The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

boom--! ! !

The self-destruction eventually happened, but its scale was compressed to the extreme, like a dull, heavy punch hitting a metal can.

Countless grayish-white dust particles, strewn with scattered pale sparks, spewed out from Morris's shattered remains.

Rumble, rumble—! ! !

Almost simultaneously, a terrifying explosion, far exceeding the previous one and seemingly capable of tearing the world apart, erupted again at the entrance to the valley.

The blinding purplish-black light instantly illuminated the entire valley, casting an eerie glow over the Baturu lava walls.

The violent shockwave crashed in like a real tsunami, stirring up clouds of dust.

Puff puff!

Gomur and the cat-tailed black-robed man were violently thrown away by the combined force of the shockwave from Morris's self-destruction and the subsequent massive explosion at the entrance.

Gomur's body was covered in bright red crystals, and blood gushed out. The black-robed man with the cat tail was meowing as he was engulfed by sand and gravel.

The silent girl in black robes conjured a purplish-black magical barrier, isolating the power of the explosion and the dust it kicked up.

Baturu's lava barrier groaned under the double impact, finally shattering with a deafening roar.

His massive rocky body was shaken and forced to retreat repeatedly, the light in his lava eyes dimmed completely, and he collapsed to his knees.

Dust, like a thick fog, filled the entire valley, obscuring all vision. The destructive roar at the entrance ceased, and the battle in the center of the valley had come to an end.

In the charred, shallow pit, only a few twisted fragments of charred bone remained.

The grey-robed bishop Maurice, along with the last rays of the setting sun, was completely reduced to ashes.

He made purple clay teapots.

"Cough cough... Pfft!" Gomur struggled to get up from the pile of rubble, spitting out another mouthful of blood. He didn't even look at the ashes in the pit. His obsidian-like eyes were fixed on the turbulent purple-black energy flow at the entrance, filled with horror and... a glimmer of hope.

"Ouch...it hurts so much, meow..." The weak voice of the cat-tailed black-robed woman came from under a pile of rubble. She pushed the stones aside with difficulty, revealing her scalded and crushed body, but she still looked towards the entrance.

Elder Baturu knelt on one knee, his rocky body riddled with cracks, his lava-like gaze fixed on the source of destruction, his heavy breathing revealing undisguised exhaustion and solemnity.

Unlike the two girls in black robes, the two elders of the orcs did not know the exact strength of the person fighting the red-haired boy, or whether he was a match for that crazy brat.

Elder Baturu spoke first, still concerned about the situation even though he was exhausted and injured to the point of being unable to lift his head.

Of the four eighth-tier professionals, three were seriously injured, while only the silent girl in black robes was in relatively better condition.

If the four of them were to team up at their peak, even if the red-haired archbishop were incredibly powerful, in a four-on-one situation, they wouldn't necessarily be able to kill the red-haired boy, but they certainly wouldn't be at a disadvantage.

But given their current state of injury...

The only hope is that the reinforcement who comes to help is strong enough, and with the assistance of three crippled and one healthy eighth-tier professional, they can contend with that red-haired boy...

thus……

"support……"

He managed to utter those two words with difficulty.

The other three eighth-tier professionals understood, but only the other orc elder showed any sign of moving.

The two girls in black robes stood still, displaying an attitude of "let the winds blow from east, west, north, or south, I remain unmoved."

This puzzled the two orc elders.

Shouldn't the most urgent task be to provide immediate assistance?

And they didn't seem to be in any hurry at all...

The two orc elders finally noticed that the Soul-Burning Flame and the burst of purplish-black magic power that had appeared on the side of the entrance were no longer present.

At the same time, the two women spoke almost simultaneously.

"That's not necessary."

"For Lord Shadow Demon, it's a piece of cake, meow!"

(∠?w＜ )⌒☆”

Immediately, a figure in black robes came into their view.

Seeing this attire, the two orc elders understood that these were also allies from the Shadow Court.

"Sita, Aita, are you done here too?"

On the way, I ran into a crazy kid at the peak of the eighth rank. Before we could even exchange a few words, he started burning me.

He grimaced and bared his teeth just because I stopped him for a moment.

Sure enough, even a child who joins the Demon Cult is still the lowest of the low, utter scum.

Unlike the two surprised orc elders, Sita and Aita bowed respectfully.

"Welcome Lord Demon Shadow!"

"Welcome, Lord Shadow Demon!"

What pleased Gray was that the two men were relatively honest. If the waiters in front of him were some kind of dog or succubus, he would have already started practicing his movement techniques to avoid being hit.

Gray glanced at Aita's injuries and the relatively unharmed Sita, then turned his gaze to the two unfamiliar eighth-tier orcs.

Gray knew that the two orcs were comrades fighting against the demon cult, and nodded to them.

"Thank you both for your hard work. I'll finish up now."

Gray's gaze swept across the ravaged valley, over the charred crater (Maurice's remains), and finally settled on the remaining Sun Cult members at the edge of the valley, who were in a state of chaos and terror due to the Archbishop's departure and Maurice's death.

The gray-robed believers, who had been gathered in fear and anxiety near the gray-robed bishop's limp body, were trying to help him but were at a loss for what to do.

At that moment, being swept by Gray's indifferent gaze felt like having one's soul pierced by an invisible icicle.

They instinctively sensed impending doom; some screamed in terror, some tried to kneel and beg for mercy, while others turned to flee like headless flies.

Gray remained silent, without even making any obvious aggressive gestures.

He simply raised his right hand casually and waved it downwards in the direction of the rioting cultists with utmost nonchalance.

The movement was as casual as brushing a speck of dust off a sleeve.

Om-!

A purplish-black light blade, condensed to its extreme and composed purely of the will to destroy, silently and instantly formed in front of his palm as he swung it down.

The light blade was only about ten feet long, with subtle ripples of annihilation flowing along its edges, and its speed was faster than the thinking speed of the professionals present.

There was no earth-shattering noise, no ear-piercing sound of something cutting through the air.

It was fleeting.

The next moment, the purplish-black light blade swept across the space where the group of gray-robed cultists were located.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

The cult members who were screaming, kneeling, and running away froze instantly.

Their gray robes, the sun symbols on their chests, and even their terrified, distorted faces all lost their color at the same time, becoming gray and lifeless.

Immediately afterwards, as if they had been thrown into a sand sculpture at absolute zero, their bodies, along with their gray robes, silently turned into fine, grayish-white dust.

There was no explosion, no fire, only an eerie stillness where existence itself was completely erased and returned to nothingness.

Hundreds of cult members, along with the sand beneath their feet and a few scattered rocks around them, vanished without a trace in an instant, as if erased by an invisible eraser.

All that remained was a giant, fan-shaped crater with smooth, mirror-like edges and an unfathomable depth. The crater walls displayed a glassy luster, as if annihilated by an extreme force in an instant.

A dry, hot wind carrying the smell of burning embers swept by, gently lifting and scattering the newly formed, grayish-white dust belonging to the cultists, merging it into the sand and dust that had already permeated the valley, making it indistinguishable from the others.

At the edge of the valley, only the gray-robed bishop's body lay slumped over the edge of the pit like a broken doll.

He was barely breathing, his sternum was sunken, and blood was flowing from his mouth and nose. He seemed to have been unaffected by the direct impact of the purplish-black light blade and was still twitching weakly.