Boiling bloodwater and nameless beast-roars echoed by Edlyn’s ears like a drowned chorus.

She summoned the Demon Sword Ashill into her grip, eyes cold, gaze pinned forward like frost on steel.

In the blood-red sky, countless unknown chunks drifted like torn islets; look closely and they all angled toward her like carrion to heat.

In the next heartbeat, six colossal statues nearby seemed to wake, stone lungs inhaling the reek of blood.

Their eyes, lacquered with bloodwater, fixed on Edlyn; her heart tightened, and manic demonic qi erupted, purging the malign pressure seeping from those six figures.

She glanced back; Angela was gone, her silhouette swallowed by the red haze.

Edlyn narrowed her eyes, a thin blade of resolve in a field of ruin.

So this trial was on her alone—good; at least it wouldn’t drag Angela into the storm.

Hope she’s not scared out there by herself; the thought flickered, then died—no time now.

Before her, the skyborne masses crashed down, forming a loose ring like hunters circling their prey.

They were hills of piled bones, corpse-mountains built from countless remains, a bleached geography of death.

As they hit, bloodwater sluiced over the scattered shards, knotting them with energy, knitting fragment to fragment into lumbering monsters.

They growled, low and rasping; empty sockets kindled red flames, and as the bloodwater thickened, they shuffled toward Edlyn like a tide.

Calm anchored her; she didn’t budge, a lone pine in a storm of bones.

Her demonic qi stopped raging and crouched like a tiger ready to pounce, stripes of power coiled tight.

She locked eyes on the horde, sight a blade, breath a drumbeat.

Ashir shivered; a surge of power flew along its edge, a dark wind riding steel.

A gray-black wave rippled out from Edlyn, circles spreading like ink in water.

She stayed rooted, while the ground beneath fractured and webbed outward like cracked ice.

The skeletal things brandished weapons forged from bloodwater, snarling like rusted hinges.

The shock of qi only shoved them back a little—no more; the sea of bones kept coming.

Edlyn held Ashir and watched coldly as the bone-crowd closed in, a wall of clicking teeth.

One skeleton moved fastest, reached her side—then vanished as an unseen force crushed it to powder midair.

It did nothing to deter the others; they marched on, fearless, obedience carved into marrow.

Edlyn’s gaze stayed on the six statues that stared back; they seemed truly inert, eyes like sealed wells.

No matter how many bones her aura shattered, the six only pinned her with that eerie, unmoving gaze.

Edlyn sighed; Ashir answered, blade flashing free like winter lightning.

Razorlight tore through the pressing bones, bone-dust snowing into bloodwater.

More corpse-mountains kept flying in from the sky, a grim rain of death.

They crashed nearby and reknit into skeletons that trudged toward her, a factory line of war.

Edlyn danced her long sword; qi and sword-gleam leapt and flickered through the dead like foxfire.

Where she passed, brittle bone shattered, ribs ringing like broken bamboo.

Her face didn’t change; killing as she moved, she headed for the six statues like a shadow drawn to stone.

Just as she thought it would be simple, behind her, shards not ground to powder were reforged by bloodwater into a towering skeleton.

It strode forward, a hand dozens of times her size smashing down to sever the path like a falling gate.

The beast roared and charged again, footsteps booming like drums.

It crushed bones underfoot; each broken piece flowed into it, bulking its frame stronger, a fortress of carrion.

Edlyn slipped past a small skeleton’s slash, then kicked it apart and sprang forward off its shards like a hawk off a cliff.

The giant skeleton whipped both arms toward her midair, a net of bone sweeping the sky.

Edlyn raised Ashir before her, blade a violet line in red wind.

“Godshatter.” Purple lightning danced on Ashir as she gripped the blade with both hands, thunder caught in metal.

She swung a horizontal cut at the colossus; destruction hummed like a song.

Vast demonic qi meshed with Ashir’s violet lightning in a strange cadence; a ruinous beam scattered the giant again—boom.

At its place, bloodwater exploded outward like a burst vein.

Edlyn traced a defensive array before her, a spinning sigil, and blocked the splashing blood like a shield of glass.

Then she pulsed forward, racing toward the statues, footsteps a heartbeat in storm.

There were too many monsters here, a field that never thinned.

Countless corpse-hills still fell from the sky, an iron rain with bone wings.

Once down, they became wave after wave of skeletons, not strong—far weaker than the Black Demons the Demon Race uses as fodder.

