The next scene made Eliot shiver with fear.
Ron’s clone darted across the battlefield like a phantom, every step precise, every strike devoid of any unnecessary movement.
His face held no expression, as if he were merely carrying out a routine task rather than taking lives.
He approached Holt’s clone, who was attempting to manipulate the Earth Elemental Golem for defense.
The golem’s fist had just been raised, yet before it could strike, Ron had already flashed in front of Holt’s clone.
A swift hand chop, clean and decisive.
Holt’s clone’s neck snapped in two, the head tilted unnaturally to one side, the light in the eyes quickly extinguishing.
The Earth Elemental Golem, which had been so menacing a moment ago, collapsed into countless pieces of rubble, scattering on the ground.
Ron’s clone didn’t even pause, already moving towards Trish’s clone.
The latter exhausted every effort to manipulate the nearby vines to form a defense, dozens of tendrils as thick as an arm intertwined into an impenetrable green wall, completely enclosing her within.
These vines glimmered with a purple light on their surface, clearly infused with Abyssal Energy, making them tougher and more dangerous than those Kaiser had encountered previously.
However, these nearly indestructible vines crumbled like paper in front of Ron’s clone.
His palm penetrated the layers of vines as if they weren’t there at all, then slammed heavily onto Trish’s clone’s chest.
No flamboyant magic, no complicated movements, just the simplest, most direct blow.
"Poof!"
A dull sound, and Trish’s clone spewed a mouthful of blood.
The entire body flew back several meters, hit the wall and slowly slid down, lifeless.
Her eyes were wide open, expression frozen in utter terror, as if she had seen something incomprehensible just before death.
The clone’s movements didn’t pause for a moment, continuing to move to the next target.
Every strike was a deadly precise hit, without any fancy maneuvers, seizing life in the most efficient manner.
In just a matter of seconds, all the clones had fallen, dissipating into particles of light in the air.
All these light particles were devoured by Ron.
Eliot stood at a distance, his clothes drenched in cold sweat.
Although Ron’s clone moved incredibly fast, his sensitive large ears still caught some unsettling details:
When Ron’s clone devoured other clones’ energy, his body would quiver slightly, as if undergoing some painful baptism;
Even stranger, Eliot caught a hint of...fear? in those flame-like golden-red eyes.
Yes, fear, a deep-rooted fear.
Even this terrifying entity that crushed all opponents seemed to be afraid of something.
When Eliot listened carefully, he detected an urgency hidden in Ron’s clone’s breathing rhythm.
After each energy absorption, his eyes would unconsciously glance at the platform entrance, as if wary of some impending presence.
"He’s afraid...of what?"
Eliot wondered, and a terrifying thought surfaced:
"Could he be afraid of...the real Ron?"
This thought sent chills down his spine.
If even such a terrifying entity feared its original, then what kind of monster could the real Ron be?
After the clone devoured all the clones’ energy, it slowly turned, its flame-colored eyes scanning the battlefield before finally landing on Eliot.
"Wind Listener..." Ron’s clone’s voice was surprisingly gentle, yet carried an indescribable authority:
"Your ears are indeed true to their reputation."
Eliot’s body tensed up completely.
This clone not only knew his nickname but also seemed to understand the essence of his talent, which was beyond the normal cognition of a clone.
He suppressed the tumult of emotions within him, calmly observing Ron’s clone.
Though the opponent displayed strength approaching that of an Official Wizard, Eliot keenly detected.
A certain instability in the magical fluctuations surrounding Ron’s clone, suggesting that his power didn’t wholly belong to him, but was somehow borrowed.
"What...exactly are you?"
Eliot finally asked, his voice trembling yet maintaining a trace of rationality.
The clone chuckled softly: "What I am is not important. What’s important is that I’ll soon be receiving a ’guest’."
His gaze turned towards a direction on the platform as if awaiting something’s arrival.
The fear and extreme tension once again surged on him, more intensely than before.
......
Meanwhile, in an open space outside the Bloodline Altar, two figures faced each other.
One was Valen, clad in the iconic robe of the Crystal Tower, the oppressive aura of a Dark Sun Level Wizard silently spreading, making the air around him heavy.
The other was a woman so stunningly beautiful she seemed nearly unreal, her pink hair cascading like a waterfall to her waist, eyes of emerald green gleaming with resolve.
She seemed barely over twenty, exuding vibrant life force, making it hard to believe this was Lady Allen, who typically appeared aged and frail.
"How many years has it been, Allen? Eighty years? A hundred?"
Valen’s voice was calm, but his eyes held a complex emotion:
"The last time I saw you like this was during the final promotion battle at the Crystal Tower."