash such power—a man even his master, Demon King Mammon, feared.
The Seventh Demon King’s heir: Lein Christin!
That day, every Yethanian witnessed an apocalyptic sight: the earth split open, colossal rocks soared skyward, ignited into fiery meteors, and rained down upon Mammon’s troops.
*BOOM—*
Crimson meteors crashed relentlessly. Deafening roars shook the heavens. Soldiers too slow to flee vanished between colliding stones and soil—not even a scream escaped. Those spared direct impact were hurled by scorching shockwaves, then reduced to ash by trailing flames.
The battlefield, fierce just thirty seconds prior, now lay barren—a cratered wasteland dusted in black ash. Moments ago, these were fearsome demon soldiers and towering golems. Now, only drifting cinders, lifted by wind like melancholy snowflakes.
Yethanian soldiers stared, stunned beyond belief. Enemies they’d fought tooth and nail had, in under half a minute beneath this divine judgment, shattered into panicked ants fleeing fire.
This was no war. Only one-sided annihilation. A natural disaster.
Yet shock and lingering dread outweighed relief. Even a hundred meters back, searing wind slapped their faces; weaker soldiers nearly stumbled. Had someone not shouted retreat earlier, they too would’ve become ash swirling above the field.
“No way… Aidan Gram, one of Mammon’s top generals, actually ran? Show some backbone—don’t disgrace your master.”
Rean rubbed his temple and sighed helplessly.
Aidan fled so swiftly even Blazing Starfall’s meteors missed him.
“But I said it already—you had no chance. The moment you forced me to clear you out fastest, your fate was sealed.”
Rean rotated his wrists, sheathed the short blade into his thigh strap, and leaped from the rampart. Crimson wings of fire erupted from his coat, propelling him forward.
He yanked Laevateinn from the earth, gripped it before his chest. Mana surged—the blade erupted into a blazing sword dozens of meters long. A crimson flash. A dozen fleeing soldiers split cleanly, then vanished in hellfire.
Rean accelerated until Yethanians saw only a crimson streak darting across the field. After a dozen flashes—combined with the meteor strike—Mammon’s thirty thousand elites dwindled to a few hundred scrambling survivors. He *could* have summoned another meteor to bury them all… but Yethania would’ve been half-destroyed by the impact. With a snap of his fingers, the meteor flames died. The stones crumbled to dust.
“Now—counterattack! Fight with everything you have!”
Back turned to Yethania, Rean roared, blazing sword pointed at the fleeing horde.
Silence. Then—a thunderous war cry erupted behind him. Soldiers who’d nearly surrendered to despair reignited their spirit. Steel scraped from scabbards; boots pounded earth as they surged toward him.
They still didn’t know who this Rean was or why he came. But he’d saved them in their darkest hour—he was Yethania’s ally now.
Mammon’s troops, reeling from the meteor strike, couldn’t regroup. In under a minute, over ninety percent of their forces—and all mages and golems—were gone. Now, even the Yethanians they’d trampled moments ago hunted them down without resistance.
Rean’s crimson wings beat once. He became a red meteor, appearing behind Aidan—who’d fled ahead to a grove beyond the battlefield—and snatched him up like a chick.
“Long time no see… General Aidan?”
Rean watched Aidan twist back in terror. A teasing smile curled on the unmasked corner of his lips. With a casual toss, Aidan flew—shattering two trees before tumbling to a halt.
Aidan pushed himself up, fingers clawing deep into soil. He vomited blood—*urk!*—splattering hands and earth.
“Why… WHY HELP HUMANS?!” Abandoning escape, Aidan snarled. “Have you betrayed the Demon Realm?! A prince consorting with humans—aren’t you ashamed?!”
He glared at the half-masked face. Slightly changed, yet unmistakable: the Seventh Demon King’s son, secretly acknowledged by all Demon Kings as the Realm’s strongest—Lein Christin.
Rean didn’t flare with anger. He coldly laughed, removed the mask, and revealed his sharp, handsome features—confirming everything.
“Help humans? General, you overestimate my free time. Do you truly not grasp *why* I stand here alone, aiding them against Mammon?”
Rean plunged Laevateinn into the ground, elbow on hilt, palm propping his cheek with a faint smile.
*Kill with a borrowed blade…* He was using Yethania’s war with the Kingdom of Tiyehua to secretly eliminate Mammon.
Aidan seethed at the cunning—but couldn’t deny it. They’d done the same.
“Damn it… You already finished Renos and the others?!”
“What a pity,” Rean mused, unruffled by Aidan’s roar. “Had I returned one day later, you might’ve attacked while Ifrit rampaged in Christine. But fact is—they vanished forever with Ifrit. Otherwise… I wouldn’t be standing here.”
*Damn…*
Aidan slammed the dirt. *No wonder no word came from Christine—all dead! And that bastard Renos leaked everything!*
“Enough. We’ve time to discuss what comes next.” Rean straightened, watching Aidan struggle upright against a broken trunk. He spread his hands with a shrug. “If you’re annihilated here… how will Lord Mammon react?”
Aidan froze.
No messenger would report Rean’s betrayal. Mammon—pride wounded—would send more troops. Maybe come himself.
But more soldiers meant nothing. Rean wielded apocalyptic magic with ease. Mammon himself had feared his power. Then…
“You’d dare move against Lord Mammon?! A mere prince plotting regicide—”
“When did I ever claim to be a prince?”
Rean cut him off, frowning. He slipped a ring onto his right index finger. The violet gem blazed—freezing Aidan’s expression.
“I am the rightful Seventh Demon King: Lein Christin. And do you truly believe I cannot kill him?”
Clashing steel from the rear fell silent. Rean’s hand returned to Laevateinn’s hilt.
“Time to wrap this up.”
The blade ignited crimson. Air shimmered with heat. Waves of fire scorched Aidan’s skin.
“Why not strike Mammon directly—?!”
Aidan’s final words choked off as a blazing fire dragon erupted from the earth, swallowing him whole. Nearby trees ignited.
The flames vanished. A whirlwind lifted the black ash at its heart, carrying it gently into the sky until nothing remained.
“Rest in peace… All for her wish.”
Rean sighed softly. He pulled Laevateinn free, flicked his wrist—the sword dissolved into crimson motes. Dusting ash from his coat, he walked toward Yethania City.
Thus, the Yethania Defense concluded.
But Rean knew: his true battle had only just begun. The life paused for ten years—the decade of waiting, of endurance—resumed its march today.
To Demon Realm nobles, ten years were a mere ripple in eternity. To Rean, they had been long enough.
“Sure it’s this way?”
“Looks like it!”
“But he moves so fast—he might’ve gone elsewhere!”
“Found him!”
Hurried footsteps reached Rean’s ears. He lifted his gaze. A squad of soldiers approached—faces weary, eyes blazing with unhidden light. At their lead, an elderly man, silver-haired yet radiating vigor and resolve. Their eyes met.