But the numbers were obscene, a sea that didn’t end.

And fearless—no, they barely stayed dead; the grave had a hinge.

Look—the one she scattered was slowly knitting together again, vertebrae threading like beads.

Edlyn glanced back; everywhere her eyes touched, it was packed with bones, a white forest.

She grit her teeth. So this trial wasn’t about wiping them out—that was impossible.

In this special barrier, aside from monsters and the bloody heaps above, only the six statues felt strange, like anchors in a storm.

“Directional Dash.” Edlyn leveled Ashir; swordlight tangled with qi, a comet tail in a red sea.

It burned distinct through the heaps, a single stroke against chaos.

From above, a violet blade kept thrusting through a blood-red flood, a fish of lightning carving the current.

“Breaking out is harder than it looks.” Her swordlight vanished; she sprinted straight ahead, breath tight, eyes narrow.

In a stray instant, she slipped; a nearby skeleton clipped her, a knuckle of bone like iron.

Her forearm bruised, then the hit tunneled a needling pain into her brain, cold fire via vein.

Edlyn grunted, nearly dropping, knees soft as new snow.

“Poison... already?” She stared at the wound on her right arm, incredulous, a chill crawling up.

She unfolded her field again, vibration shredding the bones near her to dust, air humming like wires.

She tied torn cloth over the wound, switched Ashir to her other hand, and pushed forward, teeth clenched, stride hard.

Behind, the shattered bones had converged into a monster larger than the six statues, a walking mountain.

It barreled toward her, strides eating distance like wolves.

Its steps were massive; it closed fast, wind dragging bone along.

Edlyn ignored it; ahead stood the closest statue, cold stone like a door.

The giant slammed a palm at her, shadow swallowing light.

Edlyn reached toward the statue at the same instant, fingers splayed for purchase.

What happened shocked her; the stone was not a door but a wall.

She’d thought she could break through—yet the statue blasted a huge rebound, slinging her small frame back the way she came like a snapped bowstring.

The giant’s palm missed and struck the statue’s feet; impact rang like a bell.

Then the giant reacted as if struck from within; it erupted and blew apart, bone shrapnel hissing.

The rebound flung Edlyn dozens of meters before she hit a boulder and stopped, breath torn, ribs aching.

She panted hard, staring at the blown-apart giant, confusion pooling like fog.

Edlyn frowned. “What... in the world is happening?!”

After weeks and a string of teleport arrays, Eli and Liqianyu finally reached the Alfred Great Snow Mountain.

Once the Miter Empire—now territory of the Demon Race, peaks like old kings in white robes.

Liqianyu looked around. “Uh... why are we back here?” His breath smoked in the cold.

Eli smiled. “I’m here to find something I forgot.” His tone was light, eyes shadowed.

“Huh? Something you forgot here? When we left, the place we stayed had been torn down.” Liqianyu was puzzled, gaze flicking like a sparrow.

“Uh... just wanted to look around.” Eli chuckled, shrug a flake in the wind.

He’d told Liqianyu he’d forgotten things, but he didn’t even know which part was missing, leaving Liqianyu baffled, questions piling like snow.

Of course, Liqianyu would never guess he’d forgotten the tiny, ever-adorable girl who used to cling to him, a warm lamp in winter.

“Hmm? I remember this place was held by the Demon Race. Why is it nothing but empty cities now?” Liqianyu frowned, scanning ruins like husks.

“The Demon Race... who knows. Maybe they’re cooking up something messy before a comeback.” Eli shrugged, unconcerned, confidence like a cloak.

He’d crushed the Demon Race in his last life; this life would be no different—so he believed, memory a missing stair.

Also, a Memory Crystal seemed hidden somewhere here, a glint under ice.

Back then he’d been too weak; he searched for ages and found nothing, only a whisper like a cold thread.

Only a strange resonance—this time, he’d at least found the spot that felt wrong, a knot in the land.

That was all he could recall. Once this was done, he’d head back to the Draco Empire—that was the trip’s end, the final mile.

Finding outside support for the Elf Race would wait until he was home, plans folded like maps.

With Liqianyu in tow, they sauntered across the snowfield, boots crunching, wind combing their hair.

Liqianyu kept scanning and nodding. “Aside from being dirtier than before, nothing seems wrecked. Are Demon Race folk really this... nice?” he asked, confused, words steaming in the cold.