Yulan Continent, the Far North.
In a secluded underground ice cavern, a long-destroyed Magic Array stood alone on the frozen ground, its patterns shattered. There was no telling how many years it had lain abandoned there.
Suddenly, ripples began to spread through the empty space inside the cavern. A rift barely wide enough for three people slowly tore open, and three figures tumbled out, landing on the icy ground.
"Hahahahaha..." What followed was almost maniacal laughter, echoing over and over through the cavern. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes, as though he meant to vent all the pain accumulated over countless tens of thousands of years at once.
"Big brother, did we... succeed?" Nimora climbed to his feet and brushed the ice chips off himself, his voice still trembling.
"Father." Chester, too, looked excitedly at the man laughing the loudest.
"We did. This should be the Arctic Icefield of the Yulan Continent. We finally escaped that damned hellhole." Odin stood up and pulled his younger brother and son up beside him.
He drew a deep breath of the Far North's frigid air, and an ambitious light flared in his sunken eyes.
"Come on, let's head to the mainland first. I'm going to rule this Yulan Continent. First, we'll find out which empire is the strongest now and take it over."
"Yes, Father!" "Yes, big brother!" Chester and Nimora answered excitedly.
After spending so many years in that sunless planar prison, they had dreamed of this day.
Odin had absolute confidence in himself.
His Death Divine Clone had cultivated the Death Law to the Fourth Layer, giving him the strength of a Seven-Star Devil.
According to subordinates exiled to the planar prison over the past thousand years, Beirut was the only Highgod on the entire Yulan Continent. No one