Don't confiscate my identity as a human race-Chapter 1169 - 791: Lanci’s All Outrageous Actions Merely Seeking Achievements_10

On the empty streets lined with heavy buildings, their silhouettes etch and solidify the age-old dust, while occasional breezes blow through the silent alleys.

Deep within Blood Moon City, inside the Blood King Palace.

High above the towering dome, the rose window, filled with immortal crystals, refracts a dazzling, mystical halo, and the black iron chandeliers hang from cold iron chains casting luxurious colors, with the deep red carpet like a winding river of blood stretching out as far as the eye can see—

In the center of the council hall, at the sides of the long table made of dark refined iron, sit thirteen high-backed chairs, like thrones.

At this moment, only four of these chairs are occupied by the figures of the Ancestors.

They are listening to the report from Derson Schwarzenberg, the Defense Minister of the Honing Empire.

Derson, the Honing Marshal from the capital Saint Trier, who always walked with his head held high, is now kneeling on the ground, eyes fixated on the floor, not daring to look directly at the four Ancestors.

He had just finished relaying the urgent unrest from the north.

"Lankros has gone mad?"

Duke Rashar, the Third Ancestor, is completely baffled after hearing the report.

This guy is even more ruthless than them.

He has directly triggered a war of annihilation.

"Heratier, what about his fate? How is it looking?"

He can't help but turn his head to look at Marquis Heratier, the Seventh Ancestor.

Lankros has been able to withstand the Spiritual Fissure he left for so many years, which is already quite remarkable.

Now Lankros's onset of illness also confirms the prophetic sign they have been waiting for.

"It will be in these next few days, about two days before he will fall from the ninth level."

The Blood Clan woman on the far high-backed chair slightly lifts her head, her eyes always closed, seeing through layers of the dome, discerning the patterns woven by the dim stars in the night sky, and she answers with certainty.

"Good, that's very good indeed!"

The Third Ancestor Rashar leans back in his high-backed chair and bursts into loud laughter, clapping his hands,

"Lankros, you get what you deserve!"

Just thinking about Lankros dying with his eyes wide open, Rashar can't laugh hard enough.

He's never been this happy in all these years.

"Quick, stir some fire under the Holy Polante Pope, proclaim his massacre of civilians to the world, internationally condemn him for his war of annihilation, and then send more of the Honing Imperial Army to his funeral, let the world see that he, Lankros, is a true Demon and recognize his cruelty and madness!"

Rashar wipes away tears of schadenfreude as he instructs the Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bainhardt.

Lankros is indeed his best toy.

Not only could they completely tarnish Lankros's reputation.

They could also use the cheap lives of the Honing Empire to exhaust what little strength Lankros has left and drain his life.

Even if he could make it to Blood Moon City, it would be good enough if he could barely keep alive at the seventh or eighth level.

...

The next day.

At dawn.

On the plains of Eleven in the southern part of the Honing Empire sits an ancient city gate once known as "Eleven Pass."

Located between two low-lying hills in a narrow valley, it has a history of several hundred years. Once upon a time, it was an important military chokepoint for the Honing Empire's northern expeditions, but as the empire's borders expanded and new routes were developed, the once mighty pass gradually lost its former glory.

The pale bluish glow slants upon the city walls, illuminating the moss and wild grasses, within the empty gate, only the wind moans as it passes through.

Though the city gate is in decline, it still stands there quietly.

Several miles away from Eleven Pass, on the official road, a vast and mighty elite army from the Honing Empire is heading north.

Thousands of soldiers kick up clouds of dust, and steel armor and weapons flicker with a cold light in the setting sun.

The iron-forged sword blade is proof of righteousness.

By slaying the enemy, one steps closer to heroism.

"Today, we of the Honing First Heavy Cavalry Regiment, must fulfill the Emperor's commission to root out the magical beast that has brought disaster to Tarberg Province!"

The Imperial General leading the charge is confident about this expedition.

"I heard the disaster in Tarberg Province is not that simple and does not seem to be just local destruction caused by high-order magical beasts going berserk."

His aide-de-camp spoke with a grave tone.

"It is merely a few towns that have suffered. How far can a magical beast's frenzy go? Besides, the more severe the disaster, the more merits and honors I will acquire."

Even the general's lips curve slightly -- he wishes that the province could exaggerate the situation,

"How long before we reach Tarberg Province?"

He asks his aide-de-camp.

"If we march at full speed, it will take two days from Eleven Pass to enter the border of Tarberg Province. As for pinpointing the source of the disaster within the vast province, it depends on the accuracy of our intelligence."

The aide-de-camp answers, unfolding the imperial map.

"Ha, there's no rush then."

The Honing First Heavy Cavalry Regiment General laughs casually.

However, as the general's gaze unintentionally scans over Eleven Pass ahead, his eyes suddenly widen.

All he sees before the decrepit city gate is a solitary figure in white robes standing silently—

The person is slender and cloaked in a silver-white mask stylized in the fashion of the Holy Polante Theocracy.

He does not use any Invisibility Spell, yet he perfectly hides his presence amidst the city gate at dawn.

There is no trace of his aura!

Had he not seen him with his own eyes, he wouldn't even notice there's a person below the city gate!

He seems to have merged with the earth and sky, becoming an eternal presence, only he remains.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Beneath the silver-white mask, a pair of emerald eyes hold a strange Magic Power that makes one involuntarily lose themselves in them, unable to extricate themselves.

Below Eleven Pass.

"Hehehe."

The White Robed Pope watches the approaching Honing Imperial Army with amusement, as if understanding the strategies of the Honing Empire,

"Rashar, this time we are both rushing headlong."