At the edge of the massive pit, the spatial rift contracted slowly like a black spiderweb, emitting faint sizzling sounds. Tiny fragments of space flaked off the rim from time to time, then vanished into the air.

The Abyssal aura still lingered in the air.

It smelled like sulfur, rotten blood, and an indescribable filth blended together, nauseating to the senses.

However, the Great Demon's might had dissipated with the rift’s closing. The remaining Abyssal aura was like a candle in the wind, like rootless duckweed, drifting over the battlefield and being chased away bit by bit by sunlight.

At the same time,

the allied soldiers were staring up at the lone red-iron dragon hovering in the sky, their expressions dazed.

"Vic...victory?"

A young Eastern Alliance soldier whispered.

That whisper was like a spark falling into dry grass, instantly igniting the crowd’s emotions.

"Victory!"

"We won!"

"Lord of the Northern Borders! Lord of the Northern Borders, Valeo!"

Cheers surged like a tide. Fighters from all corps raised their weapons to salute the dragon in the sky.

Spears, swords and shields, staves—all glittered in the sunlight.

In the sky, the Red Emperor lowered his three heads slightly, watching the boiling crowd below.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Two surviving high-ranking demon generals chose to flee almost at the same moment.

The Reaper Demon was now charred black, its carapace cracked, multiple limbs broken. It flapped its mangled wings frantically and fled westward, black blood constantly dripping from its wounds, leaving a thin streak in the air.

Another demon general that had been besieged on the southern front seized the moment when the legendaries were engaging the Great Demon, broke out of the encirclement, and fled for its life in the opposite direction. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Trying to run?"

The Ancient Blue Dragon sneered. From within the storm clouds, the protruding dragon head glared with vertical pupils that flashed with dangerous light.

But before he could act, a figure streaked past.

Boom!

The Tri-Crowns warrior Varta vanished abruptly.

The next moment, as if by teleportation, he appeared directly in the Reaper Demon’s escape path, manifesting the three-headed, six-armed Star Body.

Hum!

His body shivered and two images peeled off him.

Varta split into three. Each projection exuded the powerful aura of a crowned legendary, appearing as if all were true bodies—indistinguishable from the real one. From three different angles they struck the Reaper Demon with heavy blows simultaneously.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Shadows of bodies flew.

Fist after fist rained down like a storm.

The Reaper Demon’s body was battered around like a ball, its carapace shattering, its form collapsing. Black blood spurted from wounds and was vaporized by the blazing qi attached to the blows before it could fall. It let out a shrill hiss and tried to strike back, but each limb it lifted was broken off.

Then it was blasted backward, only to be caught up with by Varta in the blink of an eye.

At that moment, the three figures merged again.

Varta’s face was solemn. Behind him dozens of giant Star Body arms materialized, each hundreds of meters long, rotating like a ring centered on him. They rose together and locked onto where the Reaper Demon would fall.

Each fist shone with blinding brilliance, like miniature suns.

Sun Soul Path—Radiant Sun Fist!

Roar!

The Reaper Demon’s shriek was cut off mid-sound. Its whole body was engulfed by countless fist shadows. Even with the tough life force of a high-ranking demon general, it was pulverized into ashes, no remnants left—only a wisp of black smoke drifted away and was then evaporated by sunlight.

Varta lowered his fists and stood still. The Star Body ring behind him slowed its rotation but did not dissipate.

Garoth noticed the scene and retracted his gaze thoughtfully.

This Tri-Crown truly lived up to its name.

On another front, the Crown of Magic Aphra raised her palm.

The still-present Holy Light Array suddenly contracted, becoming countless chains of holy light that wrapped around the fleeing demon general’s body, the chains cutting into its flesh and burning off clouds of white smoke. Then the array expanded again, re-enveloping it.

The demon thrashed madly inside, crashing against the walls of light, but each impact left new scorched wounds.

It was at its last gasp.

With a piercing shriek, its body disintegrated under the purification of holy light, collapsing from the edges inward until it vanished into nothing.

With that, all invading demon generals were dead.

But the war was not entirely over.

"Spellcasters, begin purification!"

Commanders of the various corps snapped back to attention and issued orders. The cheering gradually subsided and was replaced by orderly busyness.

Sorceresses, priests, and mages stepped from the ranks and began chanting. Spells with holy or purifying properties were formed.

Holy Illumination, Purifying Rain, Divine Nova…

Beams of light rose across the battlefield, dispelling the lingering Abyssal aura.

