Waiting for the final battle.
Even now, the fighting on the battlefield is extremely fierce, withered flowers of life are everywhere, the ground is stained red with blood, and the strong smell of blood turns this place into a slaughterhouse.
But in fact, the real climax of the battle has yet to come, and both sides are waiting.
Gibran watched coldly.
Just watched the semi-demonic believer army that he had cultivated with great painstaking efforts be slowly wiped out.
These fanatics who could have easily defeated the elite troops of nearly 10,000 people in Dongjun, were slowly ground to death by the troops led by Kant, like a millstone, crushed head-on, and suppressed with absolute numbers.
Those semi-demonized knights were almost wiped out.
no way.
There are too many Sarande cavalry surrounding this group of knights.
Mamluks, Sarande riders, and desert bandits rushing up from behind surrounded these knights, even if they were fighting for their lives, the number of knights and knight attendants in these knights dropped sharply.
What's more, there are fanatic infantry who are being suppressed and beaten.
They didn't have a good defense.
Under the black robe, most of the protection was just leather armor, not even armor.
It's just a group of fanatical believers gathered, casually holding long swords and hatchets in their hands, relying on the power given by the devil, turning into a terrifying half-demon state, fighting with brute force and madness.
Under the frontal counterattack of the elite Rhodoks sergeant and the senior Rhodoks spearman, heavy casualties were suffered!
Covered by several rounds of arrow rain.
Another two rounds of spell bombardment.
By virtue of the Rhodoks' defensive counterattack like a porcupine.
The number of these fanatics decreased even faster, and more fanatics died in battle, and finally turned into corpses all over the ground, all of them died in the encirclement.
These fanatics are not qualified legion infantry, but they can be called excellent fighters.
All died in battle and no one fled back.
Extremely heroic.
But Kant smiled mockingly at this.
Of course he understands that this is not real bravery, but an act that comes from the intensified madness and bloodthirsty in his heart, after he completely lost his reason.
It was all the lonely figure still standing on the battlefield in the end.
Viscount Gibran.
Caused!
The blood mist was already extremely dense, because the ground outside the death penalty mountain was soaked in blood like a low-lying area.
There are corpses everywhere, and the blood flowing out of the corpses is everywhere, like a small river, like a stream, more like a puddle, more like a swamp, more like an eternal sinking hell!
The battle has temporarily ended with the execution of the mountain and the death of all the enemy's troops.
Only Gibran remained in the Dark Red Sect.
Just stood alone.
But no one dared to move forward, because the thick blood mist was almost as solid as it was, wrapping around his body, and more and more, superimposed, it was like a terrifying demon from hell.
Bestur retreated to Kant.
The desert bandits with more than a thousand people still dispersed and slowly wandered around the battlefield.
The Mamluk and Sarande riders who lost more than half of them also lined up in a charging formation, aiming at Gibran from afar, waiting for the order from Kant to charge again.
This is still the case, including those Rhodoks.
Broad shield and spear array.
Low wall molding.
They stepped on the corpses of their companions or fanatics with expressionless faces, moved slowly, and formed an array in the direction of Gibran, forming the dense phalanx they were most proud of on weekdays.
Surrounded by veteran Rhodok crossbowmen and Ravenston rangers.
The crossbowmen spread out.
In a skirmish line.
The heavy crossbow and war bow in hand are ready.
Gibran, who can aim at the front at any time and is less than 300 meters away, is covered by rounds of arrow rain.
If they wanted to, they could shoot directly now. After all, for these most elite crossbowmen, the 300-meter long-range shooting is still a fixed target, and hitting is not a problem.
But Kant gave no order to attack.
He gripped the hilt tightly.
This king's sword released a faint golden light.
A strong positive energy filled his heart and soul, and faintly diffused out, blessing the surrounding troops, forming a force that seemed substantial, as if it wanted to crush Gibran to pieces.
But a faint force from the ground made Gibran persist.
No.
exactly.
It was the power infiltrated from the towering and steep death penalty mountain behind him!
With the help of the muddy battlefield that has turned into a slaughterhouse on this ground, the corpses of the countless dead and the remnants of resentful souls, the power that was infiltrated by the medium and imposed on Gibran!
Lord of Hell Demons, Lord of Sin, Flamelasher, Florences!
Kant remembered the title.
He will not forget.
Because when Gibran uttered this name, Kant understood that his real enemy was the abyss demon lord who was sealed underground in ancient times!
"Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo—"
The wind blows.
It is the gust of wind from the side of Death Penalty Mountain, emerging in the void.
But this strong wind carried an extremely deep negative energy, roaring towards the direction of Gibran, who was already surrounded by blood mist and nearly eight meters high, and then accompanied by a vague grin, the blood mist figure appeared.
It has a pitch-black appearance, a faint flame, and flamboyant and ferocious goat horns.
"Devil of the Abyss."
Kant spoke softly.
He is no stranger to the rapidly forming figure condensed in the blood mist.
Once in the ancient passage, he led a still weak army to fight against the abyss demon lord who had been sealed for thousands of years, had just escaped from the trap, and had not received much replenishment.
And it was that battle that made Kant understand that the world is not that simple.
Now I have encountered it again.
But there is not much difference from before.
This demon may be powerful, but Kant leads his troops, it is also stronger!
50 mages of the Ironfarth Empire.
30 Lion Knights from the Kingdom of Saarion.
20 Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Swadia.
These top-level extraordinary troops are the real elites who are completely separated from the regular troops. It is Kant who can come here and use it as his trump card to brazenly launch the battle against Death Penalty Mountain!
"Huhahaha—"
The terrifying figure broke free from the blood mist.
In other words, the blood mist was all evaporated, and hot blood-colored flames were burning on the huge demon body mountain, from the ferocious head with goat horns, to the thick legs, and the longer one behind it, still whipping ground tail.
And in his hand, holding tightly, a long whip made of scarlet blood flames.
A demon lord from Deathstroke Hill.
Florences!
(end of this chapter)