The red glow folded inward like cupped embers, the terror bled away, yet the omen in the sky still hung like a scar.

Qianya flickered like a swallow’s shadow and dropped to Tangxue’s side.

"Tangxue, you alright?!" Her voice drew tight like a bowstring.

"No..." Tangxue shook her head, soft as snow but firm. "Crimson Goose is dead. The city’s been ground to rubble."

"As long as you’re fine." Relief loosened in Qianya like a knot undone.

"Before I came back, I checked. Most residents had already left. Stones can rise again; as long as people live, there’s a future."

Tangxue’s gaze wavered like wind on water, then steadied. "Qianya, I want to ask— you..."

Wind pricked. A third presence bloomed around them like a cold flower.

"Who’s there?!"

Qianya swept her eyes across the ruins, sharp as frost. At her side, a dozen elemental spears formed, pure essence gleaming like icicles.

"Ah, ah... esteemed Miss Vinoina, don’t be so fierce. I’ve no hostility toward you." A blended voice, male and female together, echoed like mist.

Then, where Crimson Goose had fallen, a bull-masked humanoid floated, sitting on air like a scarecrow perched on wind.

"Heh... on behalf of the Flower of the Other Shore, this humble one congratulates Her Majesty of the Duskmoon Empire on ascending to true god-tier. Not easy at all, is it? Miss Qianya, your two-thousand-year wish blooms at last."

The tone was flat, but the words carried thorns.

"I don’t care who you are. If you show up now, you’re an enemy of the Duskmoon Empire." Qianya’s gaze cut upward at the yellow-robed bull-mask like winter steel.

"Tangxue, leave this to me. Be careful."

Tangxue nodded, then slipped away like mist to search for Qianyue.

Frustration tightened like wire, but she knew she couldn’t help. Not dragging things down was already a win.

Once Tangxue left, Qianya locked onto the gray eyes beneath the bull mask, cold as ash.

"Your mana wave is at least proto-god. Power enough to awe the continent, yet you hide behind cloth and a mask. Since when did the Flower of the Other Shore raise a neither-male-nor-female priest like you?"

"Heh... seems Her Majesty knows rather much." The bull-masked priest laughed softly, sand in wind. "This humble priest is indeed one of the Flower’s three high priests—newly appointed. No prestige, so I took the task no one dared touch."

Qianya said nothing; her stare grew colder, like glass rimed with ice.

"Ah... looks like you don’t want idle talk. Then I’ll be long-winded. I came for the ‘blood core’ in Prince Crimson Goose. It’s useless to Your Majesty. Why not let me have it?"

[Authority: Word-Spirit]

"Thunder..."

Qianya’s lips parted. In the red sky, golden thunder unfurled, tens of meters wide, and the bolt split the bull priest into drifting ash.

"Word-Spirit, hm? Such a familiar Authority." His body re-knit within the ashes like smoke gathering. "I’ve seen it among other Blood Elf royals. Yours is weaker than theirs."

"Inferno!"

Heaven-scorching flame fell like a burning cage, covering the priest’s range. Chains of fire stacked layer on layer, sealing space like iron vines.

"Exile..."

A black hole bloomed and swallowed the chained space, night eating night.

"Ah? Three forbidden spells, each tinged with divinity, one after another. Are you proving your strength, Your Majesty?"

"Rather than keep wasting divine might on bombardment, why not consider my proposal?"

Silence pooled like ink.

"Come out."

The Word-Spirit rippled. Qianya’s body trembled like a reed, and space convulsed, tearing with a howl as a figure was yanked from the rip.

It was the bull-masked priest.

The two priests on scene sighed together, twin flutes in a gray wind. "We thought we could muddle through. Didn’t expect Your Majesty to catch on so fast."

Qianya’s eyes narrowed at the one she had dragged out. "Phase Shift. Didn’t expect you to wield a spell lost to time."

"Heh... you flatter me. I’ve just lived long, learned many arts."

The two bull-masked priests snapped their fingers, then flowed into one, shadows merging like ink in water.

"Well then, will Your Majesty rerun those forbidden magics again?"

Silence. Frost deepened.

"Easy, easy... This humble one doesn’t want a death match. It benefits neither of us. And stray thunder may hurt others."

A phantom screen bloomed like a dark lotus. In a black space, a white-haired little girl lay unconscious, locked inside.

It was Qianyue.

"If you don’t want her to die, better weigh my offer."

"Qianyue!!!"

Tangxue burst out like a storm, eyes blazing. She swept her spear in a horizontal arc, wind singing at steel.

Facing Qingsheng Tangxue, the bull-masked priest finally stopped dodging. Black-and-white enchantment layered his right hand like yin and yang, and he reached for the incoming tip.

Frostwhisper had shaped that ice lance, its point able to freeze all in an instant—yet his right hand stopped it like stone halting river.

Tangxue’s heart stuttered like a sparrow mid-flight. She could hardly believe it.

[Forbidden: Soul-Devour Rite]

"A lost forbidden divine art! Tangxue, watch it! Don’t clash head-on—this strikes at the soul!" Qianya’s shout cracked with urgency, lightning in rain.

No—too late.

"Void."

Qianya loosed another Word-Spirit. When it fell silent, she looked drained, pale as paper.

"Qianya, what’s wrong?!"

Tangxue flew to her and caught her, steadying her like hands catching snow.

The bull-masked priest spoke lightly, voice calm as cold water. "Word-Spirit makes words into law. It can change heaven and earth, call the dead back, if your mana is vast enough."

"Such Authority appears only in beings with deep magical roots, because invoking Word-Spirit costs more mana than most forbidden spells."

"Your dear sister burned a great flood of magic to cancel that forbidden art for you. Now—do you think you can still stop me?"

"My terms stand as before. Each side takes a step back. I take the ‘blood core’ from Prince Crimson Goose, and I release your sister. Then we part ways. How’s that?"

"...What’s your name?" Tangxue asked, sudden and steady, her gaze sharp as ice.