In a room filled with books.
They encountered a group of demon cats, silent and stealthy, leaping between bookshelves, vanishing into the shadows, then reappearing from thin air.
Fortunately, Sovinia had fed these demon cats before and remembered their scent.
The moment she entered the room, she caught a whiff of cat urine and gave an early warning.
She crouched down immediately and shouted Wohard’s name.
There were too many demon cats, including a special one perched high above, firing magic bullets at them.
Wohard had no choice but to summon his divided self—one charging ahead, the other defending from the rear—using the clones to expand his control over the battlefield while forcing back most of the attacks with wide, sweeping sword techniques.
Only then did the situation turn in their favor.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Sovinia killed the demon cat leader with Wohard’s help.
By “stealing the kill,” she earned four chances to draw cards.
But Sovinia’s choice was to take none of them, dismissing them as a contamination of her card deck.
Afterward, they pressed on.
In a corridor near the armory, they ran into a “Demon Promotion Clique”—groups of demons slaughtering each other for a chance to advance to Demon King.
The leader was a Demon Warrior wielding four weapons.
That guy’s attacks came like a storm.
Wohard had to use Holy Slash twice to severely wound him.
As Sovinia delivered the finishing blow, she thought, ‘This stupid dog is getting more and more skilled—basically a walking treasure chest of cards.’
Before dying, the enemy swung back with his flail, aiming for Sovinia.
Wohard blocked it with his sword and then his body, leaving half his side numb.
Sovinia took the chance to kill him, obtaining a Gold Card.
She glanced at it, still didn’t add it to her deck, and instead chose to shatter it into gold fragments, recharging the Blazing Forgehammer.
The toughest battle took place in a partially collapsed courtyard.
Their opponent was a Demon Chosen, riding a bull armored entirely in black iron, its eyes burning with hellfire.
The Chosen wielded a red-hot lance, and every swing sent out thunderous roars.
In the first clash, even a glancing blow broke Wohard’s breastplate.
He was sent flying.
He could only rely on Teleport Swap with his divided self to dodge the bull’s Deadly Charge.
He stopped holding back Holy Slash, first cutting down the bull, then the Chosen.
At the end of the fight, Wohard killed the Chosen, but the Chosen’s dying strike hit his shoulder, breaking his collarbone.
The fight was perilous, and Sovinia didn’t get the last hit—a regret she harbored deeply.
By then, the party was in poor shape.
Sovinia had no intention of running Wohard into the ground today, so she followed her memory to find a suitable place to rest.
On the way, they triggered a Spell Trap and were surrounded by several Demon Sorcerers.
Wohard, enduring curses and a barrage of Shadow Bolts, charged through and interrupted their casting.
When everything finally settled, they found a hidden storage room to use as a temporary shelter.
The room was small, with only a stone table and a few stone benches, some moldy hay piled in a corner.
The entrance was narrow, easy to defend and hard to attack, with a concealed doghole serving as a back exit.
Once inside, they sealed the door.
Wohard nearly collapsed against the wall.
His plate armor was in tatters, new wounds layered over old ones.
Blood soaked through the bandages, forming dark red clumps on the outside.
He leaned against the wall, gasping for air, his face pale as paper, barely strong enough to lift his head.
Beside him lay a Demon Longsword with a chipped blade.
That day, he had fought five battles in the Demon Castle, protecting Sovinia while trying to give her the final hits wherever possible.
After such intense combat, his stamina was nearly gone, and his mana was almost depleted.
Wohard lifted his eyelids to look at Miss Sovinia, who stood in the center of the room.
Sovinia was in better shape.
She panted heavily, raised her arm, and pulled off her stuffy, stinking helmet—two dents from magic bullets marked its surface.
The young girl then untied the blue ribbon from her fishtail braid, and her silver hair tumbled down, half-damp with sweat, strands sticking to her pointed ears and almond-shaped face, making her look almost unreal in her beauty.
Unlike Wohard, who had lost a lot of blood, Sovinia had sweat plenty.
