Don't confiscate my identity as a human race

Ulysses tightly clasped his hand on his chest, unwilling to admit it—clearly, he was certain that Migaya was overall weaker than him, and yet the fight was evenly matched. He couldn't help but feel he was struggling, while Migaya seemed at ease.

"Omnipotent?"

Migaya chuckled weakly at the words,

"Whenever people call me omnipotent, I feel ashamed because they've never had the chance to compete with a truly omnipotent strongman. That's a style like solving equations without hope of winning; no matter how strong you are, you can't penetrate his technical depth."

He laughed self-deprecatingly and shook his head, as if recalling that Great Priest good friend of his in Ichrite.

This is why every time the Great Priest seemed to be struggling but always managed to win.

"Stop being so enigmatic. If I'm not an omnipotent strongman, then neither are you!"

Ulysses didn't know what mysterious thing Migaya was talking about, nor did he know who Ulysses referred to as a true strongman.

He only knew that Migaya's insinuation compared him to a weakling!

"Of course I'm very weak, I usually just engage in scientific research."

While controlling his summons, Migaya wove thorny vines, creating a gigantic birdcage to lock up Ulysses' summons one by one.

As if to show his fondness for the prey, Migaya put them on display.

"Spells aren't more useful the more flashy they are; I'm curious to see what you'll do when you've exhausted all your spells."

Ulysses was already frustrated with Migaya's strange new Magic.

But before witnessing it once, he couldn't determine what the prototypes of Migaya's self-created Magic were or what effects they would produce.

"How about I kneel and beg you to let me off?"

Migaya asked with a bright smile.

After the exhibition ended, the birdcage shrank towards the center, but the Blood Clan summons trapped inside did not vanish; instead, they were entwined with thorns, turning into Migaya's new puppet summons.

"..."

Ulysses watched this scene, his face suddenly changing color.

The gentle words of his opponent, spoken calmly, caused his blood pressure to fluctuate continuously.

...

At the camp of the west-side assault team, Abigail breathed a sigh of relief while holding the Cat Boss.

She watched the steadily improving situation on the screen projected by the mechanical assistant.

From the moment Duke Migaya broke free and joined Hyperion, their situation began to officially reverse.

"Duke Migaya has quite a peculiar temper; no matter how much his opponent taunts him, he never gets angry."

Abigail then shifted her gaze to other battlefields.

"Didn't you notice that his character is also rather malign, meow?"

The Cat Boss acted purely out of experience and intuition.

If it hadn't encountered Lanci before, it would have thought Duke Migaya was a man of dignity and grace, with not a shred of malice.

In fact, Duke Migaya's attitude was already manipulating Ulysses' mind.

"Why is it 'also'?"

Abigail noticed the Cat Boss's insinuation.

However, Abigail did not delve further.

It seemed like undertaking missions was a daily trend in Lance's House.

"I just feel his spells wouldn't seem out of place if performed by a woman."

Abigail commented, concentrating on the communications in front of her.

After watching Duke Migaya in action, she always felt the Duke resembled a witch immersed in Dark Magic.

...

Northwest in the Soul Hall.

Isatia gritted her teeth, and a Curse-laden Magic Power surged around her, making the ground tremble. The entire Soul Hall was enveloped in darkness.

Bottomless cracks spread like spider webs, and the earth let out mournful cries.

Black cursed flames spread across the ground, dancing wildly in the air, scorching the Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bainhardt.

But no matter how Bainhardt was cursed, his overly strong regeneration would always allow him to recover immediately.

The tongues of fire were like the claws of a demon, tearing at the Soul Hall's grotesque corpses, and the stench of burning filled the air.

"You actually managed to last this long."

The Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bainhardt's eye-covered body moved slowly through the black flames, each eye radiating a chilling light that made Isatia's hair stand on end.

Those eyes greedily eyed the black flames, absorbing their power.

Gradually, the black flames began to weaken, their aggressive onslaught fading as if their life force had been drained away, dimming and swallowed entirely by the eyes.

"So naive, Demon Race girl."

The low and raspy voice of the mutated Bainhardt echoed through the hall,

"Do you think your half-baked abnormal state can harm me even a little?"

Before the words finished, a purple corrosive gas erupted from around him, fiercely colliding with the remaining black flames and instantly dispersing them.

The poisonous mist pierced through the remnants of the flames, heading straight for Isatia.

The ominous curse within the mist sent a shiver through Isatia.

She hurriedly formed a black barrier shield in front of her using Dark Magic.

However, the moment the purple mist struck the shield, its force nearly knocked her over.

Isatia slid her feet across the ground, enduring the heavy blow, but pain coursed through her body, and several cracks appeared on the barrier until it shattered resoundingly.

Marquis Bainhardt's heavy advance pressed relentlessly, shaking the earth beneath him, making the Soul Hall tremble unceasingly.

Isatia continued to retreat but found herself with nowhere left to go; behind her was the cold stone wall.

Her Magic Power was rapidly depleting, and the wounds all over her body remained unhealed under the Curse, making her movements sluggish, as if burdened with a thousand pounds.