Sovinia followed behind Wohard, thinking about how to make this vicious dog die according to the script, while sketching out the beautiful scene of the script’s completion in her mind.
Wohard, scarred from many battles, would be wounded.
He’d eat his last meal—she’d make it as delicious as possible.
He’d say it was really good, but why did it taste so strange.
Then she’d twirl her sword and say, “How could a last meal not taste good? Oh, I added manticore venom to it.”
Then she’d reveal her identity, saying, “I am actually Kimi the Coldhearted. Thanks to you, I can finally restore my true form now.”
Then with a Rage Strike, she’d cut off the vicious dog’s stunned head.
The head would roll on the ground, and all the glittering gold cards and treasures would burst out.
What a good tool.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
As she reveled in her vision of the future.
The air in the corridor grew heavier and heavier, with intermittent sounds of slaughter coming from afar.
Wohard strode ahead, the scraping of his battered plate armor producing a low metallic sound.
Sovinia raised her hand, pointing to a depression in the left wall.
“Go that way.”
Wohard changed direction according to her instruction.
They bypassed a section of floor that looked intact, beneath which lay the spike trap from Sovinia’s memory.
Wohard walked along the edge and accidentally triggered the trap.
The floor flipped open, revealing a spike trap with three demon corpses inside.
They walked for another ten minutes or so.
Sovinia led Wohard through two side passages, avoiding two more traps—one was a mechanism that shot poison darts, the other was a collapsing ceiling.
Near each trap lay dead demons, some still in the posture of fleeing, others crushed into meat patties.
Sovinia regretted that they hadn’t contributed any cards to her before dying.
Half an hour later, they arrived at a corridor.
At its end was a dark doorway.
Faint firelight flickered from within the doorframe, dimming and brightening as if something was blocking the light source.
The corridor was dead silent, as if nothing lay ahead.
Sovinia’s long, white ears twitched.
She caught faint sounds—the rustle of leather, suppressed breathing, and the soft clink of weapons lightly tapping the ground.
She sniffed the air.
There was a familiar stench of her demon kin, the odor of cattle.
It should be a demon who had advanced to a Minotaur.
She quickly reached out and grabbed Wohard’s arm.
The sound of battered plate armor stopped abruptly.
Wohard turned his head in the darkness, looking at Sovinia strangely.
Her doe eyes glowed faintly golden in the dark, pupils contracting into slits like a cat’s.
That pair of golden eyes reflected the distant firelight, the shadows carving delicate contours on her oval face.
Sovinia raised a slender finger to her lips, making a shushing gesture.
Wohard lowered his voice.
“What’s wrong?”
Sovinia whispered, “I hear an enemy inside.”
Wohard strained his ears but heard nothing.
He nodded.
“Alright, let’s launch a surprise attack now.”
“The enemy situation is unclear.”
Sovinia stepped forward.
“I’ll go scout.”
“No.”
Wohard immediately objected.
“You’re too fragile. I need to protect you.”
Sovinia looked up at him.
“You’re wearing battered plate armor. It’s very loud.”
Before Wohard could agree, Sovinia had already sheathed the Moonlight Blade.
The faint glow of the longsword instantly disappeared as she walked forward, passing Wohard.
Her swaying snow-white fishtail braid brushed against his pauldron.
A faint fragrance drifted through the air—the scent of Sovinia, like pine needles beneath ice and snow, cold and sharp.
Wohard inhaled the scent, watching her leave.
Sovinia tiptoed toward the doorway, each step as light as a feather landing, making absolutely no sound.
Scouting was absolutely necessary.
Sovinia was skilled at this too.
She approached the door, but didn’t walk straight in.
She looked up, her gaze landing on a tiny crack high on the wall—a peephole that allowed those inside to see out.
It was inconspicuous.
And there was no demon behind the peephole.
Now it was a good peephole for observing inside.
Her slender fingers gripped an almost invisible groove on the wall.
