“Careful! Behind you!!!”
[Shadowfang Warlord] screamed with all his strength.
The sudden warning made Faluthiel’s ice-blue eyes tremble violently.
She didn’t have time to turn around, but the deadly sense of crisis, like a thorn piercing her back, made every hair on her body stand on end.
In that instant, countless thoughts flashed through her mind.
It was the summoned beast of the Seventh Apostle, Zeheriel!
From the urgent sound of wind behind her, she could feel that the attack’s target wasn’t her vital point, but the prophecy stone at her waist!
In a split second, Faluthiel acted on pure instinct.
She didn’t try to dodge.
Instead, she twisted her waist sharply, using her body as a shield, protecting the prophecy stone with flesh and blood.
“Pu—!”
The griffin’s sharp claw, infused with terrifying dark magic, pierced through Faluthiel’s leather armor, aiming straight for her back—
“Whoosh—!”
A black flash streaked through the air.
It was the curved blade thrown by [Shadowfang Warlord]!
He was too far to reach in time, so he could only hurl his weapon in support.
The blade stabbed deep into the griffin’s neck, and blood sprayed.
With a shriek, the griffin’s claw, which was about to seize Faluthiel’s heart, lost its strength.
“Urgh…ah!”
Yet even so, the dark aura from the claw quickly invaded Faluthiel’s heart.
Her organs twisted and churned as if boiling, pain flooding her consciousness like a tidal wave.
Her vision went black, and the mental thread maintaining the Eternal Ice Coffin snapped in an instant.
“—Crack!!!”
It was like a chain reaction.
At the moment Faluthiel lost control, cracks like a spiderweb spread rapidly across the massive ice coffin imprisoning the Abyssal Lord.
“No! The forbidden spell is breaking!”
[Sage of Jingwei] cried out.
The cracks spread wildly, and finally, with a deafening crash, the entire ice coffin exploded!
Countless huge shards of ice, carrying terrifying kinetic force, shot out in all directions.
Several magic girls who failed to dodge were struck and sent flying, blood spraying from their mouths, their fates unknown.
“Roar—!!!”
Freed from its restraints, the Abyssal Lord let out a thunderous roar.
Its massive body whipped around, sending the surrounding Red Dragon Guards flying like straw.
Vengeance burned in its golden vertical pupils, and it immediately locked onto the one responsible for its humiliation—the slender figure falling helplessly from the sky.
Her!
The enormous serpent head reared up, like a siege hammer, bringing a howling wind as it lunged mercilessly at Faluthiel, who was plummeting and defenseless!
That gaping maw could swallow an entire bull.
In an instant, the shadow of death enveloped the blessed one.
—
Moments earlier, inside the shattered cavern.
A sharp pain tore through the chaos and darkness, as if a red-hot steel needle had stabbed into Zhao Yingyue’s temple.
She let out a stifled moan, her consciousness like a battered ship in a storm, struggling inch by inch to surface from the depths of unconsciousness.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of dust and shattered stone; every breath felt like swallowing gravel, burning her throat and lungs.
The ringing in her ears was a piercing screech, drowning out the distant rumble and clash of battle.
She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as heavy as lead.
Blood and dirt caked together, making even the simplest movement excruciating.
After several attempts, a blurry beam of light finally pierced the darkness.
Her gaze fell upon a scene of devastation—massive stones, shattered tree trunks, and torn earth heaped together in an apocalyptic tableau.
She lay in a shallow pit formed from broken stones, her body pinned by a few not-too-large rocks—luckily, nothing vital was crushed.
“Ugh…”
She tried to move, and agony tore through her chest and right leg.
Lowering her gaze, she saw through the hazy light that her black qipao, patterned with crimson clouds, was tattered beyond recognition.
The fabric on the left side was ripped away, revealing a deep, bone-baring wound, blood still oozing and staining the earth beneath her.
Her right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle—obviously broken.
Her instincts as a martial artist immediately assessed her injuries.
She guided the ancient Night Dragon Qi through her body.
Her dantian was still stable.