Soldiers began tidying the battlefield and dealing with the aftermath.

Some collected the bodies of comrades, some gathered scattered weapons, some helped the wounded to the rear. The air smelled of blood, medicinal brews, and the scent released as the Abyssal aura was purified.

However...

the legendaries—those crowned at the apex of the pyramid—did not join the cleanup. They made few other moves and instead stood at attention.

They stood in place, eyes fixed beyond the healing spatial rift, beyond that bottomless pit.

Finally...their gazes fell upon one another.

The atmosphere grew heavy.

Ordinary soldiers looked up, a bit bewildered at first as they regarded their legendaries. Then, as realization dawned, their expressions stiffened. They gripped their weapons tighter and instinctively clustered toward their own camps.

At that moment, the Red Emperor hung in the sky.

His six arms drooped, the cracks in his scales slowly knitting shut, his chest rising and falling more steadily. He did not descend, but watched the battlefield silently, his three heads sweeping their gaze around.

Lamorein drifted through the thunderclouds; his dragon eyes shone faintly while lightning danced across his scales, occasionally striking down to blast a charred crater in the ground.

The legendary dragons around him also breathed slowly, their dragon might imposing as their gazes swept over the humans.

Aphra stood atop her magic tower. Runes flowed across its body; the runic glow had not dimmed after the battle with the demons—instead, it burned brighter.

At her side, other Southern Domain crowned stood ready.

Elsewhere, Varta’s face was calm and unreadable. The Star Body ring behind him spun up again, and his body was braided with lifeflow and Sun Soul radiance.

At his side, two Tri-Crowns of the Eastern Alliance also stood quietly.

The legendaries from the four corners bore subtle expressions.

They had just fought side by side—united—and resisted the Abyssal invasion together. They had witnessed one another’s strength.

But now...

with the Abyssal rift gone and the common enemy dead, the glue of alliance faded quickly and barriers between them thickened just as fast.

The Central Continent—

this vast and fertile land, formerly part of the Empire, was now leaderless.

Who would not want a piece? Who would not want to seize it?

Whichever power claimed even a portion would obtain a qualitative leap in strength.

The Lord of Thunder’s gaze landed on Garoth and lingered.

Beside him were his two kin—the Storm Lord and the Tide Lord—along with other legendary dragons, grinding their teeth. Their emanated dragon might grew more threatening.

Dark clouds gathered above them, blotting out the sun.

The legendaries of the Southern Domain and Eastern Alliance were slowly moving back toward their own factions. Behind Aphra, runes on the magic tower began to rearrange; near Varta, a crowned swordsman's hand tightened on his sword hilt.

Nobody spoke first.

Nobody struck first.

But everyone could see that battle might erupt at any instant.

At the same time, the legendaries from the Romania nations gathered spontaneously around the Red Emperor.

The Red Emperor’s three heads turned toward different directions.

His radiance first swept over Lamorein, lingering on the Ancient Blue Dragon’s expectant dragon eyes; then passed over Aphra, sensing the caution beneath her expression; finally it glanced at Varta, seeing the vigilance beneath his stern face.

Garoth observed.

The Tri-Crowns, the Crown of Magic, and other human crowned and legendaries were not at full strength.

Varta’s breathing was a little quick; Aphra’s robes bore multiple scorch marks; others carried varying degrees of wounds...but none were utterly despondent.

The allied assault on the demon fortress had ended quickly.

Many legendaries still retained considerable power.

Lamorein...

The Lord of Thunder's aura was dense; lightning leapt between his scales and the dragons around him were also slow-breathing and imposing.

If a battle actually started here...

it would be pointless.

Garoth made his decision quickly.

Unless war was necessary, he preferred to avoid conflict and quietly grow—his talent and race destined him for that path. As long as he lived, he could keep becoming stronger and surpass himself.

Time was on his side; there was no need to rush.

Most crucially...

the red-iron dragon raised his heads and looked toward the distant horizon, where silhouettes of floating Sky Cities could still be seen.

Those enormous airborne cities hung silently in the clouds.

So far, only one Sky City had fallen.

But that might be only the beginning.

Someday in the future, another Sky City might fall; a new rift might open.

No one knew if Atlan would face another disaster.

Garoth’s Dragon Emperor Interdimension could level a rift, but its casting time was too long and required sufficient charge time.

To be prudent, it was better to leave other nations intact for now.

If another Abyssal invasion occurred, at least there would be others to share the burden.

