CHAPTER 489: 97%

"Ignarok, you came alone this time?" Malgrath turned his gaze toward Ignarok, his eyes glowing with a dangerous, blood-red gleam, like molten amber—pure demonic menace.

"Just dropping by for a little fun," Ignarok replied with a casual shrug.

"The war at sea is over. We won. And under the terms of victory, I’m not allowed to intervene anymore—especially not with troops," Malgrath said, his voice calm but edged with warning. "But..." He trailed off.

Then Ignarok suddenly grinned, wide and wicked.

"...But I brought along 200 units of Tier-14 Mythic-class Inferno Arch Devils."

He laughed, loud and unbothered, the sound echoing like a madman’s cackle.

"Not a huge force, sure—but it should be enough, right?"

"So, who am I up against? Don’t tell me it’s those pathetic Tidesworn again. Fighting them is a joke. Total waste of time."

Malgrath’s tone stayed cool. "Who do you want to fight? Mikael from the Castle faction? Cain? Or Elyrgaard from the Tower?"

"Mikael? Elyrgaard? Tch, old rivals. Been there, done that. But Cain? Who the hell is that?" Ignarok clicked his tongue, curious.

"Some newbie who just ascended to Greater Deity. Not bad, I guess. About on par with Baelthar," Malgrath said quietly.

At that, Ignarok burst out laughing. "Oh really? That weak? Then I’ll leave him to Baelthar. Wouldn’t want him whining that I stole his opponent! Hahahaha!"

Baelthar’s expression darkened. He glared at Ignarok, voice cold and biting. "If you’re so tough, why don’t you go take out Emerald Castle in Sylvanwood?"

"Though honestly, I doubt you’ve got what it takes."

Ignarok’s laughter only grew louder—wild, unhinged, soaked in chaos and malice. He laughed like a demon who’d lost his mind.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

With a sharp motion, he snapped his head up, eyes locked on Baelthar with a chilling smirk.

"Where is this Emerald Castle you’re talking about?"

"Ignarok," Malgrath cut in, frowning slightly. His voice dropped, cold and serious. "That place isn’t as simple as you think."

"So what?" Ignarok shrugged, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "I’m just going to take a look. It’s not like I’m gonna die or anything. Or are you saying I’m not even qualified to check it out?"

Malgrath shook his head. "Fine. Go, then."

If he’s just scouting, there’s no reason to stop him.

Ignarok wasn’t as strong as Malgrath, but he was still more powerful than Baelthar. Malgrath figured Ignarok alone probably couldn’t take down Emerald Castle—but the reverse was also true. That place wasn’t likely to take him out either.

"HAHAHAHA!" Ignarok howled with laughter again, his body erupting in a swirling storm of demonic energy, thick and terrifying.

"If you’re going, then go already," Malgrath said, clearly annoyed. "Ask anyone outside. They all know where Emerald Castle is."

Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, Ignarok vanished—teleporting away without another word.

"Hmph!" Baelthar snorted, then turned to Malgrath.

"What now, Lord Malgrath?"

Malgrath was silent for a moment. Then he rose into the air, his voice cold and commanding.

"No more waiting. We’ve achieved our goal. It’s time for all-out war. Tell Ashendar—Mikael is his. Cain and Elyrgaard are ours."

"We strike now."

"I want to crush the Castle and Tower factions with the most brutal, all-encompassing war they’ve ever seen."

"This time, the light of victory will shine on us again."

"Unleash destruction, Baelthar!"

"By your will, Lord Malgrath!"

...

Sylvanwood

Plane World – Clockwork Citadel

This was the place where Cicero had gone into seclusion—where he was attempting to break through the ultimate racial limit.

The area was vast, empty, and spatially distorted, like reality itself had been flipped inside out. Raw magical energy crackled in the air, snapping and sparking like lightning, so dense it was nearly tangible.

At the very center of this storm of thunder magic—where the air itself seemed to hum with power—Cicero had coiled into a massive draconic form. His enormous wings wrapped tightly around his body, tail curled inward, forming a protective cocoon. Whatever was happening inside that shell of wings and scales was completely hidden from view.

But even from the outside, it was obvious—something had changed.

His body, his color, the sheer pressure he gave off, the aura of his Tier power—everything about him had shifted.

Ethan immediately pulled up his status panel to check.

[Cicero Drahmoulis]

Gender: Male

Level: ???

Race: ???

Tier: Crimson Ultimate Hero

...

Divine Rank: ???

Overall Evaluation: ??????

Evolution Progress: 97%

...

Gone were the pages of detailed stats and descriptions. Now, all that remained were glaring, blood-red question marks—so many they practically burned into Ethan’s eyes.

From level to race, attributes to damage output, divine rank to overall evaluation—every single field was replaced with a bold, ominous red "???"

Except for one new entry he’d never seen before: Evolution Progress.

"Evolution progress at 97%... Does that mean once it hits 100%, Cicero will have fully broken through his racial limit?" Ethan’s eyes were locked on Cicero, burning with excitement. His heart pounded like a war drum, a fire roaring in his chest.

Once upon a time, the idea of reaching the level of a Tier-14 Mythic Unit—let alone a Crimson Ultimate Hero—was so far beyond him it may as well have been divine fantasy. Mortals and gods. Dust and falling stars. That was the gap.

He hadn’t even dared to dream of it.

But now?

97%.

Just 3% away from the final breakthrough.

That feeling—this rush of anticipation, pride, and raw adrenaline—was indescribable. It was like drinking fire and ice at the same time. His whole body trembled with it.

"Master, can I get closer? Just to see him?"

Seraphina’s voice broke through his thoughts. She stood beside him, her eyes locked on Cicero with a fierce, almost reverent intensity. Her gaze burned—bright, hot, and full of longing.

Ethan hesitated.

He trusted Seraphina. He knew she’d never hurt Cicero. But he didn’t know if her presence might interfere with the evolution process. What if something went wrong?

...

He could trust her.

But he also had to protect Cicero’s future.

After a long pause, he did something rare—he shook his head.

"No."

But just as the word left his lips, a familiar voice echoed from above—one both he and Seraphina knew all too well.

"It’s okay, Master. Let her come closer."