While Verdia was experiencing yet another Vision, oblivious to the world around her, a flaming bolt rent the sky and wiped Milishion off the map.
The Dragon’s Breath roared rcilessly, reducing walls, temples, and towers to incandescent ashes.
At the heart of the destruction stood Rygar, wreathed in flas and touki, guiding the destructive magic through the city.
Orsted watched the devastation—visible even from the great distance separating them—in silence.
His expression was neutral, but his golden eyes glowed with concentration.
At last, his gaze shifted from the chaos to rest once more upon the figure of Verdia Solarion.
The elf remained standing, yet her body seed detached from the present. Her eyes were seized by a silvery gleam, her breathing light, almost nonexistent.
The Soothsayer Miko was having a Vision before her very eyes.
Though he had lived through countless loops and learned all there was to know about Verdia’s Miko powers, Orsted had never witnessed one of her Visions manifesting before him.
There was sothing fascinating in that mont.
Part of him wanted to kill her right then and head for Milishion.
But another part hesitated.
As compromised as this loop already seed by Rygar’s actions, he also felt that this one was special in so way.
Perhaps... perhaps this was destined to be the last loop.
Perhaps this ti he could finally destroy Hitogami and fulfill his mission and his destiny.
It was an unsettling yet persistent premonition. It was also why he did not kill Verdia imdiately.
Even deciding to exterminate Rygar, he hesitated to eliminate such crucial pieces, especially without fully understanding the board.
So, Orsted waited. The wind stirred the elf’s long hair, and ti passed. Before long, Verdia returned to herself.
Her eyes reverted to their usual deep blue, though they remained lost in so distant point.
For a mont, she seed oblivious to the Dragon God’s presence. A faint smile played on her lips—sothing Orsted noticed at once.
He then spoke to her in his customary grave voice:
"And?"
Verdia blinked, as if only then rembering where she was. Her face imdiately closed over, tension rushing back.
A look of contained hatred reappeared on her countenance. Calmly, Orsted asked:
"What did you see?"
She did not answer. She remained silent, her expression growing even more closed-off. He could feel her hatred.
The fear that once dominated the elf was now being replaced by anger—and that was problematic.
Those who feared him could still be manipulated. Those who hated him rarely cooperated.
Orsted once again pondered killing her at once. His hand rose for a mont, weighing the matter.
But before he could act, Verdia finally spoke:
"Why do you want to kill Rygar?"
He recognized the maneuver—she had not answered his question. But he was used to this. Rather than pressing, he replied directly:
"Your disciple is a troubleso anomaly. Besides, he is an Apostle of Hitogami."
He spoke with composed ease; after all, in all his loops, Verdia had never been influenced by the Man God.
Perhaps that was why Orsted had never considered her a true threat. She was problematic for her power, yes, but not a direct enemy.
Rygar, on the other hand, was an enigma.
The elf clenched her fists, her face twisted by a mixture of fury and disbelief.
"What do you an, an anomaly?! And an Apostle! Rygar has nothing to do with that Hitogami! He even warned against him!"
Orsted watched her intently. He remained silent for a long mont before asking:
"Does Rygar Adoldia receive dreams from the Man God?"
Verdia answered cautiously:
"No. I helped him create a barrier to block ntal invasions."
Orsted said nothing. His silence stretched so long that Verdia grew increasingly tense. Cold sweat was inevitable.
The presence of the Dragon God was a burden crushing mind, soul, and body.
Only those with great willpower could withstand such a passive confrontation.
Verdia stood firm, sustained by only two thoughts: she stood no chance against him in combat... and if she retreated, Rygar would die.
She could not kill him—and did not want to retreat.
She had to try to persuade that monster. But each second, she regretted that choice more.
She hated that being with every fiber of her being. Yet she forced herself to believe it wasn’t his fault, but the Curse.
It was all she had left to keep herself there. A shred of rationality amid a hurricane of fear and hatred.
The Dragon God pondered in silence for a mont. The devastation of Milishion was gradually coming to an end.
Flas still danced amid the rubble, and the hot air carried the scent of scorched stone, charred wood, and evaporated blood.
He looked toward the ruined city in the distance, his brow furrowed, golden eyes narrowed in deep concentration.
"I’ll ask once more," he said in a cold voice. "Lie, and I will kill you—and everyone in Milishion."
He raised his right hand, and an illusory scale ford magically in the air between them. It was made of pale light and rotating arcane symbols.
"What did you see in your Vision?"
Orsted’s aura intensified, and for the first ti, Verdia felt a genuine intent to kill from him—not the Curse, not passive spiritual pressure, but the real desire to slay her.
Verdia took a step back, heart pounding, palms sweaty on sword and staff. She gritted her teeth and, her voice controlled, spoke:
"I saw my daughter."
Orsted glanced at the scale. Its pan tilted gently to one side, revealing a symbol Verdia did not recognize.
He continued:
"And what was your daughter doing?"
The elf looked at the scale. In that instant, she understood it to be an item—or spell—that distinguished lies from truth.
Her mind raced, seeking the most effective way to stay alive.
"She was fighting..."
Her eyes lifted steadfastly to Orsted. She braced for death. She was certain that what she was about to say would seal her fate.
"Fighting the Demon God Laplace."
The world seed to stop. The tension coursing through her was like a rope stretched to its limit.
If Orsted made a move, she would strike back with everything she had. Even knowing she was nothing but an insect before him, Verdia would fall fighting. Perhaps she could buy ti. Perhaps she could warn Rygar—anything.
The scale tipped once more to the sa side. Truth.
