Though Leopold and the leaders of the World Returnees' Association vanished without a trace, Lee Seong-jun's face remained calm, unshaken by their escape.
"…So you chose to flee," he murmured, his crimson eyes narrowing.
It was within the range of possibilities he had already foreseen—and it didn't take much to guess where Leopold was heading.
Korea.
Straight toward Gaia's Axis.
It wasn't ideal, but not alarming either. Thanks to the information he had gathered from Julian and Theodore, preparations had already been made for such an outcome.
That meant he had time—time to finish matters here before pursuing them.
"Rest now," he said quietly.
He raised his hand, and a sphere of scarlet energy formed above his palm. With a flick, it burst into a torrent of flame that swept across the battlefield, devouring the twisted remnants of the returnees.
The wailing ceased. Silence followed.
Then, from within the dying fire, a single figure stumbled forward.
"Thank you! Chairman, thank you! Because of you, I've avenged Isabella!"
It was a man with mismatched eyes, his voice trembling with both grief and triumph.
Lee Seong-jun recognized him instantly.
"Lorenzo."
One of the senior members of the World Returnees' Association—known for both his ambition and cruelty.
But what caught Seong-jun's eye wasn't the man's identity—it was the white energy gathering around him, streaming from the burning bodies of fallen returnees and funneling into Lorenzo's chest.
A twisted aura filled the air.
"Hahahaha!" Lorenzo's laughter rang out, hollow and manic, his body glowing faintly with the essence of countless souls.
Seong-jun's gaze darkened. "So that's what you've done…"
He had seen this kind of atrocity before—during the bloody decades of his rise as the Blood Demon. He knew immediately what it was.
Necromancy.
Not the harmless summoning of souls. No—this was desecration.
Lorenzo was binding souls, consuming them to amplify his own strength.
"Did you really use your own comrades as fuel?" Seong-jun asked coldly.
Lorenzo threw his head back and laughed, his voice laced with madness.
"Loyalty is the highest honor! To die for me and fight within me—that is their eternal glory!"
"You're insane," Seong-jun said flatly.
Even in the endless wars of his past life, he had never encountered depravity this absolute. Loyalty was a choice, not something stolen through sorcery.
Lorenzo took a heavy step forward. The earth quaked beneath him.
"Save your pity," he sneered. "You should be worrying about yourself. I've absorbed the souls of a hundred and twenty returnees. I now possess more power than any human alive!"
The air crackled as energy surged around him—dense, suffocating, monstrous. For a brief moment, it seemed he truly eclipsed Seong-jun in sheer strength.
But the Blood Demon only smirked.
"Power alone won't save you," he said. "Even if you stuff your body with borrowed strength—you'll never reach me."
"You're overconfident," Lorenzo spat.
Seong-jun didn't bother replying. His silence only made Lorenzo's anger burn hotter.
"I'll crush that arrogance!" Lorenzo roared, vanishing in a blur.
Wind screamed.
His fist streaked forward like a bullet aimed for Seong-jun's skull.
But the Blood Demon moved—graceful, deliberate. His body swayed aside, his palm ignited with red flame, and before Lorenzo could react, Seong-jun's counterattack snapped toward him.
The necromancer instinctively leapt back—but Seong-jun was already there, closing the distance before the thought even formed.
A blinding impact followed.
Kwakwang!
Lorenzo was hurled backward, the shockwave gouging deep trenches into the ground.
He read my move… perfectly?
Impossible. He had the power of a hundred souls flowing through him—speed, strength, reflexes beyond human limits.
Yet Seong-jun had read every motion as though it were choreographed.
"How…?" Lorenzo gasped.
A faint smile touched Seong-jun's lips. "I warned you—you can't touch me."
Behind his calm words lay a quiet truth.
The Opening of the Spiritual Gate.
An ancient technique—one that heightens the senses beyond mortal limits, allowing the user to perceive intent itself. To glimpse the path of an enemy's will before it manifests into action.
With it, Seong-jun could predict movement before it happened—almost as if he saw the future.
And when that foresight merged with his martial mastery, the result was overwhelming.
"Don't get cocky just because you dodged a few hits!" Lorenzo roared, charging again.
But every strike met empty air.
Every blow was deflected before it landed.
Lorenzo's frustration boiled over.
"Enough!"
He gathered his power, releasing a deafening shockwave. His muscles bulged, spirit energy flooding his limbs until his veins glowed white.
He lunged, his hand clawing for Seong-jun's face.
"It's over—!"
But the figure before him vanished.
A voice whispered above him—quiet, mocking.
"Too slow."
Boom!
The impact sent Lorenzo crashing into the ground, dirt exploding around him. Though his body remained intact, his pride shattered completely.
"Ridiculous… impossible!" he shouted, trembling.
Seong-jun descended lightly, his eyes cold as steel. "Now you understand."
"Shut up!" Lorenzo screamed, but his stance betrayed him—hunched, defensive, desperate.
Seong-jun could see his every intention, the flicker of fear guiding each move.
He blurred forward, flames trailing behind him.
Lorenzo unleashed another wave of power, forming a shimmering shield of energy. "I won't fall that easily!"
But Seong-jun was already inside his guard.
Kaaang!
Their energies collided—two storms clashing head-on.
To the eye, it seemed even. But the outcome was already decided.
"First Heavenly Soul Strike," Seong-jun whispered.
A pulse of spiritual energy rippled outward, unraveling Lorenzo's aura like threads torn from a tapestry. His shield shattered.
Lorenzo stumbled back, disbelief etched across his face.
Why?
He had absorbed countless souls. His strength surpassed every limit. His body overflowed with raw, destructive power.
So why couldn't he win?
Experience.
The truth struck him cold.
Lorenzo had never faced someone truly greater than himself. His battles had been comfortable victories, his enemies predictable.
But Lee Seong-jun was forged in hell—through endless wars against beings stronger than himself, through battles where a single mistake meant death.
That was the difference between borrowed strength and earned mastery.
Lorenzo's body trembled. "Monster…"
Flames erupted from Seong-jun's hand.
"This is mercy," he said quietly.
The inferno consumed Lorenzo whole.
In seconds, his body—and the entire headquarters of the World Returnees' Association—were engulfed in red fire. Buildings crumbled, ashes scattered, and the night was swallowed by the roar of destruction.
When it ended, only one figure remained—standing alone amid the smoldering ruins.
Lee Seong-jun's face was expressionless, but a shadow of unease darkened his eyes.
"Leopold," he muttered.
Then, without hesitation, he launched into the air—his crimson aura flaring as he sped toward Korea, where the true battle awaited.