Chapter 485: End of the War

Chapter 485: End of the War

Meanwhile, Max’s scorched body, still wrapped in a soft silver glow, hovered weakly in the air, cradled gently by Lenavira as if the slightest touch might shatter him completely. His skin was blackened and cracked, flaking off in delicate wisps of ash with every passing second.

Even with the full force of healing energy pouring from Lenavira’s mother, the silver-haired elven queen, the process of his body turning to dust continued slowly, irreversibly. The glow merely dulled the rate of destruction—it couldn’t stop it.

The elven queen’s brows furrowed deeply as her hands trembled, coated in silver light. “What… was that lightning?” she murmured under her breath, her voice tight with disbelief as her gaze swept over Max’s ruined form. “Its aftereffects are still tearing through his body… it’s like it refuses to leave him. I think…” she paused grimly, “…I think it will only stop when he dies.”

“Mother, no!” Lenavira cried, her voice sharp and desperate, tears welling in her eyes. “You have to do something. Please… you can’t let him die like this!” Her grip on Max tightened as if holding him a little closer could somehow hold him together too.

But the queen simply shook her head slowly, her face dark with helplessness. “I’ve already poured all the mana I have. It’s not a matter of healing anymore. The damage… it’s beyond anything I’ve seen. It’s already done. I’m only buying time—an hour at most—before the lightning finishes what it started.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and even she couldn’t hide the sorrow in her eyes as she watched the ash peeling away from the boy who had just faced down the greatest terror of their world.

“That violet lightning…” King Magnar began, his voice heavy as he landed beside the others, eyes fixated on the crumbling figure of Max, “was one of the Seven Lightnings of Divine Punishment. I never thought I’d witness it again for the second time in this lifetime.” His words fell like lead on the ears of those around him, and the air turned even colder.

Just behind him, the rest of the leaders arrived—Elarion, Kate, Klaus, Marcel—each with worn expressions, each still recovering from the emotional weight of the last battle.

“What about Drevon?” Ava, the silver-haired elven queen, asked, never taking her eyes off Max. Her voice was gentle but resolute, like she already knew the answer.

Elarion’s face tightened. His jaw clenched. “He escaped,” he spat bitterly. “He escaped, Ava.” His fists trembled with rage as he looked at the distant sky where Drevon had vanished. The thought of letting that monster slip away, again, was eating him alive.

Ava nodded slowly, her silver lashes closing over mournful eyes. “A pity,” she whispered. “A grave pity.”

“Can’t anything heal him?” Klaus asked desperately, stepping forward, looking at Ava like she was the last hope.

Ava shook her head, the motion slow, heavy with defeat. “He’s already dead,” she said flatly. “He’s breathing now only because my healing is slowing the inevitable. The Seven Lightnings of Divine Punishment didn’t just destroy his body—it killed him from the inside, torment the essence itself. Unless something—anything—can remove their lingering wrath from within him… I don’t know how we can save him.”

A heavy silence followed. Kate’s head bowed, her lips tightly pressed. Marcel turned his face away, unable to watch. King Magnar’s hand curled into a trembling fist. Even the battlefield, which moments ago echoed with screams and steel, now fell into an eerie hush.

And then, cruel laughter shattered that silence.

“Hahaha! Good!” Zeal, one of the Four Demon Lords, sneered with malice written all over his twisted face. “Good that he’ll die soon—saves me the effort. I would’ve killed the brat myself, right here, right now!” His laughter echoed across the broken sky.

Several heads snapped toward him, faces dark with fury, but no one spoke. Their grief was still too fresh, their helplessness too bitter. And as Max’s body continued to slowly flake into ash despite the glow surrounding him, it felt like they were all standing on the edge of something final, something cruel—and they had no way to pull him back.

“Don’t say such things, Zeal. They might attack us,” Kome said with a sly smile, casting a sideways glance at the leaders gathered near Max. His tone was casual, but the malice behind it was unmistakable.

Then, turning to face the battered assembly of leaders from both the Lost Continent and Valora Continent, he added with a mock bow, “I think this war has come to an end now. And lucky for you all, it ended in a draw… or was it?”

His gaze slid pointedly back toward Max’s fading, crumbling figure, the silver glow barely clinging to what was left of him. A faint smirk danced on Kome’s lips before he raised a hand, and with a simple motion, commanded the demon army to retreat.

The skies filled with their shadowy forms pulling away from the battlefield, leaving trails of infernal smoke in their wake as they vanished from the blood-soaked sky like a tide rolling back into the dark sea.

Nova, standing at the fringes with the remaining warriors of the Sun Faction, gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. “We will also take our leave,” he said flatly, offering no condolences, no acknowledgments—only cold, indifferent retreat.

His soldiers followed him silently, their formation tight as they lifted into the air and began their quiet withdrawal, vanishing one by one into the horizon.

The battlefield, once deafening with battle cries and the roar of clashing powers, was now eerily still.

Only the elves, standing tall despite their losses, and the leaders of the Valora Continent remained. The Moon Faction’s forces, the only human army still present, stood grim and quiet beside them, a silent wall of exhausted warriors.

All eyes remained fixed on Max’s unmoving form, slowly dissolving under the weight of divine lightning. The war might have paused, but for everyone still standing there, the wounds were just beginning to bleed.

And then, as if drifting on the wind, a faint voice echoed inside both Lenavira’s and Ava’s minds. “Take me… to the tower.” The words were soft, barely more than a whisper, but unmistakable.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!