Lucifer hovered beneath the dark red sky, casting a cold glance at the few Indura Larva hissing at him from below.
He had no desire to entangle himself.
Fighting these mindless monsters was pointless and a waste of energy; worse yet, the massive commotion would very likely attract more troublesome adults.
He flapped his wings, preparing to accelerate and leave the area.
However, the moment he shifted, an Indura below suddenly bent its knees.
Its rock-hard legs erupted with power inconsistent with its clumsy appearance, and its entire body shot into the sky like a stone launched from a catapult, a rough, sharp, stone-cone-like arm thrusting straight at Lucifer’s back!
“Hmph.” Lucifer snorted coldly without even turning around.
His black wings folded nimbly, and his body traced a smooth arc in the air, barely dodging the sneak attack.
The stone-cone arm grazed his side with the sound of wind breaking.
“What a bother.” He frowned slightly, scanning his surroundings, his heart sinking.
In that short delay, more than a dozen Indura crawled out from the shadows near the palace base.
They were not aimless; they had vaguely formed an encirclement, blocking his main escape routes.
These monsters had an instinctive predatory desire for living things, especially those containing magic.
Before Lucifer could formulate a countermeasure, the first Indura to attack landed back on the ground and let out an even shriller hiss.
As if it were a horn for attack, all the surrounding Indura Larva moved at once!
From all directions—jumping, climbing, or running—they lunged madly at Lucifer in the air like hyenas that had caught the scent of blood.
“Death wish!”
Lucifer’s eyes sharpened.
Instead of retreating, he advanced, his figure suddenly plunging downward as he dove to meet the first few Indura charging at him.
He used no flashy techniques, simply concentrating the vast magic within his body onto the edge of his palms.
As he swung his arms, a faint yet sharp whistling sound echoed in the air.
His hand-blade swept past like black lightning.
“Ssh!
Ssh!
Ssh!”
The five Indura in front had hardened shells capable of resisting ordinary swords and blades, but before this hand-blade, which concentrated the power of the Primordial Demon God, they were sliced in two without resistance, like a hot knife through grease.
Murky, sulfur-scented, dark red fluid splattered out, and the remains fell onto the craggy ground, twitching twice before going still.
“Roar—!!”
The death of their kind did not cause the remaining Indura to feel any fear or hesitation.
Their hollow “faces” remained fixed on Lucifer, and their attacks became even more frenzied and dense.
Rocks, sharp claws, and even direct body slams—there was no technique, yet they were fearless of death.
Lucifer understood.
The Indura were the most ferocious magical beasts bred by the Demon Realm; they had no emotions, no sense of pain, and not even the concept of “fear.”
Killing and devouring were the only commands carved into the origin of their existence.
“Hmph, come on then!” Lucifer let out a low shout, his figure becoming elusive amidst the siege.
He no longer blindly charged, instead using his speed advantage to weave between the Indura.
Every pause, every strike was precise and ruthless.
Hand-blades, elbow strikes, kicks…
the most basic physical techniques, driven by his Physical Strength of three thousand, transformed into the most efficient tools of slaughter.
“Puff!
Puff!
Puff!”
Several more Indura were struck in their vitals, their heads shattered or torsos pierced, with dull explosions sounding in succession.
In the distance, at the top of a steep mountain peak that pierced the sky like a black fang.
Belial, in his centaur form, stood silently, his four hooves planted firmly on the rock, his dark fur nearly blending into the mountain crags.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his pair of black and white swords hanging casually at his sides, his dark red eyes watching the battle near the palace base—a fight that wasn’t grand, but was intense enough.
He watched Lucifer dodge and maneuver through the group of Indura, cleanly and efficiently disposing of monster after monster, yet there was no approval on his face.
Instead, a curve of amusement and scrutiny tugged at his lips.
“Let me see what special abilities you have, you who were also bestowed the name ‘Primordial’ by Lord Demon King.” Belial chuckled softly, his voice sounding cold in the mountain wind.