But death did not co. Instead, the Dragon God stared at her for ten long seconds. Too long. Long enough for the certainty of death to penetrate her bones.
Then he dispelled the magic with a gesture.
"I understand."
And he turned, saying no more, striding toward the mountains and slowly vanishing among rocks and low groves as if she did not exist.
Verdia remained dazed, her gaze fixed on the spot where the evil being had disappeared.
Cold sweat drenched her light armor and the clothes beneath. The hand gripping her sword still trembled. The other held fast to her staff.
Over ti, her knees gave way. She fell, dropping her weapons.
Her gaze rose to the blue sky, where the sun radiated serene warmth over a ruined world.
Sweat evaporated from her skin. And then she smiled. A wide, intense smile.
And she began to laugh. A wild, relieved, liberating laugh. She tried to cover her mouth with her hands, but it was impossible to contain it.
She laughed as if she had cheated death. As if she had stolen life back from the jaws of hell.
And then he appeared.
A silver figure erged before her like lightning. Firm hands rested on her shoulders.
"Master! Are you okay?! Are you hurt?! What happened?"
It was Rygar.
His face was lightly sweaty, his body singed in places, his clothes burned—except for his cloak, still intact.
His bright golden eyes overflowed with concern, and the fierce beauty of the young man seed even more intense in contrast.
Verdia looked at him as if seeing a miracle. Her smile widened further.
Her golden hair glead in the sunlight, and the sight of her apprentice seed subli.
Without a word, she threw herself into his arms.
Her arms closed around him, and her lips t his in a passionate, overwhelming kiss, charged with frustration, fear, and relief.
It was a kiss that expressed all the complex emotions she was feeling in that mont.
Rygar was surprised for an instant, but soon pulled his master’s waist closer, returning the kiss with equal intensity.
He would ask questions later. Now, he only felt.
---
As soon as Rygar confronted the Sanctified Sword, he felt a great relief wash over his body.
His instincts warned him of no further danger, even as he stood amid a blazing inferno.
For the first ti since the start of the war, his heart was sowhat calr.
The magical barriers, the touki enveloping his body, and his extraordinary physical resilience had protected him from the impact of the thunderous magical collision.
He withstood the explosion with ease.
But the White Knight was not as fortunate.
Engulfed by the searing light and purifying fire, his body was incinerated in the incandescent heat.
His once-immaculate holy armor lted into white liquid tal that fused with his burned flesh.
He died without a chance to resist, consud by a fury beyond human understanding.
The war against Milis had ended.
All that remained now was to confirm the death of Pope Lucios Galard.
Rygar erged from the flas with determined steps, his body still coated in ash and soot, but his golden eyes now calm.
Yet that peace lasted little.
His master was missing.
Alarm shot through him imdiately. His heart, which had just quieted, was seized by sharp concern.
After confirming everyone’s safety, he dashed off without hesitation, his Demon Eyes sweeping the area for signs.
His master had hidden her trail from Ghislaine, but such precautions were no match for him.
He did not need much ti to find her.
Enhancing his senses with Touki, sniffing even against the wind, discerning every trace of magic in the ground and air, he followed the elf’s trail.
He waited for no one. He ran out of Milis like a silver bolt.
Along the way, he saw Pope Lucios’s body stretched out, his head severed from his body, his face twisted in eternal agony.
Confirming his death with a single glance from his Demon Eyes, Rygar scarcely paused. The trail of his master extended beyond the ruined city.
Then he felt it.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The sll of dragon.
A scent he would never forget. It was Orsted.
Imdiately, his posture shifted. Every muscle in his body tensed like a bow ready to fire.
The anger he had long contained bubbled up from the depths of his heart.
The mory of the Dragon God’s hand piercing Eidar’s chest was a living wound in his mind.
The sound of blood gushing, his friend’s lost gaze—it all returned like a storm.
Just imagining the Dragon God killing his master the sa way made his blood boil.
He tried to remain rational. He needed to ensure his master was alive without exploding in rage.
His Fragnted Reflection Eye distorted ti around him, allowing him to analyze everything at superhuman speeds. And finally, he saw her.
Verdia stood there, hair in the wind, armor stained with sweat and tension, but alive.
Rygar expanded his senses once more. The scent of Orsted lingered but was dissipating. No more blending presence.
He ran to her like lightning, closing the distance, his heart pounding from adrenaline, lingering fear, and hope.
To his surprise, Verdia was laughing.
"Master!" he called, stopping a step away. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt?! What happened?!"
She looked at him with eyes glittering with relief and affection.
Her lips still parted in a genuine smile, her face radiant, her hair shimring in the sunlight.
Rygar found himself distracted by her serene beauty.
And then, without warning, Verdia leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck before sealing her lips to his in a deep kiss.
Rygar froze for a mont. But the warm touch, the tenderness, the relief in his chest... all that had been repressed welled up inside him.
He slid an arm around her waist and returned the kiss with intensity. The war, the pain, the fear—all seed to vanish in that mont.
Beneath the sunlight breaking through the clouds, the two found each other in a perfect instant.
Behind them, Milishion still smoldered, a silhouette of smoke and ruin. But there, on that mountaintop, there was only peace.
A rare mont of love.
-----
Hello! If you want to support my writing, check out my subscription P@treon
By subscribing, you will get access to up to 20 advanced Chapters of the Webnovel and polls to decide various things about the story.
Your support will encourage to continue writing more Chapters! Check it out here: pa treon/DaoistJunkYard
---
Special Thanks
Thank you to destructoballs ! for becoming mber on P@treon!
User Comments
0 comments from readers