Drevon stood alone in the air, his figure steady and commanding, with an army so vast behind him that it swallowed the horizon, covering the endless ocean like a dark tide of death.
Their numbers were countless, stretching so far and wide that it looked as if the sea itself had turned into an army, moving with chilling precision under the silent command of the man with blood-red hair.
His armor, deep black with faint crimson patterns etched across it like living veins, shimmered under the pale sunlight, giving him the appearance of a nightmare born into the world.
His crimson eyes swept lazily over the armies gathered on the edge of the Lost Continent—humans, elves, demons alike—all standing united, but to Drevon, they were nothing more than insects trembling before a storm.
Then, slowly, his gaze sharpened, focusing with deadly clarity onto a single figure amidst the countless faces. His eyes locked onto Max.
