Don't confiscate my identity as a human race-Chapter 1367 - 837: How Much Do I Resemble the Saint Polante Pope? _2
If Landry couldn't give him an answer that satisfied him, then he might as well send this Sealer down to accompany Asksan.
"Do I not resemble Landry?"
Lanci asked matter-of-factly.
"Forget it, I'll check for myself!"
Rashar felt as if Bishop Kuang'ai was playing him for a fool; he had never encountered a Cardinal Bishop with such a personality.
His Magic Power surged violently, and invisible ripples of counteractive Spells spread across the Blood King Palace Square, stirring the winds.
Under a Ninth-order Forced Dispersal Spell, no Disguise Magic had any hiding place to retreat to.
After all, the one in front of him must have cast a disguise-related Spell to appear in the form of Professor Landry.
"How could you..."
Lanci raised an incredulous eyebrow and glanced at his own fluttering bangs, realizing the layers of Disguise Magic were being forcibly stripped away.
But it didn't matter.
He had already prepared a new outfit, equipped with an utterly ordinary Equipment Card [Holy Prant Pope White Robe].
In an instant.
The Blood King's Divine Fire surged across the Blood King Palace and danced wildly, yet it couldn't touch a single inch of the White Robed Pope.
Before arriving here, he had already imbibed a mouthful of feral Wolf Blood, with a wolfish shadow under the protection of the Moon Goddess shielding him from the Blood King's Divine Fire, rendering him impervious to the flames.
After Rashar's Forced Dispersal Magic took effect, Lanci was cloaked entirely in white robes and a silver-white mask, yet Rashar still could not discern his true face.
Only those green eyes, visible beneath the mask's holes, brimmed with compassion, pity, and a trace of regret.
At this moment, Rashar no longer wished to see the man's true face.
"Ah... ah..."
Rashar's Spell suddenly ceased, his lips trembling, and his face shifted from fury to pallor in an instant. His blood-red pupils constricted drastically, thick with fear, like a black cloud blotting out his Ancestor's reason and courage, stripping away all his prior confidence and assurance.
An overwhelming terror consumed every inch of Duke Rashar's being.
He couldn't understand why ·that·man·would appear here, why after tens of thousands of years, he still existed!
"You, Duke, truly delight me."
The White Robed Pope observed Rashar with the same gentle gaze, speaking with a hint of satisfaction.
"Stop playing tricks on me, Landry!"
Rashar roared in fury, his voice trembling,
"Lankros is dead! He's been dead for tens of thousands of years! It's impossible for him to appear here!!"
Such fear interwoven with anger was not merely the natural intimidation of confronting an enemy but also the result of his most unbearable memories surging back, threatening to crush him!
"Die!!"
Rashar's eyes turned into two bottomless black holes, radiating endless madness.
Countless dark red spiritual power tendrils erupted rapidly from Rashar's form, spreading like a thicket of briars and enveloping the entirety of the Blood King Palace's domain.
The cold chill along his spine made Rashar ignore everything else, seeking only to escape this place.
But if this man truly was the eternal and undying Saint Polante Pope, where could he possibly flee?
He had no choice but to tear the mask off Landry, this fraud!
"Did you know? Your Spell's power... isn't even worth dodging."
When the dark crimson tsunami struck Lanci, it seemed to collide with an invisible wall, shattering instantly into scattered glimmers of blood-light that dissipated into the air.
"...?"
Rashar couldn't believe his most prized Ninth-order Attack Magic had no effect whatsoever.
This only brought to mind the final battle tens of thousands of years ago.
The Saint Polante Pope—an almost magic-immune monster.
"During your sealed days, I've thought of you every single day."
Lanci, maintaining the Black Sun Tyrant's Eternal Decree, spoke to Rashar.
"Who on earth are you...?"
Rashar stared blankly at the indifferent Pope.
A mixture of confusion, dissonance, frustration, and the sheer humiliation of feeling as if he was shadowboxing filled Rashar's mind, leaving it teetering on the edge of explosion.
He could only convince himself that the person beneath the mask was nothing more than another Trickster.
"Would you like to see what lies beneath my mask?"
Lanci's laughter slipped through the mask as he responded.
That casual and unintentional statement briefly sent a flash of bewilderment through the Duke Rashar's pupils.
"You desperately hide your true visage—surely because you're not 'him,' are you?!"
The Third Ancestor Duke Rashar questioned Lanci furiously.
"Tell me, how much do you think I resemble the Saint Polante Pope?"
Lanci rested his hand against his cheek and slid the mask sideways, revealing the pitch-black centipede-like brand crawling across his right cheek.
"This meeting, is it not delightful."
He spoke openly, delivering Rashar the answer.
The silver-white mask partially veiling his visage, the dark centipede end laughing at the reader, and those vivid emerald green eyes radiating a piercing chill—Rashar couldn't help but feel a surge of terror.
"No, you're not him..."
Rashar murmured in confusion.
The face, devoid of any Disguise Magic, was remarkably akin to the young Saint Polante Pope.
If the Saint Polante Pope was a jade that had shattered and been reforged into perfection repeatedly, then the youth before him was flawless crystal from the start.
To now claim this person had no relation to the Saint Polante Pope—even Rashar himself could hardly believe it!
His instincts already had him retreating.
The only thing he could rely on now was the protective mechanisms of Blood Moon City.
As long as the separate halls of the city's other Marquises remained intact, even if the Saint Polante Pope had truly resurrected, he wouldn't be able to do anything to Rashar.
But Rashar feared only that the Saint Polante Pope would head to the other halls, capturing the Marquises one by one, and then return to deal with him.