Her sweat had soaked the collar of her gold-patterned long-sleeve shirt, the fabric clinging to her chest.
Her short skirt was half-stuck to her wet, plump thighs.
Several bright red scratches ran across her thighs, standing out starkly on her fair, delicate skin, like rose petals scattered on snow.
Wohard’s gaze lingered on those red marks for a moment as he looked at her like this.
Suddenly, he felt all his injuries were nothing.
If he could protect this brave yet fragile young girl, he wouldn’t mind getting hurt a few more times.
If Wohard knew that this “fragile young girl” was scheming to drain every last drop of his combat value, he might not have been so moved.
Sovinia noticed Wohard staring at her thighs, his eyes vacant.
She followed his gaze to the scratches.
‘What is this stupid dog staring at the wounds for? Probably too much fighting today—his brain’s going slow.’
Back when he worked in the mines, exhausted and collapsed on the ground, he used to stare at random things too.
Sovinia said, “Rest for a bit. I’ll set up the pot and cook.”
Wohard didn’t answer.
He just glanced at her and closed his eyes again, saving even the energy to speak.
Sovinia set down her black leather backpack, pulling out a piece of dried salted meat, purple onions, a few potatoes, and of course, an iron pot.
She crouched in the corner, set up the pot, and lit a fire.
She tossed in a lump of fat, slicing onions by hand, while simultaneously sinking her consciousness into the depths of her soul to check the cards she’d drawn today.
From the last two battles of the day, she had earned five more draws but only selected two cards.
One was Evolution: Silver Card, 1 Cost—whenever you draw a status card, immediately draw one more card.
The other was Swift Strike+: Copper Card, 1 Cost—perform an attack dealing 1.5 times damage and draw two cards.
Both were card-drawing cards for the “engine” of her deck, letting her play as many Reckless Charge (0-cost) cards as possible or hold back to use Blazing Strike +1 when the moment was right.
The high-intensity combat today had also fully recharged her Blazing Forgehammer, giving her two upgrade opportunities.
Should she use both upgrades directly on Blazing Strike +1, or upgrade Evolution instead?
Upgrading Evolution would let her draw one more card, which paired well with Reckless Charge, since the latter added a Stun to the draw pile.
That meant after playing Reckless Charge, she could use Swift Strike+ to draw two cards.
If she drew Stun, she’d draw two more cards, then grab Reckless Charge again and play it.
Theoretically, in the most ideal scenario, once she got her engine running, she could launch six attacks in a single turn.
What about Blazing Strike +1?
It needed upgrades—the more the better.
If she didn’t invest at least one upgrade into it, would she be able to keep fighting in the future?
She planned to keep fighting, since her combo damage was still a bit low.
Sometimes she needed burst.
Sovinia thought it over and decided to split the two upgrades: one for Blazing Strike +1 and one for Evolution.
While planning, she pan-fried the onions and potatoes, then added the dried salted meat, filled the pot to the brim, and threw in seasoning.
The soup had just come to a boil, steam rising, adding the scent of food to the bloodstained room.
Sovinia’s pointed ears twitched as she caught the sound of claws scraping stone floors in the distance, along with the low growls unique to carrion dogs.
She set down the ladle.
“There are carrion dogs outside. About four or five.”
Hearing that, Wohard immediately tried to push himself up against the wall, his face frighteningly pale, blood seeping from his collarbone wound.
Seeing that her “stupid dog weapon” wasn’t taking care of itself, Sovinia pricked up her ears and said, “Stay seated! Take care of yourself. I’ll handle it.”
Sovinia drew her sword.
She glanced at it—one edge was full of chips.
She switched to the other edge, walked to the door, paused, and said, “The food is almost done. Eat when it’s ready.”
She cracked the door open, poked her head through, and in the dim corridor, spotted four carrion dogs.
They were Copper Card enemies—killing them would only yield a Copper Card draw.
Sovinia was itching for a fight.
She hadn’t tested her new deck yet, and these beasts were the perfect practice.
They should feel honored to become the experimental materials of a former Heavenly King.