It was the height of arrogance.
Yet at that time, in the entire Demon Realm, there truly wasn’t a single person who dared to oppose Droville. They all cowered, hoping someone would speak up and be the sacrificial bird, but they were met only with silence.
The black-robed man’s chest heaved, unwilling to admit his own cowardice from back then.
With a wave of his hand, more people emerged from the corners, surrounding Droville in a tight circle.
He sneered. “A gentleman’s revenge is never too late, even after ten years. You were too overbearing back then. We recognized our lack of strength, so we hibernated in the shadows to nurture our power. Look, hasn’t the opportunity arrived now?”
Droville still hadn’t let go of the hand covering Celoa’s ears. He seemed to find the situation so absurd that he actually laughed. Sweeping a casual glance over the growing crowd, he asked faintly, “Just this many people? Aren’t you being a bit overconfident?”
“The former Demon King’s army of a hundred thousand couldn’t stop me.”
The black-robed man didn’t care for words. He raised his hand, his gaze ruthless. He pressed his finger to his teeth and bit down hard without hesitation.
Blood surged out. With a flick, he pressed it onto a black instrument of unknown purpose nearby.
Bloody light filled the sky. Droville looked up, sensing something in the air masking the surrounding heavens. In an instant, the demonic energy in the vicinity stagnated. He carelessly tried to absorb some, only to find that the once-obedient dark elements had turned rebellious, refusing to be used by him.
Interesting. He stared at the people below and narrowed his eyes.
Celoa didn’t dare look up for fear of disturbing Droville. His face was pressed against the man’s clothes, his warm breath hitting the corner of the collar, slowly darkening a small patch of the fabric with moisture.
Droville sighed. He hoisted the boy up and shifted his position so that Celoa was looking down at the black-robed men. His tone was calm, but his eyes held a well-hidden trace of contempt.
“Celoa, there’s no need to hide. Look at them.”
Celoa’s eyelashes trembled nervously. He tried taking several deep breaths to steady his heart rate. Once he had worked up enough courage, he tremulously opened one eye, squinting through a slit to observe the situation below.
The black-robed man glared at him fiercely, seemingly trying to scare him off.
And just as the man hoped, Celoa shivered and shrank back.
Droville gave the back of the boy’s neck a light squeeze, his tone quite helpless. With a hint of a smile in his voice, he said, “What, are you scared now? Look closely—is he even half as scary as that scavenger beast?”
Celoa stared for a few moments, then pulled his gaze back and shook his head honestly. He muttered, “No. The scavenger beast was a bit more impressive.”
He blinked, seemingly realizing something. He repeated what he had just said, his eyes sparkling. He snuggled dependently into Droville’s embrace, his gaze steadying as he boldly glared back.
Dro isn’t even afraid of scavenger beasts; these people can’t hurt him at all.
Being provoked back, the black-robed man’s fists tightened. He stared at the high-and-mighty Droville through gritted teeth and roared, “Attack! Kill the child first!”
The surrounding crowd was silent, not uttering a word, but their movements were exceptionally swift. Almost the instant the order was given, they lunged forward like arrows released from a bow, rushing beneath Droville. Several streams of energy surged from their bodies, merging harmoniously with a single target: Droville.
Droville’s indifferent expression changed the moment the man shouted that command. He looked at those who dared to strike as if looking at a group of corpses. He raised his hand slightly, and a far more dominant power surged from within his body.
This power seemed to have a life of its own. As it brushed past Celoa’s cheek, it was extremely gentle—more like a tender caress than an attack. But once it left Celoa’s side, its aura became instantly aggressive, devouring all other elements in the vicinity into itself.
Celoa’s gaze was glued to it, his mouth hanging open. He felt around blindly and realized with a start that the once-abundant elements had vanished. For a rare moment, he felt the emptiness of being thrown into a void.
“Dro is really, really amazing.”
With a casual strike, Droville easily dispersed and absorbed the energy gathered by the people below.
The power of the two sides was completely unequal. Even the bewildered Celoa noticed something was wrong. He tugged at Droville’s sleeve and couldn’t help but whisper, “Dro, are they really here for revenge? I feel… I feel like they’re little kittens fighting a tiger.”
His eyes were full of innocence and a child’s confusion.
Droville, however, read the underlying meaning. His lips curled slightly. His inquisitive gaze turned toward the black-robed man, who was still smiling eerily. He wondered what on earth gave this man the courage to come and provoke him with such meager strength.
He didn’t think the man was a fool.
If he were truly that idiotic, he wouldn’t have been able to restrain himself for all these years.
He stared at the people below.
Identical movements, thoughtless attacks, even the output of their strikes was exactly the same. They didn’t seem like real people at all—they looked like pawns. He had no intention of wasting time with them, so he simply increased his power, knocking back all those useless attackers with crushing force.
The bodies stiffened as they flew into the air and crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.
The fabrics masking their faces slipped, revealing pale, lifeless countenances. Some even had half their faces rotted away, exposing white bone.
Celoa covered his face and let out a soft gasp. “Dro, are they… are they already dead?”
Droville frowned. His overbearing magic spilled out, instantly grinding those puppets into dust.
The black-robed man, however, let out a cackle. His eerie gaze fixed on Droville. He didn’t seem to care about the lives of those people. He stared at Droville, his face turning deathly pale, yet his voice was full of malicious delight.
“Droville, oh Droville. You have always looked down on me, but today, you’re going to fall by my hand.”
He laughed manically, trembling with excitement. He was a stark contrast to Droville, who remained calm, holding Celoa while watching him with furrowed brows.
The dust in the air, mixed with the ashes of the puppets, swirled in the sky. Unnoticed, it formed a circle around Droville like a chain, locking his body in place from a distance.
