The dark night shrouded everything, and the snowstorm continued to howl rapidly, with the silver moonlight pouring through the gaps in the heavy clouds and sprinkling on the snowy ground.
In this blizzard of golden lightning, the Demon Race was reminded of only one thing—
Their powerful ancestors.
That boundless strength.
As a member of the Demon Race, even though daylight had passed, one could still choose to die in the glow of the setting sun.
Count Gregory's laughter cut off abruptly.
His expression shifted rapidly from joy to pallor, his lips trembling, panic cloaking his vision like a mass of dark clouds!
He stared unblinkingly at the Radiant Demon.
"Rocky McCarthy... what on earth are you?!"
Why would a person from the Palante Empire, an obscure royal craftsman, turn out to be a member of the Great Demon Clan from the Demon World?