A faint trace of Divine Favor still lingered on the blade of Frostsnow’s Overture, so weak it was almost imperceptible.
That icy, sacred aura burned like a red-hot brand within Zeheriel’s wound, searing with maddening intensity.
Black smoke rose from the puncture in his shoulder blade, accompanied by a sizzling sound of corrosion, and the agony nearly made him lose consciousness on the spot.
The instinct to survive overwhelmed everything else.
Zeheriel didn’t even have time to pull out the sword that tormented him so.
He scrambled, rolling and crawling toward the trembling ‘mountain of flesh’ beside him—Deep Lord—using both hands and feet.
At that moment, the Deep Lord’s massive body was his only lifeline.
The enormous green serpent was just as terrified by Zhao Yingyue’s earth-shattering Second Slash.
Although the blade didn’t pierce its scales like the first strike, the overwhelming force—powerful enough to split mountains—crashed through the thick armor, battering its very soul.
It felt as if its internal organs had been displaced by the pressure of the attack, and a primal fear from the depths of its being urged it to flee.
Zeheriel clambered onto the Deep Lord’s slime- and blood-smeared back in disarray.
His once-neat tailcoat was in tatters, his pallid face streaked with dirt—a pitiful, almost comical sight.
With his uninjured hand, he gripped a protruding scale and shouted with all his remaining strength:
“Go! Move! Back to Deepmarsh!”
The Deep Lord already wanted to escape, and now it hesitated no longer.
It let out a roar filled with pain and terror, twisting its massive form.
Like a runaway train, it barreled toward the forbidden zone of the Demon Domain.
Boulders were smashed to rubble, ancient trees snapped in half, and an ‘S’-shaped trench tore through the ground in its wake.
A cloud of dust rose to the sky, obscuring its fleeing form, leaving behind only the thunderous rumble that grew more distant with each passing moment.
On the high ground, everyone stared dazedly in the direction the beast had vanished.
For a while, no one spoke.
Before the relief of survival could take hold, a heavier silence settled over the battlefield.
“Don’t…chase.”
A weak, hoarse voice rang out.
It was Farusiel.
She remained in the posture of having just thrown her longsword.
Her signature pale blue hair was drenched in sweat, clinging in strands to her bloodless cheeks.
Her lips were cracked, and the light in her eyes dimmed visibly, like a candle about to flicker out.
After uttering those two words, it was as if she had expended her last ounce of strength.
The taut string inside her snapped the moment the enemy left her sight.
Her body swayed.
The hand supporting her weight buckled.
She collapsed forward, limp as a puppet with its strings cut.
As she fell, shattered armor plates slid away, exposing smooth, pale skin to the cold air, crisscrossed with blood and bruises.
Especially on her back, where the wound from the gryphon’s sneak attack seeped black-tinged blood.
Almost simultaneously, on the other side, Zhao Yingyue let out a muffled groan of pain.
With their powerful enemy routed, the overwhelming battle intent she’d sustained by sheer will dissipated.
The savage aura that once seemed to devour the world faded from her blade, returning to its plain bronze form.
Along with it, her body began to fail.
Forcing out each slash of Overlord Sees the Mountain’s peerless power had come at the cost of her own life.
Her qipao, designed for combat and already daringly cut, was now little more than rags.
Where her skin had been flushed red with adrenaline, it now turned ashen at a terrifying rate.
She could no longer grip the Cangsoul in her hand.
With a metallic clatter, it fell to the ground, the sound piercing the silent highlands.
In the end, her legs gave out.
Like Farusiel, she collapsed backward onto the cold, broken earth.
The tatters of her qipao failed to cover her breathtaking figure.
Her chest rose and fell with ragged, shallow breaths, and the muscles of her flat abdomen trembled, leaving distinct outlines after spasming.
The two girls who had fought like valkyries moments before now lay in their most vulnerable state, utterly drained of strength.
“General!”
“Your Highness, Divine Favor!”
Only then did the cries of the Crimson Dragon Guard and the magical girls ring out.
Shaken from their daze, they rushed toward their respective leaders.
The [Sage of Jingwei] was already closest, reaching Farusiel’s side in a few strides.
He reached out, intending to carefully lift the frost-like Divine Favor and rest her in his arms.
His fingertips nearly brushed the exposed, icy-smooth skin beneath her ruined armor.
At that moment—
[ Ding! ]
A cold, emotionless System Prompt, visible and audible only to players, suddenly appeared before his eyes.
A translucent blue rectangle, with a line of standard system text:
[ System Prompt: Affection with NPC “Farusiel” is below 30. Any form of intimate physical contact is prohibited. Current affection: 18 (Indifferent). ]
The [Sage of Jingwei]’s hand froze in midair, less than a finger’s breadth from Farusiel’s body, his expression momentarily stiff.
In those calculating eyes, a flicker of irritation and embarrassment flashed by, almost too quick to catch.
He felt like an actor about to deliver a brilliant monologue, only for the stage director to interrupt and announce he wasn’t allowed on stage.
The feeling was unbearable.
Yet, this emotional turmoil lasted less than half a second before he forced it down.
He withdrew his hand as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just lunged forward.
Standing up straight, he adjusted his glasses, a cold gleam reflecting from the lenses.
He ignored the Crimson Dragon Guard and magical girls who’d rushed over, speaking in a calm, commanding tone.
“What are you waiting for? Get your commanders stabilized—now! Crimson Dragon Guard, tend to General Zhao Yingyue. Magical girls, see to Her Highness Farusiel. Check their injuries, use healing potions, set up a temporary camp! Move!”
His voice carried an undeniable authority, as if he was the true commander.
His loyal subordinates snapped from their shock and grief, immediately launching into frantic action.
Two magical girls gently laid Farusiel on an emergency magic blanket, one producing a healing potion, the other chanting a low-level divine spell as warm white light enveloped her.
Meanwhile, several burly Crimson Dragon Guards lifted Zhao Yingyue’s heavy, powerful form, now limp as a ragdoll.
They worked together to dress her wounds with the army’s finest medicines—but the weakness from her spent life force was not something any normal remedy could cure.
The [Sage of Jingwei] folded his arms, quietly watching the chaotic yet orderly scene, his gaze shadowed and unreadable.
“Is the affection that low…? Even after completing such a huge task together?”
He muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
“It seems, to pluck these two flowers from the summit, I’ll need more patience…and planning.”
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