On a snow-laden mountainside, Ling Xuewei stood upon a white field, her right hand lightly pinching a blue‑haired woman’s throat. Her once violet eyes had gone ashen, like embers drowned in frost. Around her, no breath, no birdsong—only a reaper’s hush settling like a shroud.
“Cough… I thought you’d only sensed who you are,” Qing Feng Yuelian said with a bitter smile. “Didn’t expect you to already rein in your native power. Truly a Holy Maiden who wields the power to open the Gate. If you fully awaken, few in this world could stop you.”
Xuewei’s face barely shifted. She didn’t need to act; a gray‑white breath gnawed at Qing Feng Yuelian’s spiritual avatar like ice eating old bark.
“So, you learned your identity long ago,” Yuelian murmured. “Not only bending the power of death with ease, but wearing a mask in daily life… heh. But the one you care about—does she know?”
Anger pricked like a needle under cold skin. Her voice stayed chill. “Shut up.”
“When she learns what you are, do you think you two can live as before?”
Xuewei’s expression loosened; her grip tightened, snow‑hard and unyielding, as if Yuelian truly stood before her. She knew even if she shattered this avatar, the original would remain untouched.
“But your strength still isn’t enough…” Qing Feng Yuelian’s gaze held a quiet weight, like moonlight on deep water.
As the Key to Hell, the princess meant to bring new birth to this world—stopping here won’t do.
“Enough to send you on your way.”
Yuelian laughed softly. “If you really could kill me, I’d be delighted. In fact… I look forward to the day you come for my head.”
“That’s enough chatter. You can stay here and watch what happens to that little one beside you, or… go see her one last time.” Her smile lingered; Xuewei’s anger thickened, almost becoming substance in the air.
Then Yuelian’s avatar unraveled, like mist in a cold wind.
“…I’ll kill you.” Xuewei’s spirit, already frayed, finally snapped. Her gaze dimmed; her body trembled, and she turned toward Starfate City. The Iceflame Spear in her hand had lost its glow, like a star gone cold. In the next breath she vanished, leaving only a field of dead silence.
…
In the forest near Heavenly Melody Academy, Qing Feng Yuelian sat cross‑legged and let out a soft hum. “Lost that fast? Seems the script drifted,” she said, voice thin as drifting snow.
“Tsk, a pack of pests.” Her crescent brows tightened. “Losing a third of my divine sense… this barrier’s getting hard to hold.”
As the barrier faltered, Fang Zhe and the others seized a once‑in‑an‑age opening and pried a gap like a cracked ice sheet.
“Heh, my turn!” Yanfengle’s face shone with raw confidence. With the One True God’s blessing, mana flooded him like sunrise over the sea. He even felt he could beat that Vampire head‑on.
He had more than might. He’d shamelessly begged the goddess for a fitting weapon—a golden‑bladed sword. The blade amplified his fire and light, and its built‑in effects gleamed like runes on molten gold—a proper Divine Artifact for stylish flexing.
As the barrier split, Yanfengle shouted, “Now!” and slashed, his sword a flash like lightning through glass.
A heartbeat later, he slipped free of the transparent barrier. Freedom rushed in like salt wind; he grinned, joy bright as flame. Since that bargain goddess told him the woman maintaining the barrier couldn’t act, he’d craved an even fight—especially with that Vampire who chased him last time. Otherwise this limited‑time buff was a waste. Right now he felt like a god.
“Honestly? Everyone here is trash—none of you can—”
“Trash your damn mouth! Move your ass, idiot!” Fang Zhe detonated, curses spraying like sparks, watching that clown heckle mid‑escape.
“…”
At least let me finish flexing… sob, sob. Yanfengle cried inside, face tight with frustration, then turned to leave Starfate City, cloak snapping like a flame‑tongue.
At that moment, someone among the onlookers finally moved. Fan Chen stepped in to block, and Edgar hurled curses as a blood‑red giant claw swept down like a storming hawk.
The old Yanfengle would’ve bolted, head in hands. But now…
He flicked his right hand. The golden blade flashed; a sword‑arc cleaved the blood claw, which unraveled above him like smoke in wind.
Yanfengle’s lips curved; he shot Edgar a playful look. “That all?”
For Edgar, that taunt was a lit fuse to a powder keg. He couldn’t beat the mermaid—that was fine. Being sneered at by the Flower of the Other Shore’s priest—that was fine. Being despised by a duke of the Radiant Empire—that was fine. But this brat not even one percent his age—what right did he have to mock him? That same punk had poked him again and again last time, like a keyboard warrior spamming question marks in public.
This time, Edgar snapped. Yanfengle had broken his guard.
He surged into Blood Rage, second stage. A Vampire’s extreme speed and brutal strength howled to their peak; the air cracked with sonic booms like thunder in a bottle. The inexperienced Yanfengle was hammered into the ground in one hit.
“Cough—how did he just—” Before Yanfengle finished, Edgar blurred to his side, a blood‑soaked right fist driving in like a falling meteor.
If Yanfengle hadn’t raised his guard in time against a blow that could shatter earth, he’d be coughing blood already.
Yanfengle dragged a cold breath through his teeth to steady himself. His eyes hardened; his right hand clenched the blade. “Don’t push your luck, bastard!”
Any word from Yanfengle was oil on Edgar’s fire. Edgar piled on power; dark‑red blood unfurled like living tendrils, harrying Yanfengle’s steps. The space around them trembled lightly with each punch, like water quivering under distant thunder.
Thankfully, that bargain goddess had shoved a few sword tricks into his head. Unreliable, sure—but useful. Under the Vampire’s blitz, Yanfengle could barely keep up, blade flashing like a desperate lighthouse.
But Yanfengle had a spine. Being pressed this hard stoked his anger, a coal blown to flame. His hands swung faster; each slash grew steadier, truer—steel learning its song as sparks stitched the air.
