Don't confiscate my identity as a human race-Chapter 1178 - 793: Lankros’s Final Outcome_3

Indeed, they both appreciate the value of a good post-game analysis; ever since they first worked together on Card Making, they've never stopped discussing it once they got started.

"...?"

Duke Rashar simply couldn't believe that the Spiritual Magic he prided himself on was completely ineffective.

He was one hundred percent certain that this man was Lankros, still bearing the Spiritual Fissure he had inflicted, which would undoubtedly cause excruciating pain once detonated.

Why could it be ignored?

Does his heart not bear even the slightest of wounds?

"Are you really Lankros?!"

Duke Rashar finally realized a terrifying conclusion that overturned all his previous conjectures.

"Rashar, you're even easier to battle than Talia."

Lanci's expression remained calm, as if nothing had happened.

He raised his right hand, and a lightning bolt as bright as day erupted from his palm, carrying the force of a thunderbolt, slashing directly towards Rashar.

Duke Rashar quickly summoned a crimson magic barrier, attempting to block the deadly strike, but where the lightning passed, the barrier shattered like paper mache, and the bolt struck Rashar squarely in the chest, sending his slender figure flying, crashing into a giant hole in the wall of the Blood King Palace.

"Talia... who is that!!!"

Rashar struggled to rise from the rubble, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

He never expected that the Saint Polante Pope's strength would be so terrifyingly formidable, and even his mental state seemed like a different person.

The Pope's cryptic words were practically an admission that he was not Lankros!

What made Rashar even less able to accept was that this "Talia" person, according to the Pope's tone, seemed very weak, and yet the Pope suggested that even she was beyond him!

"The only living being that Spiritual Magic could affect me."

The White Robed Pope answered.

At this, the turbulence stirred in his heart by Talia finally subsided.

"I refuse to accept this! You have no right to insult me in such cunning ways!"

Rashar roared, summoning a sky full of crimson tendrils, swarming like the arms of(devils), twisting and spiraling, attempting to wrap around Lanci's limbs; meanwhile, countless dark red strands of spiritual power also followed in a relentless assault.

But Lanci didn't even bother to dodge.

He walked straight towards Rashar.

Once he took a step, there was no stopping him.

The tendrils, upon touching the White Robed Pope, hissed like they had encountered a blazing fire, exploding into nothingness.

"Do not come any closer!"

Rashar's eyes were bloodshot; he couldn't believe that his spells were all ineffective.

The White Robed Pope closed in on Rashar, each step inducing tremors in his brain, like illusions.

Rashar's Magic Power in front of him was as fragile as a paper castle, crumbling in an instant.

Until the white-robed figure reached out, pressing a fingertip to Rashar's forehead.

The palm surged with a blazing white glow, like the searing sun.

"Ah...!!"

Rashar screamed in anguish, feeling as if countless needles were piercing through his brain, his soul burning.

The Eighth Ancestor, Somerset, took advantage of this gap, charging forward with a mangled form.

His muscles swelled, hard as cast iron.

Now, the only thing in the Blood King Palace that could possibly harm the Pope was him!

"You are not even one ten-thousandth of Talia."

Lanci raised his hand and flicked, a sharp Qi Blade materialized out of thin air, screaming towards all directions of the courtyard.

Wherever it passed, the ground shattered in response, and criss-crossing fissures spread like a spider web.

Even if Duke Rashar helped Marquis Somerset gather myriad barriers, the cutting edge of those Qi Blades was too terrifying; they slashed across Marquis Somerset's body, leaving him severed, and just barely grazing Duke Rashar's side, slicing his suit sleeve to tatters, blood streaming down.

Marquis Heratier, panicked, knew she could not let Marquis Somerset fall and exerted her utmost strength to help Somerset reassemble his body, as if trying to turn back time to restore him.

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The next moment, an invisible force suddenly stilled the space.

"!"

She realized she had made a poor move.

Heratier suddenly felt as though she had fallen into an ice cave, her whole body enveloped in unparalleled horror.

She saw Marquis Somerset, like an Undead puppet, had lost his consciousness.

And at some point, he had silently flashed behind her and Rashar, his hands firmly clenching their slender necks.

Marquis Somerset held up Marquis Heratier and Duke Rashar like two little chicks.

"Pope... you evil thing..."

Heratier struggled to push out a few words through clenched teeth, her hands desperately scratching at Somerset's wrists, but unable to shake him in the slightest.

This time, the Pope had anticipated that she would fully heal the weakened Marquis Somerset and, far from stopping her, had taken advantage of this gap to control Somerset.

The Pope always managed to react a step ahead, correctly guessing when Heratier would use her spell and countering with Magic Heratier couldn't have foreseen.

Such suffocating pressure drove her to frantically burn Mana, searching the timeline for a potential turning point, but each strand led to the same conclusion—her demise.

She knelt in despair, the stars before her eyes shattered, no longer guiding any path out.

"I'm constantly battling an old woman who's doing Mind-reading inside my head twenty-four hours a day; it would indeed be strange if your Divination magic worked on me."

Lanci pressed the attack, gathering a dazzling white light in his palm, swiping towards the direction where the Ancestors stood.

"Your mom's, do I really have to repeat that line too?"

Talia finally lost her temper, bursting out with an expletive.