Her qi flow was sluggish, but not severed.
She held her breath, cautiously feeling the pain in her side.
“Three… at least three ribs broken.”
She concluded, each word accompanied by a hiss of pain.
The sharp agony from her right leg was bearable—at least the bone hadn’t pierced the skin.
She could still control it.
The worst part wasn’t the wounds, but the long-lost sense of helplessness.
She remembered clearly the last image before losing consciousness—the Abyssal Lord’s mountainous form, emerald scales glinting deathly under magical light, and the terrifying tail, like a siege hammer, sweeping forth with enough force to tear steel.
And now, this was the result.
The Abyssal Lord… that monster’s power far exceeded their estimates.
“Faluthiel…”
A name slipped silently from her cracked lips.
She struggled, using her still-movable left arm to prop herself up and surveyed her surroundings.
In the distant sky, ice-blue magical light clashed with abyssal magic, creating a breathtaking and terrifying spectacle.
The forbidden power of the Eternal Ice Coffin was still resisting the Abyssal Lord—meaning Faluthiel was still fighting.
And she, the Night Dragon nation’s envoy and ally, was lying here like useless trash.
A flame of shame and anger flared in her chest, momentarily drowning out the pain.
She gritted her teeth and searched the rubble beside her.
Soon, she spotted a familiar rod, gleaming with a dark red sheen.
It was her Red Dragon.
She reached out and, with difficulty, dragged the spear from between the stones.
Forged from crimson ironwood of the Night Dragon nation, tough and unyielding, the shaft was coiled with a lifelike red dragon pattern.
Her master, the Azure Dragon King, had crafted it for her upon adulthood.
It had accompanied her for ten years, through countless battles, becoming an extension of her own body.
But as she gripped the shaft, her heart sank.
Too light.
The familiar, reassuring weight was gone.
She lifted it before her eyes.
Her pupils shrank.
The spearhead—crafted from Azure Dragon King’s shed scales and meteorite iron—was missing.
Only a jagged stump remained at the connection, silently telling the terror of the blow.
The Red Dragon… was broken.
Zhao Yingyue stared at the ruined weapon in her hand, a wave of loss crashing over her.
The Six Harmonies Spear Art emphasized unity between spear and wielder—now, it felt as if her own arm had been severed.
Dizziness washed over her, not just from pain and blood loss, but from shaken resolve.
Could it… really end here?
As her mind drifted, the hard object pressed against her back drew her focus.
It was a black box.
—
Over a decade ago, Zhao Yingyue had been a common, fearless girl with her hair tied in childish loops.
One day, while playing in the solemn ancestral hall of the Zhao Clan, she discovered that atop the memorial tablet of her ancestor Zhao Baiyu, there was another nameless tablet, shrouded in heavy red cloth.
Childish curiosity outweighed reverence for her ancestors.
She tiptoed closer and pulled away the red cloth.
There was no dust or inscription.
As the fabric fell, a dragon’s roar, ancient and overwhelming, exploded within her mind.
Little Yingyue blacked out instantly, her young soul overwhelmed by the formless power.
She burned with fever for six days and nights.
In the hazy realm between dream and waking, a towering old man with an aura of dominance, calling himself the “Mountain Dragon King,” appeared before her.
He imprinted the mental forms of a blade art called “Overlord Sees the Mountain,” every move and stance, deep into her soul.
Zhao Yingyue never spoke of it after awakening.
Soon, the clan sent her, as planned, to train under the Azure Dragon King, learning the orthodox Royal Martial Arts—Six Harmonies Spear.
The spear art was flowing, rooted in the balance of yin and yang, utterly different from the fierce blade art.
As her spear mastery grew, the memory of “Overlord Sees the Mountain” faded, like a feverish dream.
—
A vast, ancient pressure poured from the cracks in the box.
It was a draconic might, as if it came from the dawn of the world.
Just that trace made her blood stir, scattering some of the cold magic lingering in her body and revitalizing her mind.
With almost reverent care, she opened the box fully.
Inside, on a bed of soft blue silk, lay a blade head.