Just as Lamorein’s eyes flared with increasing hostility, nearly unable to contain it, the Red Emperor’s deep and commanding voice rang out again.

"The demons have retreated, the rifts are closed."

All eyes converged.

At the center of every gaze sat the red-iron dragon. His expression unchanged, he continued, "The Central Continent is vast and fertile. Even one quarter of it would exceed the current territory of any single one of us by far."

He paused. His three heads swept the surroundings in unison.

"My proposal is..."

"Fourfold joint governance—divide the Central Continent into four parts. Each of us takes one. We mark boundaries and develop our own lands. The wealth here will allow each side to recuperate and grow without fearing resource shortages or cramped territories."

As his words fell, he relaxed his battle stance.

The dragon’s body shrank to a normal size of close to fifty meters. The imposing three-headed, six-armed posture faded back into ordinary dragon form.

Even so, no one dared underestimate him.

The battle had proven his power.

Among the humans, Varta and Aphra exchanged a quick glance.

They were weighing the proposal.

The destructive power the Red Emperor had displayed was terrifying. He was also an "Undying Dragon," exceedingly hard to slay. No one knew his true limits.

If he allied with the Lord of Thunder, he would be even more formidable.

The Eastern Alliance and Southern Domain did not want to make enemies of the Red Emperor.

Gaining a peaceful quarter of the Central Continent without fighting would be a huge boon, avoiding bloody losses and preserving strength for potential future crises.

After all, no one knew when the next Sky City might fall.

As for later—

the dragons’ strength was undeniable.

But humanity also had its advantages.

Perhaps because human lives were short, they treasured limited time and developed rapidly. Their potential and growth rate were not to be underestimated by long-lived species. Given enough time and space, humans could achieve miracles.

Aphra slightly inclined her brow and smiled faintly:

"His Majesty Ignas' words are not without merit."

She raised her head and said, "The Abyssal threat is not completely over. This is not the time for internal conflict. Dividing the Central Continent to end hostilities is the best choice. The Southern Domain accepts the proposal."

Varta also spoke slowly, his voice resonant:

"Joint governance by four, boundaries set, non-aggression between them. The Eastern Alliance accepts as well."

The two human crowned spoke in succession, endorsing the peaceful partition.

As they spoke, the ring behind Varta dissipated and the magic tower’s glow around Aphra retracted into a simple tower form.

The legendaries behind them remained wary, but the hostility had noticeably diminished. They clearly recognized this as the most advantageous choice for the present.

Only Lamorein remained.

All eyes turned to the blue dragon and the Breckton Kingdom’s dragons aligned with him.

The Lord of Thunder’s face was sullen.

Around him, the sky was covered with dark clouds; countless lightning storms churned within. The Helmod dragons flew through the tempest, the scene like the advent of the apocalypse. Lightning painted his face in shifting shadows.

Lamorein’s gaze shifted off Garoth.

He looked at Aphra, at Varta...scanning every human legendary present.

Then he spoke slowly.

"Heh. How could I rule Atlan together with you insignificant insects?"

His voice was low and laced with undisguised contempt.

Faces around him changed, expressions hardening.

Then in the next moment Lamorein suddenly laughed.

The muscles in his dragon face relaxed into a mockery. His tone shifted: "Ha ha, you perhaps expect me to say that so you'll get nervous, prepare defenses, and start gearing up for war...right?"

He shook his head and spoke more casually.

"But I am not a foolish dragon."

"We just fought the demons; there’s no need to fight you now. Splitting the Central Continent into four—fine, I have no objection. Just don’t give me the most barren chunk."

The leaders reached a preliminary oral agreement.

Specific matters—territorial division, boundary demarcations, resource allocation—would require detailed negotiations later. Those were not decisions to be rushed and would need delegates to work them out.

But those were problems for later.

Each kingdom had people skilled in those matters.

For now, the dust settled.

The Red Emperor glanced once at the bottomless pit, beat his dragon wings lightly, and turned toward the Northern Borders.

At the same time, in another direction,

the Lord of Thunder beat his wings and turned his body.

The casual expression vanished from his dragon face the instant he turned his back. His radiance grew dark, full of violence and fury.

To collaborate with humans...to divide the land...

What a humiliation...

But the emotion lasted only an instant, quickly hidden beneath his lowered eyelids. When he raised his head again, his face had regained composure, betraying no feeling.

"Let us go."

He said lightly, and with a flap of his wings flew off in another direction. The Storm Lord and Tide Lord exchanged a glance and silently followed.