Damon always knew his "drown-every-city-in-poison" world tour had an expiration date. There was no illusion in his mind, no delusion of invincibility, no fantasy that the Light Faction would sit forever and quietly choke while he casually erased their capitals like flies.

He knew the clock was ticking. He knew the NPC factions would escalate. He knew the super guilds would eventually do something. This was why he hadn't even bothered involving the Crimson Mountain main families to bring in their forces and protect the conquered territory.

It would have been pointless and foolish to drag the main vampire families into a defense that was doomed from the start. Damon knew that if he had gone with this approach, then not only would he owe favors to the Crimson Mountain main families, but he would also be struggling with an uphill battle.

He might be strong now, but he was not the strongest in this world yet. There were hidden tigers and sleeping dragons all over the light faction, and if these real big shots took action, he would be in hot water.

He was somewhat, at least 20% confident enough to run from them, but not exactly fight and win against them.

This was why the entire massacre spree wasn't a long-term conquest strategy. In fact, he had purposefully selected cities randomly all over the map to make sure he could prolong this as much as he possibly could, and now it looked like his run had come to an end.

The instant Damon felt a presence sweep over him, he made his move. He ran straight back to the Blood Hall in Niera City. Without hesitation, without shame, without even waiting to see who or what was coming.

A Blood Gate ripped open behind him, and he stepped through so fast he practically blurred. His primordial sense gave him a good little heads up and helped him get the hell out of there before anything could happen.

A few seconds after Damon vanished through the Blood Gate, the space he had just occupied cracked. Light bled through the fractures. Pure, molten radiance that hummed with a divine presence far above anything a normal player, or even most NPCs, could withstand.

A figure stepped out of that light. A tall man in flowing silver robes, embroidered with runic constellations. His presence wasn't explosive. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't violent. If anything, he looked underwhelming, a simple old man with nothing on him except the plain robe he wore… and the single sword hanging quietly at his waist.

However, he exuded a calm, suffocating pressure that bent the world around him without effort.

His long silver hair swayed in the wind as he took a step forward. Then, suddenly, his old wrinkled eyes, dull and lifeless just a moment ago, showed the faintest flicker of emotion. A look of amusement.

"…Primordial energy," he murmured. "After all these years, I never expected something this interesting to show up." He lowered his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It looks like this world has reached its limit. The samsara is here."

He walked slowly, hands tucked behind his back, posture relaxed, yet with every step, the ground beneath him purified. Damon's poison miasma evaporated without a sound. The corrupted air cleared. The venomous snakes settled like obedient children before a strict parent.

He didn't even look at the destruction Damon had unleashed. With a single breath, he understood it. "…Chaotic composition. Untamed. Brutally efficient." His fingers brushed the air, feeling the lingering traces Damon left behind. "But lacking refinement."

The light wrapped around his fingertips like a living creature, eager to serve. "A young primordial…" He chuckled softly. "How troublesome." The runic constellations on his robe drifted and rearranged themselves like stars shifting in the night sky.

He then vanished without any effort, reappearing thousands of meters away in an instant, scanning the continent with eyes that could pierce time, fate, and all the little lies the world told itself.

His voice drifted across the plains, carried by divine clarity, "He ran. Sensible." A faint, amused exhale. "Primordials are creatures of instinct after all. What should I do now, little primordial? Should I wait or should I erase you?"

He looked into the distance blankly for a few seconds before he turned away. "It is decided," he whispered. "Our karmic ties are sealed. Only one outcome remains." He dipped his head slightly, in mock regret. "Forgive me, little primordial. I must seize the destiny you were born with. Your fate will nourish my own." A quiet laugh escaped him. "Ascension awaits."

The old man then disappeared once again as if he had never existed. At the same time, back in the ruined miasmic city, another individual appeared. This one, however, was neither simple nor subtle.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and draped in dark armor forged from what looked like wyrm scales. A cloak of pitch-black feathers trailed behind him, and his presence radiated a cold, sovereign authority. Mana gathered around him effortlessly, waiting obediently for his orders.

The man did not give any orders. He inhaled the poisoned air. The miasma twisted violently before being ripped apart and swallowed into his body like threads being pulled into a vortex. "…Interesting." He murmured.

"This C rank has cultivated his poison body to such an extent. Very impressive indeed. My disciple did not disappoint me. His body would be an excellent specimen for my research. This alone is enough to compensate for my losses for stopping my experiment. What an interesting and exciting find!"

The man sent his senses far and wide again as if he were searching for something or someone. A frown then appeared on his face.

"The little rat already ran all the way to the Crimson Mountains? This is going to be troublesome. I would have to deal with that bastard if I casually stepped into his territory. Hmmmm… It's been a while, hasn't it? Maybe it's time for a visit after all." The man waited for a while before he too silently disappeared.

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