Chapter 160: Trembling
That tongue swept over her head, passing within inches at its closest.
She could hear the howl of the wind as it tore past. She could sll the rancid stench clinging to it. She could feel the pressure of those barbs cutting through the air hard enough to make her scalp ache.
She dragged herself out of the mud and thrust her sword.
Frost burst from the blade, condensing in midair into more than a dozen ice spikes that shot toward the tongue. In the dim yellow light, they glead with a cold, sharp radiance, like a rain of flying knives.
They struck the tongue with a series of crisp tallic clinks.
And all of them shattered.
The ice spikes broke into powder and drifted away like a brief flurry of snow. Not even a white mark remained on the tongue.
Lillian’s heart sank a little lower.
By then, Rex had already charged in. Hauling himself up from the mud, he gripped that greatsword in both hands and hurled himself at the creature like a cannonball.
Mud and water exploded behind him. Every step shook the ground. He reached it, swung the greatsword in a full arc, and brought it crashing down onto one of its front legs.
Clang!
The sound was like steel striking an iron plate, or a temple bell being struck, heavy and resonant. The greatsword buzzed violently. Rex’s虎口 split open under the shock, blood running down the hilt.
On the creature’s leg, the scales where he had struck were marked by a single white line.
Rex froze for an instant.
In that instant, he looked up and saw those crimson eyes staring down at him. They were like two red-hot lanterns, and his whole figure was reflected within them.
Then the tongue lashed out again.
This ti it was even faster.
Rex had no ti to dodge. He could only raise his greatsword across his chest—
Bang!
The tongue slamd into the blade. The sword smashed backward into his chest. He was sent flying like a swatted fly, hurtling more than ten ters before crashing into the reeds.
The entire reed bed burst apart, sending mud and broken stalks in every direction.
“Rex—!”
Lillian charged forward.
The tongue blocked her path again.
Scarlet. More than ten ters long. It stretched between her and Rex like a burning wall. The barbs along it pointed toward her like countless knives.
When she moved left, it moved left. When she moved right, it moved right. The tongue seed to have eyes of its own, toying with her like a cat with a mouse.
She brought her sword down on it.
Frost burst from the blade. The ice spikes shattered into powder. Only a few faint white lines appeared on the tongue.
Lillian clenched her teeth, and the frost on the blade flared brighter again.
This ti it was colder, fiercer. The air around the sword itself began to freeze, letting out faint crackling sounds. Her face was pale from the chill, her lips tinged purple, but her eyes shone with frightening intensity.
She struck again, aiming for the exact sa spot as before. The edge slipped between the barbs and cut into the tongue’s rough outer hide.
At last, she opened a small wound.
It was not deep, only two or three inches, but a thick dark green blood seeped out, viscous as pus. When it dripped into the mud, it released a burst of acrid white smoke.
The smoke stank of rot. The mont it drifted into Lillian’s nose, she almost vomited up everything she had eaten that morning.
The thing let out a low growl.
It did not co from its mouth. It ca from deep inside its body, like thunder, like the rumbling of the earth itself, like ten thousand drums beating at once.
The sound made Lillian’s ears ring. Her vision darkened. For a mont, her mind went completely blank, and she almost lost her footing.
The tongue snapped back.
Then it changed direction.
It was no longer playing that ga of cat and mouse.
Instead, it lashed straight into the reeds.
Rex had only just struggled back out of the mud.
He was covered in muck from head to toe, his face plastered with it, but his eyes were still bright. The wound at his waist was still seeping blood, the red mixing with the mud and staining his clothes blackish crimson. He spat out a mouthful of muddy water, gripped his sword, and prepared to charge again.
Then he saw the tongue coming down at him.
It was too fast.
He had no chance to dodge. All he could do was raise his greatsword.
Bang!
The tongue struck the blade and sent him, sword and all, flying again. He crashed back into the reeds, flattened a wide stretch of them, and rolled several ters before stopping.
He struggled to rise, but his legs would not obey him. He braced himself with one hand, managed to lift half his body—
And fell back down again.
The tongue ca once more.
It lashed down from above with a screaming rush of air, like a crimson bolt of lightning.
Hearing the sound, Rex turned his head and saw it falling toward him.
He had no strength left to dodge.
He closed his eyes.
Boom!
A sound like two things colliding.
Rex opened his eyes and saw Lillian standing in front of him.
She was gripping her sword with both hands, the blade braced against that tongue. The tongue pressed down on the sword so hard it forced her entire body lower. Her knees bent. Her waist bent. Her whole body shook.
Her feet were sinking into the mud. Deeper and deeper. The mire had already swallowed her ankles, then her calves, and it was still dragging her down.
The sword was crying out.
Its blade had been bent into an arc, looking as though it would snap at any second. The frost-light on it flickered weakly, like the breathing of soone on the verge of death.
Rex saw her hands trembling.
Those pale, slender hands now had veins standing out beneath the skin. Her knuckles were white. The skin at her虎口 had split open, and blood was streaming down the hilt, dripping onto his face, warm.
“Miss... let go...”
Lillian did not turn around.
Her eyes were fixed on the tongue, on those crimson eyes. The two burning-red eyes were only a few ters away, like twin coals fresh from the fire, and she was caught fully within their gaze.
Her hands were trembling. Her legs were trembling. Her whole body was trembling.
But she did not retreat.
The force pressing down from the tongue grew heavier and heavier.
Lillian’s knees bent another inch. The mud had swallowed her knees now, then her thighs. The freezing sludge poured into her boots, soaked into her clothes.
Her whole body was being pressed downward, lower and lower, as though she were about to be crushed into the mud, into hell itself.
Her legs were shaking.
They were far too thin.
When she wore her long skirts, stepped along the academy corridors in high boots, and carried herself with all the bearing of a noble lady, everyone who saw her thought, The young lady of House Rosedale truly has presence.
But all of that was upheld by clothing and posture.
Strip away the elaborate skirts. Remove the polished elegance. Only then would people be startled to realize that she was, in truth, rely a fragile, slender girl, even a little shorter than other girls her age, with wrists so thin they looked as if they would snap at a bend, and legs so slight one might worry they could even support her weight.
Ordinarily, she walked with her chin raised high, those slim legs carrying her steadily, step after step, each one full of aristocratic poise.
But now those legs were buried in the mud, bent like a drawn bow under the pressure, trembling like reeds in the wind.
She could feel the muscles in them crying out.
Those muscles had been built by more than ten years of sword practice, by hundreds upon hundreds of laps in morning drills, by countless swings of heavy blades.
But in the face of real force, that thin layer of strength felt no thicker than paper.
Trembling.
Trembling violently.
Trembling so hard that she felt she would drop to her knees the next second.
The pressure on the sword continued to increase.
Her hands were trembling too.
Those hands were also too slender. Pale, long-fingered, with clear knuckles—the kind of hands made for playing the piano, for embroidery, for holding a cup of black tea and staring into space on a quiet afternoon.
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