Born of the same source, yet possessing a world of difference in magic foundation, Belial’s recognition of Lucifer as “also a Primordial” had long since vanished.
In his arrogant perception, only someone as powerful as himself was worthy of the honor of being the “left and right arm of the Demon King.”
As for that guy with weak magic…
perhaps this battle was the touchstone to test whether he was qualified to exist.
At the center of the battlefield.
Lucifer’s movements remained swift, his strikes still lethal.
With a Combat Class as high as twelve thousand, facing these larvae with a maximum of three thousand, he should theoretically be like a tiger entering a flock of sheep.
But the trouble was that these “sheep” were not only fearless of death, they didn’t even care about being injured.
Half of an Indura’s head had been sliced off by him, yet the remaining half of its body continued to wave its sharp claws, grabbing at his lower leg.
Another had its arm severed at the root, yet it sprayed corrosive liquid from the stump, attempting to slam into his chest.
Lucifer kept dodging, blocking, and countering.
Most of the attacks landed on his sturdy body, which was covered in magic, only producing dull thuds without leaving even a trace of a white mark.
The Physical Strength of a Primordial Demon God could absolutely not be breached by these larval monsters.
“So many…” Lucifer’s brow furrowed tighter and tighter.
He couldn’t remember how many he had shattered, but as far as his eyes could see, from rock crevices, ground holes, and even the bubbling mud nearby, new Indura Larva kept crawling out, hissing as they joined the fray.
They seemed endless.
The only observational magic he could clearly utilize at the moment was the “Magic Eye of Balor.” Lacking large-scale attack methods, he could only rely on physical techniques, cleaning them up one punch and one kick at a time.
Although efficient, he had fallen into a war of attrition.
“Swish!”
Another fierce hand-blade sliced three Indura lunging from the side in half at the waist.
However, at the very moment his old strength had faded and his new strength had yet to arise, a particularly small Indura, nearly the same color as the ground, suddenly sprang from the shadow beneath his feet.
It didn’t attack but opened its giant, fang-filled mouth and bit down hard on the wrist Lucifer hadn’t yet retracted!
“Clang—!!”
A piercing sound of metal clashing rang out!
Lucifer’s wrist shook, and the Indura’s entire mouthful of fangs was shattered, yet it refused to let go.
Lucifer gave a violent flick, finally throwing it off, where it smashed into a rock and turned into pulp.
He looked down at his wrist, which was covered in a faint, almost invisible glimmer of magic.
Beneath the glimmer, a clear, slightly reddened tooth mark remained on his skin.
Although it hadn’t broken the skin, a faint stinging pain radiated from it.
Lucifer’s heart sank slightly.
His body…
was beginning to feel the burden.
The body of a Primordial Demon God was not invincible; under such dense, continuous, and non-stop attacks, his defense was being eroded bit by bit.
That white mark was proof.
What was more troublesome was that his magic was being continuously consumed while maintaining high-speed movement and strengthening his attacks and defense.
And the enemies seemed endless.
Meanwhile, high atop the throne in the deepest part of the Demon Kings Palace.
The Demon King did not deliberately spy, but the entire Demon Realm was within the sphere of his perception.
The “small” commotion outside the palace was naturally and clearly reflected in his abyss-like consciousness.
He “watched” Lucifer fighting in the group of Indura, seeing the figure that was initially comfortable now gradually appearing sluggish, and seeing the subtle marks beginning to appear on the body he had personally sculpted.
The massive figure on the throne shifted its posture imperceptibly, as if finding a more comfortable angle to watch.
Deep within that pair of eyes capable of dimming the stars, a trace of unfathomable, dark light flickered.
“Come on, let me see…” the low self-muttering could only be heard by the endless void, “Primordial Demon God with such weak magic, can your ‘capacity’ truly match your ‘name’?”
This was not just a survival battle; it was a cold, ruthless qualification audit from the Creator.
The Demon Clan would soon descend; ruling the Demon Realm required sharp blades, not fragile ornaments.
If he could not even clear away these larvae…
Then, this failed creation would have no need to continue existing.