...
Snowflakes drifted down, and the cold wind howled.
All around the Blood Marshal were images of himself, wreathed in green flames.
The scorching aura not only ignited his body but also relentlessly invaded his soul, making him feel as if he were truly on the verge of death.
'How is this possible?! How could I be killed by a human at a time like this!' The Blood Marshal's last vestiges of consciousness struggled. He truly couldn't believe it.
One hundred years since the Great Cataclysm.
The war between the Alien and Human Races had raged on for a century.
As one of the Strongest from the three major races on the Northern District Battlefield, the Blood Marshal hadn't actually possessed his current glory and status when he first arrived.
During the first great war, he was only Rank Eight.
During the second great war, he was only Rank Nine.
