Mistblade VS Wither
Across the scattered platforms surrounding the clock arena, every player watched Mistblade in silence.
They were looking at the current number one on the ladder.
Her pain was unmistakable. Her wounds were raw and ugly. Neither power nor status could ever truly heal them.
Across from her, the Undead Lord removed his black cloak.
His long black hair fell like silk. His face was pale, his fra thin enough that a strong wind might carry him away.
A glow appeared between Wither’s brows.
He did not answer Mistblade’s question. Instead, he asked his own.
"Do you know what my divine talent word is?"
Dragging his white bone scythe across the ground, he walked slowly toward her.
Then he answered himself.
"Sinblood."
"I’m not as honest as you. You never deny your sins. You never feel guilty about what you’ve done. Because you believe you don’t even have the right to feel guilt."
"I’m different. Every invasion, when I swing this scythe, my resolve is no weaker than yours. But after the war ends, I always repent like a coward."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"Even now, my divine talent word declares guilty."
Mistblade’s voice remained calm.
"Then do you plead guilty?"
"No. Of course not."
That was Wither’s answer.
It was also the final exchange between the moon fox and the undead.
The blood mist blade collided with the bone scythe.
The duel began.
Everyone understood one thing clearly.
If Mistblade won, she would certainly allow Divine Ga to execute twenty percent of the undead race.
Wither had many legitimate reasons for invasion. He had endless explanations and justifications.
Mistblade understood them all.
But what did that matter?
She did not care about those unavoidable circumstances.
She did not care if innocent lives were caught in the punishnt.
Uncharted Star Sea had given her a Mont of Vengeance.
All she needed to do was enjoy it.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sound of weapons striking echoed across the clock arena.
Rita urgently contacted BS.
"Rita: Use my honor points to buy two race conversion items. Contact Holy Cup. I know Dragon Island must have a solution. Ask her to visit the alchemy shop in Dark City of Lania Kaia and find Apache and Kayden. Have them change race imdiately. Anything except undead for now."
"Rita: Hurry. This must be done within ten minutes. I’ll pay her afterward."
"BS: Understood."
Even after issuing the order, Rita’s frown did not ease.
Twenty percent was not a large probability.
But she would never gamble Apache’s life on it.
A thought struck her. Rita contacted BS again.
"Rita: Buy ten. Give them all to Apache. Have them temporarily switch to non undead races and wait for my ssage. Tell her this concerns her and Kayden’s lives."
Rita avoided vague statents like trust and change your race.
If Apache did not take it seriously enough, the consequences would be fatal.
Still, this was only a precaution.
Rita could not guarantee Mistblade would win.
Mistblade had learned control techniques from Deceitful Bloom.
But according to earlier ssages in the battlefield chat, Wither’s instructor was most likely the Captain.
Rita’s gaze swept toward Wither.
A small white ship pendant hung from his belt.
Several other players on the field wore identical pendants.
At that mont, countless bone spikes erupted from the ground toward Mistblade.
The blood mist blade struck the ground.
Red mist exploded outward and turned into countless crimson threads that pierced the bone spikes.
In an instant the spikes reversed direction and shot toward Wither.
Then everything changed.
The spikes dissolved into waves.
The waves transford again into a faint mist like a thin veil.
The mist wrapped around Mistblade’s entire body.
Within a single breath, Mistblade understood the ability Wither had learned from his god.
Damage transfer.
Once the mist settled over her, Wither calmly stabbed himself dozens of tis with bone spikes.
Yet his health did not drop.
Mistblade’s did.
In a blink she had lost more than twenty points.
Mistblade’s expression darkened.
What a disgusting ability.
She had not planned to reveal the power she had realized from Prisoner so soon.
But now she had no choice.
She raised the blade beneath her green eyes.
The blood mist transford instantly into blue flas.
At the sa ti Wither’s hand went empty.
The bone spike he held turned into blue fire that engulfed his entire body.
His eyes slowly closed.
His arms fell naturally at his sides, as if a monk had entered ditation.
The mont the mist around Mistblade disappeared, she charged.
Prisoner.
A power that imprisoned the opponent’s thoughts.
How could soone who had stopped thinking use their skills?
Mistblade began harvesting Wither’s remaining health.
The blue flas flickered violently. The blood droplet light between his brows pulsed faintly.
Wither was trying to break free from Prisoner.
But every attempt failed.
Mistblade’s control was still immature. It lasted only five seconds.
But five seconds was enough.
Before they even used their abilities, they had already taken small amounts of health from each other.
Wither’s damage transfer had lasted less than three seconds yet stripped more than twenty points from Mistblade.
Now Mistblade’s five seconds were enough to push Wither’s health to a critical level.
Even if he woke now, it would be too late.
Her blade pierced through the undead lord’s vital point.
With only one point of health remaining, Wither seed about to say sothing.
Mistblade did not care to hear it.
The rules of this ga ensured battles ended quickly once they began.
From the mont she said, "All I want is to give the moon foxes who died in that war an answer," to the mont Wither collapsed unconscious before her, only seven minutes had passed.
The glowing na above the arena changed.
Snowfield Mistblade remained.
Lania Kaia Wither vanished.
Mistblade’s na dissolved into falling snow across the clock arena.
A voice echoed through the sky for every player to hear.
"Player Snowfield Mistblade, do you wish to execute twenty percent of the undead race?"
There was no hesitation.
No rcy.
She did not need praise for compassion.
She did not care how many regrets bound Wither and the undead.
Standing in the snow, the Moon Emperor answered clearly.
"Execute."
At this mont she was not Lania Kaia Mistblade.
She was not BS Mistblade.
She was Mistblade of Snowfield.
All she wanted was to bring this answer back to the graves of Snowfield.
But another voice echoed through the sky.
"Player Lania Kaia Wither has activated ability Sinblood and will bear the punishnt for twenty percent of the undead race."
"Player Snowfield Mistblade will receive thirty percent of Lania Kaia Wither’s attributes, fifty percent of his wealth including equipnt and items, and fifty percent of his honor points. You may also seize one of his divine gift skills."
Mistblade stood silently on the clock arena with her blade in hand.
After a long ti, she let out a short laugh.
It sounded like relief.
It sounded like bitterness.
It sounded like mockery.
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