"Charge! Plague Doctor! Kill them! Judge them!"

The dean ensnared Raymond with his enchanted chains, pulling the hot-blooded Raymond back to his seat.

Looking at Raymond, who was still gesticulating while bound, the dean sighed.

"What on earth did that Plague Doctor do to offend you?"

Hell Plane.

Lyle was sprinting, with several members of the Demon Race in a frenzied state behind him. They had completely forgotten their mutual slaughter, their eyes fixed solely on the single target before them, for their superstar idol, Raymontos.

"Mr. Raymond, you’ve screwed me over." Lyle expelled the last wisp of turbid air from his chest, his eyes flickering with divine light.

"Indeed, to win one must inevitably engage in combat, it’s impossible to hide forever under the wings of a senior mentor. Struggle is the best way to forge knowledge."

"You bunch of dumbasses from the Demon Race, don’t go too far!"

Nia, transformed into tendrils, unfolded behind him, while Vilimlo’s massive bone claws spread like wings.

Lyle turned to face the Demons closing in on him.

"Plague Messenger, spread the curse, the curse of aging."

"Flesh roils, maggots in the bone."

"Vilimlo, transform, Spiral Gun."

The robust bodies of the Demon Race and the dark twisted tendrils collided in mid-air. The transformed long spear of Vilimlo’s claws sparked against the demons’ weapons, the impact waves tearing the surrounding land asunder.

Having just blocked a slash from a demon’s greatsword, Nia quickly pulled Lyle’s body away from its original spot. Facing the sinister dagger, Lyle stretched out his palm while moving through the air.

"Heterodox growth, an enemy unto itself."

Long-term exposure to the plague had deeply sickened them. Now, the plague truly demonstrated its power.

The demon howled and roared, his flesh twisting. Below the skin, his ribs squirmed restlessly until eventually they pierced through the flesh, protruding from the side of his torso.

However, this was just to anchor him in place.

The giant bone spear, rapidly spinning as it collided, pierced the demon from top to bottom with a drilling motion. He could now wait honestly for his resurrection.

"The first one." Killing a formidable opponent for the first time made Lyle momentarily excited, but realizing his heart was beating too fast, he immediately controlled Nia to devour the excess adrenaline in his blood.

Yes, Lyle at this moment was a lich, a precise battle machine.

With Nia’s ability to transform, the deep influence of the plague, and the sharpness of Vilimlo’s claws, Lyle realized he indeed had a chance to win, as long as he had stamina and energy left.

Nia was able to rapidly adjust her position, granting her caster assassin-like mobility, while the plague disrupted the enemy, making the attacks of Vilimlo’s claws lethal. However, all of these required the consumption of his own magical power.

To be honest, from the moment he entered the Hell Plane, both his body and mind had been under immense stress, and Lyle felt his consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind, not knowing when it would be extinguished.

After all, he was not like these perverted members of the Demon Race, who needed no rest.

Lyle had figured out the reason for the incredible energy of the Demon Race. It was the black mist that clung to their legs, which did not dissipate. That was the power of Hell, the source of the demons’ strength. They did battle not without consumption, but their losses were quickly replenished.

The Demon Race was not mindlessly foolish. They had shown their cunning even in holding this competition. It was malice aimed solely at him.

Lyle was making enemies not just of the Demon Race, but of the entire Hell Plane.

He gave a wry smile, thinking, these demons really think highly of me. I’m just a Spirit Summoner who’s barely reached the Third Lock. Was it necessary for you to fight me at home and gang up on me?

Lyle was unaware that the Demon Race had long since regarded him as a one-in-a-million warrior. They had placed themselves in the position of challengers and naturally would stop at nothing. In the end, the title of Prince of the Black Abyss and Raymond’s favor weighed too heavily indeed.

And a comrade who was killed due to a slip-up also proved that Lyle’s strength was not enough to win a one-on-one battle.

The Demon Race is not incapable of teamwork; it’s just that they have not encountered an enemy that necessitated it. However, the glory of Raymontos suppressed their own pride, and thus Lyle began to suffer.

Lyle understood the source of their power, which was the hellish power buried beneath the dirt of the Hell Plane, a power tinged with deep fear, and indeed, it was the power of fear itself. The Demon Race are agents of chaos and spreaders of fear.

Lyle had anticipated this. His initial guardian, Fema Black Abyss, had once warned him, and now he truly felt it.

When Lyle swung Vilimlo’s Claw, it was a bit easier than he had imagined. Paying attention to the surface of the bone claw, he could see the thin layer of black aura that resembled a gauze veil. That too was the power of fear. It seemed that the flesh of Vilimlo was mixed with Demon Blood, so Mr. Miracle must be part of those who had duped him. Such chaotic behavior had to be his doing.

The Claw of Vilimlo could also absorb the hellish power, which was a silver lining amidst the misfortune. It was time to increase the frequency of the White Bone Armor’s attacks.

His brief contemplation was interrupted by the Demon Race’s onslaught. A bone claw transformed into a Bone Shield to protect Lyle’s body. The Demon Race’s attacks became more intense, they attacked like a pack of wolves, one after another. They did not insist on causing effective damage but rather transmitted the concussive force through the Bone Shield to his body. Relying on their natural brute strength, they sought to shatter Lyle’s fragile balance. Once the stance was broken, prey on the ground would naturally fall prey to their butchery.

The relentless concussive force hit Lyle’s body like waves, and his frail human form could feel the monstrous strength of the Demon Race. Although Nia and the Bone Shield reduced much of it, it still felt like hammers pounding on his heart.

Still... still bearable.

Lyle’s body was like a fragile boat in a storm, teetering on the edge of collapse.

But this was part of Lyle’s plan. With every attack from the Demon Race, he would take a small step back. Behind him was the portal—using the large shield to confuse the enemy, retreating with each blow.

This was supposed to be Lyle’s escape route.

It should have progressed like this.

But within the ruins where the spinal wheel had self-destructed at the very beginning, the black bone wheel trembled slightly.

With a bang, it suddenly burst open.

A demonic figure shot straight into the sky and condensed into a small dot. The black figure enlarged continuously, like a meteorite falling towards Lyle.

His skin was as profound as shadows, red Magic Runes spreading from his chest, carved upon solid muscles like steel. One of the spiral Demon’s Horns was broken, and his vertical golden pupils glowed with a fanatical blood red. Black hellish power enveloped his entire body as an arrogant laugh magnified along with that burning fist in front of Lyle.

Lyle felt like a fragile wooden door being struck by a battering ram. The fist sank the Bone Shield, broke his right arm and then slammed into his chest.

A monster, a monster of strength.

Lyle tumbled in the air like a rag doll, rolling several times before crashing to the ground.

Blood surged to his mouth, and Nia began to heal Lyle’s body.

His right arm was severed, the two lowest ribs on the left side were broken. Blocking the pain nerves, Lyle felt his body become cold and alien to himself.

Fourth Tier, and not an ordinary Fourth Tier.

Looking at the tall Demon Race smiling back at him, Lyle posed his question.

"Who are you?" How could there be a monster like you among the Demon Race’s newcomers? Are you really of the same generation?

The wild Demon Race showcased a smile that might have been meant as a gesture of goodwill, but to Lyle, who lay on the ground, it seemed nothing but arrogant.

"I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time, Plague Doctor."

"I am Gogallan Black Abyss."

"I have a title just like yours."

"My friends... they call me..."

"Prince of the Black Abyss."