Don't confiscate my identity as a human race

The Blood King Palace, where the black sky shrouds all light, leaving only a blood-red moon, transforms into the eye of the palace, gazing down upon this underground world.

"Go to hell, you wretched soul!"

Rashar summoned his magic power with all his might, manifesting a blood-colored magic mirror before him.

The mirror reflected Lanci's image, albeit with subtle differences.

The Lanci in the mirror bore hollow eyes, an ashen complexion, and an aura of foreboding that surrounded him entirely.

"Pope, this is the reflection of your inner self."

Rashar grinned with savage intent,

"You may appear righteous, pure, and solemn on the surface, but your heart harbors boundless darkness. You're no different from us!"

However powerful the Saint Polante Pope might be, as long as he was struck by this move, he would begin fighting against himself—this would be Rashar's opportunity to breach his defenses.

The moment the Pope's mind faltered, the Black Pope within the mirror would emerge, becoming a temporary summon under Rashar's control.

Lanci merely gazed at the magic mirror, even allowing a faint smile to touch his lips.

"Rashar."

He spoke softly as the winds of Blood Moon City fluttered his jet-black hair,

"If you see a goat from the side, you can only claim that the side you see is black. But you cannot prove that the unseen side is pure white. What if there exists a goat that is half black and half white in this world?"

He continued to regard the blood-colored magic mirror, unperturbed, showing no concern that the reflection of himself would step through the glass.

The illusion inside the mirror shattered in an instant, dispersing into fine particles of light.

"..."

Rashar's pupils contracted. He'd already exhausted nearly all his magic spells, fighting with everything he had.

And yet, his opponent appeared to be toying with him.

No matter the strength of his Ninth-order spells, they caused no discernible harm to the terrifying figure in the white robe before him.

As it stood, the only remotely effective tactic seemed to be ordinary attack magic.

But that only made the Pope's mockery of him more evident.

Were all of Rashar's prideful spells inferior to the simplest of attacks?

"Why? WHY?!"

Rashar roared in frustration.

"Thousands of years ago, when I saw Honing Empire heading toward inevitable ruin, I discovered that all the southern citizens were infected by the blood poison of the Second Progenitor. It was you who suppressed their demonization. But once you are sealed, Honing's people will become Demon People entirely. The northern territories of the Saint Polante Pontiff will suffer too. Despite knowing all this, I was unwavering. Do you think your spiritual spells can shake me?"

Behind the mask of the White Robed Pope, the emerald green gaze seemed to silently question Rashar—

Am I not the very devil your Blood Clan forged with your own hands in that era?

"Are you truly Lankros?! You possess his power and memories, yet your mind is unblemished. Who are you really?!"

The hall's courtyard resembled a burial site, its walls and floors constructed of pitch-black stone engraved with distorted faces. Blood-red ghostly flames flickered intermittently in the darkness, echoing Rashar's anguished cries.

The palace's exterior walls, fashioned from countless interconnected rocky cubes, reflected a faint, sharp light in the shadowy gloom as though chaos had been assembled into order.

Lanci stood beneath this palace, his back to the Blood Moon, his white robe unsullied, gazing down at Third Ancestor Duke Rashar.

"I told you—I am Lankelos Saint Anastasius. I won the resurrection tournament and returned."

Lanci's answer had never wavered.

"...!"

The most compelling evidence Rashar had that this man was not Lankros lay in the utter absurdity of his earnest yet chaotic replies, akin to a kindergarten teacher humoring a child.

Yet at this moment, Rashar couldn't shake the sense of unease stirred by the clarity in Lanci's gaze. It was clarity so pristine it unsettled him deeply.

There was something sinister about the dark centipede mark on this man's right cheek—something Rashar had never seen before. He couldn't decipher its true nature.

The spell wasn't Immortal Eternal Penalty, yet it bore an eerie resemblance to it, even more lethal.

Suddenly, Rashar's pupils flickered for an instant, as though sensing a disturbance somewhere within Blood Moon City.

"Ulysses...!"

He gritted his teeth, clenching his reddened fists tightly.

He had already deduced what was happening in the Earth Abyss Palace—Migaya had been rescued by the enemy.

An Eighth Rank Ancestor failing against four Seventh-order opponents—it made no sense.

The once-promising momentum on their side, which could have ended this war at any moment, was now inexplicably stalling, allowing their adversary to endure longer.

"I see."

Lanci also heard Abigail's voice in his earpiece relaying the latest developments from the Earth Abyss Palace, to which he replied calmly.

"Ulysses—a name that evokes nostalgia. I've never forgotten a single opponent I've defeated."

Lanci began recounting tales from the past to Rashar once more.

This prompted Rashar to cover his ears.

He'd had enough of this man's relentless recapitulations—from the Blood Moon Bad World's history to modern South Crayney Empire's culture—Lanci had gone on without pause.

"I've encountered many formidable enemies in my life. Ulysses may count as one of them, but if I had to name the one enemy who truly gave me headaches..."

As Lanci spoke up to this point, he abruptly stopped. He lowered his head to stare at his palm as though recalling many events—and someone significant.

If given another chance, Lanci would choose the same again.

"Don't tell me you're still thinking about Asksan?"

Talia suddenly interrupted him, surprised that Lanci was still pondering over that man, even in this climactic moment.

"You know the answer—I had no choice."

Lanci replied to Talia through telepathy.

"You're better off following your old teacher Lausang and moving on!"

Talia muttered to herself, wondering if this guy had no women in his life.