Read Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Novel by Only For You Updated 2025 -26 - Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Chapter 3104

Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Chapter 3104

Stretching out his skeletal hand, Ragnar caught Andrew’s massive black-red sword strike head-on. With a brutal squeeze, relying purely on physical strength, he crushed the sword beam into fragments.

Andrew stood atop the fortress, gripping Godslayer, his gaze icy as he watched Ragnar rise into the air. Ragnar studied him for a moment before speaking in a rasping voice. “A man from Holtrien? How did you end up entangled with the Highland Tribe?”

Andrew did not answer. Instead, he asked calmly, “Which werewolf progenitor are you?”

Ragnar’s lips curled into a grim smile. “The Third Progenitor—Lord Ragnar Marrock. Now that you know my honored name, kneel and let me drain your brain and rip out your spine. Don’t worry. I won’t tear you apart right away. I’ll turn you into one of my servants, an undead slave to serve me for eternity.”

Andrew replied flatly, “You talk too much, monster. You should follow Fenrir and meet your end.”

Ragnar instantly flew into a rage. He threw his head back and let out a beast-like roar as savage light burst from his amber eyes. “I will tear you apart, you lowly insect!”

He lunged forward, claws slashing viciously toward Andrew.

Andrew blocked with his great sword, but a surge of primordial power slammed into him. His heart jolted. As expected of a werewolf progenitor—this single strike far surpassed anything Othniel, Kaelen, or the other powerhouses could produce.

Andrew countered with wild slashes, each swing unleashing vast, sweeping arcs of destructive force. Ragnar’s face twisted into a snarl, yet he made no extravagant movements. He simply struck out with his withered palms, dispersing Andrew’s sword beams again and again.

This ancient creature had lived for a thousand years—something bordering on the unkillable.

That realization flashed through Andrew’s mind.

Taking a deep breath, he leaped down from the fortress.

Ragnar turned his head and laughed darkly. “Trying to escape? Do you think you can run from me?”

He immediately gave chase, closing the distance in an instant.

Werewolves did not possess true flight like vampires, but Ragnar did not need it. Each of his charging leaps carried him dozens—sometimes hundreds—of feet through the air. When he landed, the ground shook. He rampaged forward like a primordial war machine, a being capable of smashing even mountain peaks.

Meanwhile, atop the fortress, Edmund led the werewolf army in a brutal clash against Othniel and the remaining dozen Highland Tribe warriors. By all rights, the tribe should have already fallen. But the arrival of Nyx and Knox had shifted the balance.

Knox swung his arms as red lightning wrapped around his body, charging through the battlefield in a frenzy. Wherever he passed, werewolf limbs were severed, bodies tumbling from the fortress amid agonized howls.

Othniel roared like thunder as he locked into a ferocious battle with Edmund. Both were martial god–level powerhouses, berserkers driven by overwhelming strength. With ancestral hatred burning in their blood, the fight instantly became one of mutual destruction.

Edmund’s savage roars split the air as his leather coat tore apart. His muscles bulged grotesquely as he transformed.

In the blink of an eye, a massive werewolf with dark red fur stood atop the fortress.

Othniel’s eyes blazed with hatred. He raised his cavalry saber and slashed forward without hesitation.

The giant werewolf reared up on its hind legs, steel-like claws striking out with violent force. In that instant, the two berserkers collided, blow for blow, trading life for life.

Othniel roared, “Edmund, you want to wipe out my tribe? It won’t be that easy! At the very least, you’re dying here with us!”