The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1741: Scarlet King arrives in Bloodmar

Meylin allowed her words to echo—deep, heavy, and inescapable—resonating through the hearts of every vampire and werewolf within the fortress. Then, once silence reclaimed the battlefield, she spoke again, her voice clear and resolute.

“The Scarlet King is not one to wait. So, he offers you a chance. Instead of a long and bloody war that will undoubtedly end in your defeat, he proposes a duel.”

Shock rippled through the crowd gathered atop the Blood and Silver Moons Fortress. Even Blood Princess Tania and Wolf Titan Hercule, both seasoned warriors with hundreds of thousands of years of experience, frowned at the unexpected proposal. While it was true that the odds of defeating the Scarlet Crusade in a prolonged war were slim, they were not entirely without hope.

Their patron deities, powerful beings in the Second Realm of the Crimson World, had shared important knowledge with them. If they could hold their position long enough, the Crusade might be forced to withdraw, needing to address threats in the other continents of the First Realm.

Of course, the idea of achieving victory through a single battle—one that didn’t doom their soldiers to certain death—was deeply tempting. Yet, even without ever meeting him in person, Tania and Hercule both understood the truth: neither of them could likely defeat the Scarlet King. After all, their strength was only on par with Meylin’s, and in their minds, someone who could command the women was definitely stronger.

As a Depravita, Meylin was deeply attuned to emotion and intention. She read their hesitation like an open book. But Cain had anticipated this as well. Her next words cut through the air like a blade of inevitability.

“Of course, the Scarlet King is unparalleled, so a one-on-one duel would be unfair. To balance the scales, he offers to face the supreme champions of Bloodmar together—in a two-on-one duel. Both of you.”

Tania and Hercule’s eyes widened.

Thanks to their unique cultivation paths—vampiric and lycanthropic—they shared a mysterious synergy. When they fought side by side, their combined strength grew exponentially, far surpassing the sum of their individual powers. With all of their trump cards, secrets, and divine blessings, they might have a chance. Not a good chance, but a real one.

Still, a heavy silence lingered between them. The shadow of the Scarlet King loomed far too large.

Meylin saw their doubt and struck with words forged to leave no room for retreat.

“If you refuse, after all this fairness, then we will return to war. And from that moment on, every vampire and werewolf who falls will know that their deaths could have been avoided. That you—their leaders—chose cowardice over courage.”

Her words landed like a hammer to the chest.

Tania and Hercule knew precisely what she was doing—manipulating public perception, forcing their hand through guilt and pride—but that didn’t change the fact that it was working. They could already feel the stares from their soldiers, heavy and full of unspoken judgment.

They were the leaders, the pillars upon which the fortress stood. If they refused this duel out of fear for their own lives, how could they expect their warriors to continue risking theirs?

A shared glance passed between the two commanders. Then, a spark of determination lit in their eyes. They nodded in unison.

“We accept the duel,” Tania declared, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. “If we are defeated, we will submit to the rule of the Scarlet Crusade. But if we win, your forces will withdraw from the Bloodmar Continent—and never return.”

Her tone left no room for negotiation, and her aura blazed with the fiery intensity of one prepared for death or glory.

Meylin nodded in response, her expression unreadable.

“The Scarlet King will arrive within the week.”

With that, the Depravita turned and left, followed closely by Bahamut and Lady Alume. Together, they regrouped with the rest of the Crusade, leaving behind only silence and mounting tension.

The following days passed in eerie quiet. Both armies stared across the field, watching, waiting. Cultivation chambers were sealed, weapons sharpened, and minds steeled for what was to come.

And then, on the seventh day—it happened.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!”

A deafening sonic boom tore through the sky, resembling a meteor piercing the atmosphere. It echoed across the entire continent, shaking mountains, splitting clouds, and stilling even the boldest of hearts. The sky darkened instantly. Ominous, roiling storm clouds surged from all directions, swallowing the heavens above both armies in an apocalyptic shroud.

Tania and Hercule burst from their cultivation chambers, soaring into the air. Their eyes scanned the heavens as the storm grew thicker. Purple lightning danced across the sky, bolts crashing down in all directions with world-shaking fury.

And then—they felt it.

A beam of pure, condensed energy shot down from the heavens like a lance of annihilation. Its very presence tore at the fabric of space-time, distorting reality with every meter it passed. The raw destruction it carried was beyond comprehension, as though the universe itself recoiled from its arrival.

The closer it got, the more violent the storm became. Purple lightning intensified, and space rippled under the pressure of the incoming force.

And then—he crashed.

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“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!”

An explosion rocked the land. A crater formed at the heart of the battlefield, shaking the continent to its core. The shockwave blew dust and wind for hundreds of kilometers. Both armies stumbled—some fell to their knees, others stood frozen in awe or dread.

Purple plasma and crimson flames erupted from the crater, so dense and chaotic that nothing within could be clearly seen. And yet, a silhouette began to form—a towering demonic figure, muscles bulging, wings stretching wide, crowned by jagged horns that twisted upward like a dark halo. A monster forged in the heart of destruction.

Tania and Hercule’s hearts pounded. A tremor ran through their bodies as they beheld what could only be described as the incarnation of apocalyptic power.

And then, just as suddenly, the plasma and flames dissipated.

Standing at the center of the impact zone was not a monster—but a man.

A young man, with snow-white hair, two golden eyes that shimmered with impossible depth, and a radiant smile that seemed to radiate peace. He looked like the calm after a storm, like the stillness before sunrise. His aura was tranquil, serene—even comforting.

If not for the third eye upon his forehead—a demonic eye pulsing with raw devouring power—he might have been mistaken for a celestial being.