Chapter 458: War

Chapter 458: War

“You’re right,” another demon laughed wickedly, his sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “We don’t have to fight now! Hahahaha!”

“You do know, right, that if we don’t fight, we will lose this continent?” a deep, steady voice cut through the rising tension.

Max turned his head sharply to see a golden-haired, middle-aged elf descending gracefully through the air, his presence radiating an overwhelming authority that seemed to still the chaotic energy around them. His robes fluttered in the wind like banners of war, and his emerald eyes burned with quiet resolve as he moved to stand between Max and the four Expert Rank demons.

“Father…” Princess Lenavira muttered quietly, a flicker of relief flashing across her face.

Max’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the new arrival. He already knew without being told—this was Elarion, King of the Elves of the Sylvaria Kingdom, and the undisputed ruler of one of the most powerful elven forces on the Lost Continent.

His presence alone made the four peak Expert Rank demons pause briefly, but it wasn’t enough to extinguish the greed and arrogance flickering in their crimson eyes.

“But why should we fight at all,” one of the demons sneered, stepping forward with an ugly grin twisting his face. His voice was loud and mocking. “When the only thing he wants is that kid?” He jerked his chin toward Max, the disdain in his tone thick enough to choke on. “If we just hand him over, there’s no need for a war at all!” His words were echoed by cruel chuckles from the others.

Max’s gaze sharpened further, memorizing the faces standing before him. These weren’t ordinary soldiers. These were the leaders of the Demon Race—the Four Demon Lords.

Envi, with his cold calculating eyes. Angad, whose body was layered in pulsating demonic armor. Zeal, the quiet one, whose entire presence seemed to distort the air around him. And Kome, the wildest, whose cruel grin made it clear he was waiting for an excuse to slaughter.

Elarion stood tall, unfazed by the veiled threat. His voice was firm, steady, carrying the weight of a true king. “There is no guarantee that even if we hand him over, they will honor their word,” Elarion said coldly, his emerald gaze sweeping across the four demon lords. “Especially when they come with an army… quadruple the size of all our combined forces. If they intended peace, they would not bring a force prepared for annihilation.”

“Hehe… you still don’t understand, do you?” Kome laughed wildly, his voice shrill with manic glee. His twisted expression darkened as he turned to his fellow demons and gave a sharp command. “Surround both the human race and the elf race!”

At his order, the massive army of demons—thousands upon thousands—scattered with frightening precision, encircling the humans and elves from all sides, sealing the air tightly, cutting off every retreat. It wasn’t an army forming defensive lines. It was a cage—a slaughter formation.

Max clenched his fists as he watched the demons move.

Elarion, still standing tall, allowed only the faintest trace of cruelty to flash through his otherwise calm gaze. His lips curled slightly, just a flicker. “I see… so you have already sold your loyalty to Drevon,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a lethal edge.

The name hung in the air like a blade—Drevon, the true enemy lurking behind the scenes, the one pulling all the strings.

And when Max heard that name—Drevon—his entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning. His blood ran cold, and a heavy tremor rippled through every fiber of his being.

He had already guessed, from the moment the demons mentioned that the war could be avoided by handing him over, that this chaos had something to do with him. He had suspected that the Monarch—the terror of the Valora Continent—was somehow involved.

But now, hearing the name Drevon spoken aloud with such venom, all doubts were shattered. Drevon. The Young Monarch. The one who had been hailed as the strongest prodigy of the Valora Continent, a future ruler, a being feared and revered even among the highest powers.

‘He’s the one behind this,’ Max thought grimly, his fists clenching so hard that his knuckles cracked under the pressure.

“You can’t blame me,” Kome sneered, stepping forward, his hulking figure radiating twisted satisfaction. His demonic eyes gleamed with a cold, ruthless light. “I know we three races—the elves, the humans, and the demons—have united our forces in the past to fight against bigger threats like the Nulls, or the sea monsters from the depths of the ocean.” His lips curled into a mocking grin. “But this… this has to end here.”

He turned his eyes toward the assembled humans, his contempt barely hidden. “Drevon, though born human, thinks very much like us,” Kome said, his voice dripping with scorn. “He gave us an opportunity—an offer. Hand over that kid”—he jabbed a thick finger in Max’s direction—”and his forces will not battle the Demon Race. He will not burn us to the ground like he plans to do to you.”

Kome concluded his vile speech with a cruel, sneering laugh, his gaze sharpening as he stared directly at Max, hatred practically radiating from his body. “Therefore, I didn’t betray anyone,” he said, his voice hard and unapologetic. “I simply did what I had to do to ensure the survival of my people.”

Then, with venom dripping from every word, he added, “If you want someone to blame, don’t look at me. Blame him.” His finger pointed sharply at Max. “He is the root of all your problems.”

The hatred in Kome’s voice was unmistakable, deep and personal. And as Max met his twisted gaze, he understood why.

Craig—the demon who Max had annihilated in their brutal clash—had been Kome’s son. The son Kome had raised to be a proud warrior of the demon race, reduced to nothing more than scattered ashes at Max’s feet.

To Kome, it didn’t matter what happened to the elves or the humans. It didn’t matter if the world burned around him. As long as the demons survived, and as long as Max suffered, that was all that mattered.

Just then, everyone’s eyes caught movement far off across the ocean, tiny specks barely visible on the horizon, as small as ants crawling over the endless blue.

At first, it was difficult to distinguish anything through the shimmer of heat rising from the waves, but as the moments passed, the specks grew larger and larger, rapidly expanding in number and size. The sea itself seemed to grow darker under the looming shadow of what approached. It was as if a living tide was rolling toward them, not of water, but of warriors.

Within a few more breaths, it became clear to all standing there—humans, elves, and demons alike—that it wasn’t just a scattered group advancing. It was an army.

A vast, overwhelming force, stretching far beyond the limits of the eye, a formation so large that it dwarfed the combined might of the three races standing on the edge of the Lost Continent.

Five times larger. Maybe even more. Their black banners fluttered in the salt-heavy wind, their armor gleaming ominously under the midday sun. Rows upon rows of soldiers marched in disciplined silence, and the sheer oppressive pressure radiating from their unified movement made the air feel heavier, almost unbreathable.

And at the very front, standing proudly like the harbinger of a coming storm, was a single figure—a man with hair the color of dark, burning blood, so vivid it seemed to ripple like a flag of war. His posture was relaxed yet exuded a dangerous arrogance, a silent confidence that chilled the soul.

Even from this distance, Max could feel the man’s gaze, heavy and suffocating, pressing down upon the land like an invisible blade. His very existence seemed to declare dominance, as if the world itself bent slightly around him.

There was no need for anyone to say his name.

Everyone present—elves, humans, demons alike—felt it, knew it, feared it.

Drevon.

The Young Monarch of the Valora Continent had arrived. And with him, he brought a storm meant to drown the Lost Continent in blood.

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