Celoa was protected in Droville’s arms.
The black-robed man walked step by step beneath the vortex, then floated up into the air to confront Droville face-to-face.
“Who is the person behind you?” Droville glanced at him. He searched through his memories but found no trace of the man. Given this person’s clearly suicidal behavior, he soon realized he was merely a vanguard pawn.
The man smiled weirdly. He stared straight at Droville, muttering as if to himself, “You will pay the price. Everything from back then… you will pay for it in blood.”
He slowly raised his hand, revealing a skeletal frame.
Droville could find almost no trace of a living person on him. He waved his hand impatiently, a crown-like shape faintly forming behind him. He whispered into Celoa’s ear, “Hold on to me. I’m going on the offensive.”
Just as he finished speaking, several black dots suddenly appeared around him. These dots attached themselves to the chains formed around him, merging into them bit by bit. The once-stable chains began to tremble after just a few seconds, on the verge of shattering.
Wild red and black lights surged everywhere.
A faint flash of fear crossed the black-robed man’s eyes—a physiological dread accumulated over many years. But soon, he seemed to remember something. After a few ragged breaths, he began to laugh again.
“Go to hell!”
He charged forward like a madman. His nearly-shattered body suddenly exploded with extraordinary power. The surrounding chains snapped instantly, and the residual energy of the puppets, along with the power Droville had just used to break the locks, were sucked into his body at the same time.
These streams of power were not from the same source at all. Being stuffed into one person’s body simultaneously, they had no intention of settling down. Instead, using the body as a battlefield, they began to fight immediately.
The man’s body even swelled up into a giant ball.
Droville watched coldly as the man sought his own end.
The black-robed man laughed hoarsely, thrusting a hand directly into his own chest. With a sharp pull, he tore out his own heart. He then quickly threw the bloody thing outward as he himself lost all strength and fell straight down.
Droville didn’t have time to think much, but he keenly sensed a hint of danger. He quickly opened his hand, and invisible power surged out, wrapping around the heart. The heart throbbed and darted around a few times within the transparent barrier before falling silent, as if it had lost all function.
But Droville still didn’t feel at ease. He expressionlessly applied more pressure, tearing the entire heart into shreds before cautiously tossing it aside.
The fragments of the heart drifted down lightly. But the moment they were about to hit the ground, something within the debris suddenly flew out.
This object was exceptionally small—less than half the size of a thumb—yet at that moment, it burst forth with an extraordinary amount of power. It easily shattered the transparent barrier and reached Droville in the blink of an eye.
Droville instinctively exerted force to defend, but the object suddenly released its momentum. It simply used the defense barrier as a springboard to bounce, then abruptly changed direction, grazing harshly against Celoa’s exposed shoulder.
Blood surged out, instantly staining the object.
Droville, startled, pressed down on the wound.
The small object, however, exerted force again. It was suffused with a golden light, radiating the exact same color as the blood Droville had fed to Celoa. It flipped in the air and flew back.
This time, Droville’s barrier offered no resistance at all. It disintegrated completely upon the slightest touch. The object flew with high speed and struck Droville’s shoulder, sinking deep inside.
Droville’s face suddenly turned pale. Frowning, his whole body began to tremble.
Seeing his plan succeed, the black-robed man’s dimming eyes instantly lit up. As if experiencing a final burst of energy before death, he coughed and laughed manically, looking completely insane.
“So it really is like this! Your weakness is so obvious; I was completely ignorant of it back then! If your subordinates knew that the Demon King they revere is actually…”
Droville snapped his eyes up, looking thoroughly enraged. Even though his internal state was a chaotic mess and suppressing the pain required a massive amount of effort, his magic still surged out, seizing the man’s throat.
The black-robed man couldn’t catch his breath. His vision went dark. He was already at death’s door, and now he was even weaker. The final words spilled from the corner of his mouth:
“You think it’s just me? That blood… quite a lot of it was kept in secret. You won’t escape.”
With a crisp crack, the black-robed man stopped breathing entirely.
Droville hung his head, taking deep, ragged breaths. He didn’t have much strength left, so he simply descended from the air with Celoa to rest under the shade of a tree.
Celoa clutched his shoulder, knowing he had been a burden to Droville. His eyes were swimming with tears, but he didn’t rush over to act spoiled. His mind was racing, thinking of how to make Droville feel better.
Droville suddenly let out a low groan of pain. His eyes were no longer a beautiful violet, but a bloody red. The human-like color slowly faded, replaced by a chaotic murderous intent.
Something seemed to be writhing behind his back, his bones letting out crisp cracking sounds.
Celoa stared at him blankly, unable to react for a moment.
Droville suppressed his voice, trying hard to control his expression. Enduring the pain, he comforted him softly, “It’s not your fault. Be good. Now, listen to me—get back. Get away from me.”
Celoa blinked. He clenched his fists and wiped his face hard. He knew that being disobedient now would only cause trouble for Droville. So, no matter how reluctant he was, he obediently ran a short distance away, then turned around to stare worriedly at Droville.
Droville let out a long, slow breath. A flicker of faint disgust crossed his eyes, yet it was tinged with a bit of nostalgia.
He sighed in a low voice, “So, we have to meet after all, old friend.”
The moment he spoke, the thing on his back responded as if it had heard him—slowly but firmly.
Three pairs of wings burst through the flesh, flamboyantly displaying their splendor.
Celoa watched blankly, his mind racing.
What magnificent, majestic wings.
However, as he gripped the bark of the tree behind him, he remembered the most important criterion for distinguishing the Heavenly Tribe from the Demon Tribe in the basic books of the Heavenly Realm:
The Heavenly Tribe is born with wings, possessing the profound love of God. They can manifest wings even in human form; they are the only ones among the Three Realms to do so.