The wind atop the high ground seemed to have frozen.
Whether it was the battle-hardened player [Shadowfang Breaker] or the calculating [Sage of Jingwei], both stood dumbfounded, nearly forgetting to breathe.
They had witnessed countless powerful skills and seen magic that could destroy worlds, but never before had they seen such pure, such unreasonable “Momentum.”
At this moment, the feeling Zhao Yingyue gave off had already surpassed the realm of a martial artist.
She stood there, every inch of skin, every strand of hair, emanating an aura of “unstoppable advance, annihilating all things.”
Yet in this almost frozen silence and shock, only Faluxiel remained absolutely calm, even though maintaining that calm came at a great cost.
The wound on her back, where the griffin’s talons summoned by Zeheriel had torn her flesh, radiated waves of bone-chilling pain.
Threads of dark energy, stickier and more poisonous than the mists of a swamp, crawled like living vines along her veins toward her heart.
Every moment, she had to devote a portion of her mind to constructing a cold Will Barrier, resisting this spiritual assault.
Her face was even paler than usual, her lips drained of color, yet those ice-blue eyes were sharper than ever.
The appearance of the griffin was no coincidence.
If the summoned beast attacked her, then…the summoner himself must be nearby.
Zeheriel.
Seventh Apostle of the Demon King.
Faluxiel slowly closed her eyes, unleashing all her mental strength.
The wind became her eyes and ears.
It brushed against dead trees, stirred up dust, and carried information from the battlefield.
She heard it.
The suppressed, heavy breathing of [Shadowfang Breaker], and the slight friction of his hands rubbing the hilt of his blade.
The faint sound of [Sage of Jingwei]’s pupils contracting behind his glasses.
The heavy sound of the Abyssal Lord’s scales shifting, and the low, pain-filled growl suppressed in its throat.
She even heard the flow of blood within Zhao Yingyue’s body, the will of King Confronts Mountain surging like a raging river, explosive power pumping with every heartbeat.
And then…
Southeast, roughly three hundred yards away, behind a dead giant tree.
She heard it.
There, an extremely subtle, hidden, yet utterly distinct aura.
A spiritual ripple mixed with decay and nothingness, like a drop of ink staining pure snow.
The owner of that aura had a calm and steady heartbeat, carrying a sense of lofty, sickly pleasure.
He was observing, judging, seeing all before him as a drama he directed.
Zeheriel! It was him!
Almost the instant Faluxiel sensed that presence, the battlefield erupted again!
Zhao Yingyue moved.
She gave the Abyssal Lord no chance to breathe.
She took a deep breath, her already full chest rising even higher, as if inhaling all the air on the high ground.
She stepped forward.
The earth trembled.
The Canghun Blade in her hand rose high, and this time, not only did golden light shine along the blade, but the phantom of a majestic mountain also appeared.
That phantom was vast and unyielding, filled with the power to suppress all.
It was as if, in the legends of the Night Dragon Kingdom, the Dragon King who became a mountain had blessed his unyielding will upon his descendant across time.
“King Confronts Mountain, Second Form: Collapsing Peak!”
Zhao Yingyue’s cry rang clear as a phoenix, yet carried the power to shatter mountains.
She and the mountain phantom became one—she was the mountain, the mountain was the blade!
This slash was no longer just a simple attack, but the collapse of an entire mountain aimed straight at the Abyssal Lord!
Facing this world-destroying blow, the Abyssal Lord’s massive form reacted with a tremor never before felt in all eternity.
It shuddered.
A primal tremor.
Fear.
This foreign word struck the Abyssal Lord’s chaotic soul like a black bolt of lightning for the first time.
In its understanding, it was disaster, destruction, the embodiment of irresistible force.
It had never imagined that one day, it would become the one crushed beneath disaster.
That looming mountain phantom made it feel as small as an ant.
For the first time, a desire to retreat, to flee, appeared in its great serpent eyes.
This terrifying behemoth, who ruled the Demon Domain’s forbidden marsh, reveling in devouring and slaughter, was now—afraid—before Zhao Yingyue’s second blade.
In a flash, Faluxiel’s tightly closed eyes snapped open.
Now!
All of Zeheriel’s attention was drawn to Zhao Yingyue’s earth-shattering strike—the moment when his guard was at its weakest!
She had no magic left, could barely stand without dizziness.
But she still had her sword.
Faluxiel’s right hand gripped the hilt of Frostsnow Pull tightly.
This sword, her companion through countless years, shimmered with a gentle light, echoing her resolve.
She had no strength for fancy moves.
She gathered the last of her strength in her waist and back, transforming searing pain into desperate resolve!
“Wmmm—!”
Frostsnow Pull flew from her hand.
The pure-white blade spun at high speed through the air, slicing the silence like a silver flash!
Three hundred yards away, Zeheriel watched from behind a tree, a playful smile savoring the Abyssal Lord’s fear.
To him, this was merely an amusing interlude.
That woman from the Night Dragon Kingdom was a surprise, but in the end, just brute force.
Once her strength waned and the Abyssal Lord recovered, all would return to his intended path.
As for that divine-blessed one…she was already useless, magic depleted, consumed by Spirit Erosion, helplessly awaiting death…
Suddenly, a deadly chill shot up his spine.
He had no time to react—only a flicker of silver flashed at the edge of his vision.
“Pshhk!”
The dull sound of a blade piercing flesh.
Zeheriel’s smile froze in shock and disbelief.
He slowly lowered his head, seeing the familiar, frost-patterned hilt of a sword trembling in his right shoulder.
Frostsnow Pull…Faluxiel’s sword…
The sharp blade had pierced his magical barrier, torn through his elegant tailsuit, and embedded deep in his shoulder bone.
Agonizing pain surged like a tidal wave.
Worse, a frigid, pure power exploded from the blade, violently clashing with the dark magic within him—like ice and fire, raging through his body.
“Urgh…aaaaaah——!”
A shrill scream finally burst from the mouth of the Demon King’s Apostle, shattering his composure and elegance.
He could never have imagined that a magic-drained girl could, by pure throwing force, strike him so precisely from three hundred yards away!
This sword not only pierced his shoulder, but shattered the arrogance and confidence of the mastermind.
At the same time, Zhao Yingyue’s second blade descended with a roar.
The Abyssal Lord struggled desperately to evade, but the collapsing mountain’s force still scraped across half its body.
“BOOOOM——!!!”
A thunderous roar shook the high ground, dust and debris filling the air, countless stones scattered by the shockwave.
The earth was cleaved into a terrifying rift dozens of meters long, bottomless.
The Abyssal Lord’s massive body was hurled away, rolling over the ground, smashing through dead trees before finally coming to a halt.
Golden King’s Aura burned on its dark green scales like maggots clinging to bone.
One blade, forced back the Abyssal Lord.
One sword, gravely wounded the Apostle.
In those few brief seconds, two peerless women from different nations displayed the power to overturn the battlefield in their own ways.
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