“Name?” The Bull-Headed Priest let out a thin laugh, like a blade skimming stone. “We might never cross paths again, boats in fog. Do names really matter?”
Tangxue fixed on his bull mask, gaze like ice on iron; the air tightened, a bowstring drawn to snapping.
Cold fury surged first, then her voice cut like sleet. “You’re betting I don’t dare strike?!”
“Whoa, whoa!” The Bull-Headed Priest shrank back, bravado draining like sand. “I’m truly afraid to fight you. Earlier was just a tap to test the water. Why risk a battle that could wreck the Duskmoon Empire? Let’s both step back. Besides, that ‘blood core’ is useless to you.”
His tone rang earnest, fear fluttering like a trapped bird; he genuinely dreaded this small loli going off like a winter storm.
Teeth clenched, Tangxue glared a beat, then let the breath fall from her chest, frost sighing into air.
“Release Qianyue. Then get out.”
He chuckled, a bone-flute warble echoing off shadowed walls, eerie and bright.
“Wise choice. Rest easy, Miss Tangxue. Next time, I’ll tell you my name myself.”
He lifted a hand in farewell, voice soft as smoke. “So, see you. And for the sake of my poor, adorable colleague, a tip… spend more time with your family.”
He tossed Qianyue toward Tangxue, then turned and slipped through space like ink through silk, ready to vanish.
As for the ‘blood core’? He’d palmed it from the start; this chat was courtesy, a fan flutter in a storm.
Tangxue’s temper flared back, a frost bloom cracking stone; she shaped an ice bow in a heartbeat and loosed an arrow, moon-cold and needle-sharp.
Feeling the shaft spear his back, the bull-headed figure panicked, hooves of thought scattering; he dove headlong into space’s rippling veil.
A scream tore out, raw and high, a butcher’s shriek echoing in the dim. Gender blurred, the sound still sliced sweet as vengeance in Tangxue’s ears.
“Count yourself lucky you ran fast!” Tangxue punched the fading air with a small fist. “Next time, I’m snapping your horns.”
Far from Solitary Shadow City, on a ridge like a knife’s back, the Bull-Headed Priest slumped against rock, breath ragged, steam in cold night.
“Almost botched it…” He peeled off his mask, revealing a fine-boned face, moon-pale and taut.
From his right hand he drew a dim red crystal, like dusk trapped in glass; satisfaction curled his lips.
“Good, good. This hue’s perfect as an offering to open the Holy Gate. Data’s in hand; mission, clean.”
He and Qianya stood at True God level, yet his Authority fell short of Qianya’s Word-Sorcery; his power wasn’t forged for war, though it had steel in it.
Omniscience—that was his Authority, a sky-wide eye and earth-deep ear, foreseeing tomorrow and knowing yesterday’s dust.
Yet foresight wears chains; his threads of future fray at edges. Still, most paths were clear enough.
Today’s neat finish came from peeking ahead at the day like turning pages; only the last step snagged on thorns.
“Hiss… that ice arrow hits like midwinter lightning. Good thing I ran.”
He eyed the frost-buried arrow lodged in his left hand, then hardened his breath; one clean stroke took the arm, and the wound sealed like closing petals.
He knew her craft—better to lose a limb than nurse that strange chill inside; some debts you cut free.
Innate Deities are born with singular Authorities, star-marks on the soul. In his foresight, countless deaths bloomed from clashing head-on with her—a field of ruin.
“Time to report. Lingering here invites wolves.”
Light flared, a white blade; he vanished from the peak like a lamp snuffed.
In the sanctuary of the Flower of the Other Shore, a gray-haired girl in robes knelt before the Holy Gate, prayers flowing like water under ice.
Space rippled open, a wormhole blooming like a dark lotus; the Bull-Headed Priest stepped out, one arm missing, dignity frayed like old silk.
“Back?” The gray-haired girl asked softly, voice still water; she didn’t rise, her prayer a calm river.
“Yes… Bishop, the task’s perfectly done. Here’s the ‘blood core’ taken from that Vampire.”
He offered the crystal with both reverence and dust-worn hands, light trembling across its blood-red heart.
“Good. Place it beside the Holy Gate.” Her voice held no surprise, a bell tolling softly.
“What about what I asked you to handle?”
“Perfectly completed, Bishop.” Respect weighted his words, like stones steadying a shrine.
“The Innate Deity’s state looks bad. Her strength is still shallow, but her mind’s fraying. If it keeps going, she may lose control.”
“Bishop, we need to move our plan forward.” His tone hardened, iron under velvet.
“Mm…” The gray-haired girl plucked a flower at random from the bundles by the Gate, fingers light as wind.
“Should I send someone else to the Beastkin side?” Her hesitation flickered like a candle. “It’s your homeland; ordering your own kind to bleed is…”
“No problem!” His thrill flashed, embers leaping. “Please entrust it to me, Bishop.”
“Very well.” She tossed a crimson Flower of the Other Shore into the air; it drifted down, slow as snow, to his waiting hand.
His gaze burned, watching this blossom that might wither any moment; excitement rippled in his pupils like fire on wine.
With this flower, he could lead his people…
“You understand the next steps, yes? To reach our aim, we must stabilize the Innate Deity’s mind. No more letting her spiral.”
“The Sacred Spirit Fruit on the Elf Clan’s ancestral tree—we need to get that truth to her.”
“Rest easy, Bishop. I guarantee a perfect finish.”
“All right. You may go.” She flicked her wrist, a willow’s grace.
“Yes!”
Once he left, the gray-haired girl let her prayer fall silent. She rose and yawned, ankle-length hair tied into a ponytail, then walked toward the Holy Gate like a shadow crossing water.
Innate divine body. God-tier blood core. Souls by the hundred thousand. Holy Maiden. Hell Gate.
“So far, the keys for God-Ascension—body, offerings, souls—are nearly in place. Now we wait for the moment to descend. Finally… finally, I can leave this sealed plane.”
She rested her palm on the Gate, absent-minded, eyes reflecting a world that once breathed open skies and unbroken roads.
If… if she hadn’t chosen to stay back then, would it have been better?