With a kick of her right foot, her calf muscles tensed slightly as she exerted force.
The leather boots scraped against the wall with a rustling sound, and the hem of her short skirt swayed gently with the movement.
She climbed up easily, lying flat against the wall, and pressed her eye to the peephole.
Inside was a crossroads, four corridors meeting here.
Several demon kin corpses that had failed to advance already lay on the ground, the bloodstains still fresh.
The firelight came from a brazier in the corner, flames flickering unsteadily.
Seven demons hid in various corners of the intersection, assuming an ambush formation, some tall, some short.
Sovinia coldly scanned these guys.
Their ambush skills were really poor.
Her gaze settled on the most conspicuous figure—a tall Minotaur wielding a pair of bronze double axes, blood still fresh on the blades.
A strong bloody odor emanated from him, and a Blood God mark was tattooed on his chest.
Sovinia narrowed her eyes.
She knew this guy.
This Minotaur was called Bloodaxe Ba Luo Ke, a fanatical follower of the Blood God.
By constantly killing, he had received the Blood God’s Blessing.
His strength was considered mid-upper among demons, which earned him a place in her intelligence network.
His weakness was his left knee.
It had been severely injured before, and although healed, the bone structure was unstable, making him slightly lame.
And above Bloodaxe’s head—there was actually a golden question mark card.
When she had seen him before, he was only a copper card enemy.
A gold card enemy.
Her heartbeat quickened.
This was a gold card.
If she killed him, there was a high chance of dropping a gold card.
She switched peepholes a few times, memorizing the enemy positions.
Sovinia jumped down from the wall, landing without a sound.
She walked back to Wohard.
Wohard said, “You should have asked for my permission before taking such a risk.”
Sovinia said directly, “There are seven demons inside. One of them is a Minotaur wielding double axes, a Blood God follower. His weakness is his left knee. The positions of the others are…”
Wohard nodded, speaking briefly.
“I’ll charge in to draw aggro. You find an opportunity to attack.”
“Wait.”
Sovinia said.
“Try to leave the enemies for me to execute. It’s part of my ability.”
Wohard said, “Last time when we killed the Slime King, you said the same thing. So, what did you gain from that finishing blow?”
Sovinia’s expression froze.
Why did this vicious dog suddenly ask about that?
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but her mind went blank.
She was never good at lying, especially when caught off guard.
“I… that…”
Her voice grew softer and softer, and finally she just shut her mouth.
Wohard didn’t press further.
Sovinia’s doe eyes stared at him.
She felt that the vicious dog’s gaze had become complicated, and her heart tightened.
‘Damn it. Is he suspicious of me? No way. I have to keep this perfect last meal script going.’
She quickly reached out, grabbing Wohard’s hand beneath his wrist armor.
Her fingertips touched his palm, and his thoughts flooded into her mind:
‘She looks so nervous… Could it be that experience made her feel insecure? Poor princess, she must have been tortured badly to hide even this trivial thing… Her hand is so cold. Why does she always grab my hand?’
Sovinia breathed a sigh of relief.
‘So it’s another misunderstanding.’
But for the sake of the “last meal script,” she had to consolidate and eliminate any seed of suspicion.
She would go along with his thoughts and turn the situation to her advantage.
Sovinia took a deep breath, battled her inner turmoil, and said calmly, “If I don’t hold your hand, I feel scared.”
Wohard’s heart softened instantly.
He held Sovinia’s hand back, his tone gentle.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.”
It sounded like coaxing a child.
Wohard’s hand was big, completely enveloping Sovinia’s delicate one.
Sovinia’s hand twitched, wanting to pull away, but at this point, she had to follow through with the deception.
She lowered her eyes, a nameless sense of humiliation surging in her heart.
‘When did I ever stoop to begging for protection by acting spoiled, right before I behead my enemy?’
She bit her lip slightly, once again envisioning the final act of the “last meal script”—”The Vicious Dog’s Defeated Howl.”