The jeweled crystal blossoms turned ghostlike, the once-stable Aether shivering like disturbed water and trying to peel away from Aphelia’s body.
Aphelia’s eyes flew open. With her link to Aether cut, she felt hollow, like a snuffed lantern, left with only flesh-and-bone strength.
If this iron legion’s power stayed to brawling, she could weather it like thunder with bare knuckles.
Yet—
Behind the steel soldiers and giant beasts, vast arrays flared like rising moons; elemental torrents and Arcane Power storms coiled in midair.
Even severed from Aether, instinct screamed; one brush with that would drown her, strip her of resistance.
Yet in the observation chamber, Merlin stayed silent, watching the enemy surge like a tide; even Aphelia felt her scalp prickle with cold.
A cold-flashing blade already cleaved for her face. In her eyes, its motion dragged to the limit; with no room to think, her fist exploded.
The heavy-looking plate warped under that punch like soft tin. Aphelia became a streak of light, darting ahead.
The soldier’s common iron, in her grip, felt like a divine blade, ripping a seam in the iron flood.
Her familiar Ancient Martial Flow returned to her hands, a tiger leaping into a flock, raising blood-mist wave after wave through the ranks.
The chanting mages drew her focus; iron blades, in her hands, coiled into spiral lances that pinned them to the earth one by one.
ROAR!!!
The massive beasts roared in fury; this small figure had ignored their bulwarks, killing the mages hiding behind their hulks—how could their rage not flare like wildfire?
Pitch-black beam cannons sprayed from their maws; the warped force raised her gooseflesh like icy needles.
She bent in midair on reflex, springing aside, brushing past the black beams.
As she touched down, she rolled without hesitation. Another black beam fell like a meteor, detonating around her; shards sprayed, burying her silhouette.
Then several more black beams hammered down, a killing rain trying to erase Aphelia to ash.
Before the beasts could launch a second volley, spiral lances spun from twisted blades and bored through the black beams, then through beast skulls.
A figure burst from the shadowed pillar; twin knives dragged searing fire through the air, cleaving at the beast behind.
With that brutal cut, the beast crashed down; Aphelia’s knives couldn’t bear her force and fell into molten iron.
She barely paused. Aphelia sprang again, both fists crashing onto another beast’s skull; crisp bone-snap rang like breaking ice.
Even Violet on the observation deck flinched in shock.
Violet’s voice trembled like a taut wire. “Ma—Master Merlin, has Aphelia’s raw strength grown this terrifying? Did you awaken her body on purpose?”
Before, with Aether, she hadn’t flaunted such brute power, her strength kept like a sheathed blade.
Now, severed from Aether, pure technique let her press these higher-tier beasts like a stormwind.
“Of course not. Flesh alone, no matter how strong, can’t withstand a tide of armies.”
“I laced the potion to sever her Aether sense; only in peril does her strength bloom. Every time, it’s like this.”
“Time’s too short; I had to choose this bitter remedy.”
Merlin shook his head and drew a long breath, cold as winter.
He watched the silver-white figure carve through the field; on barren earth, blood-blossoms opened and withered.
Even the space-spawned monsters began to flag; under Aphelia’s hands, the legions were cut in half, while new ranks kept birthing.
But Merlin only watched in stillness, unbothered if she wiped the legions; he murmured, like counting prayer beads under his breath.
On the field, Aphelia raised her blades again, moving like a dancer leaving the floor, searching for seams in the steel flood.
Even with a True God’s past strength, surrounded by high-tier legions, she began to feel her limbs heavy.
Without control of Aether, Aphelia had lost a True God’s crown of power.
Even the strongest flesh burns out; repeated slaughter in this pocket space blurred her sense of time like rain on glass.
Just then, instinct pricked her like a spark; she rolled forward hard.
An archaic greatsword speared through her armor, etching a red line across her belly.
Her twin knives left her hands, darting toward the shadow that had rushed her from behind.
Metal clashed in a chiming storm; the figure’s breath pressed closer, like a cold wall.
Aphelia bit down hard; a thread of pure white glimmer slid along her blades as she stabbed toward the assailant.
But as Aphelia saw the archaic greatsword, shock crackled through her.
“Oz?!”
The armored figure didn’t answer; he parried in silence and slid the distance open.
A silver-white faceplate erased his features; chains uncoiled from the sword’s guard, weaving into a shield gripped tight.
Through the visor’s shadowed eyes, Aphelia felt killing intent curl out like black smoke.
Aphelia wouldn’t get careless; she’d already gathered strength like a coiled spring, eyes locked on Oz, blade tucked at her hip.
At that moment, Merlin on the observation deck tapped his staff; silver radiance slipped through the array like moonlight, seeping into the space.
Even Violet beside him didn’t notice.
The Oz-like shadow moved. He was fast, an arrow loosed; she was faster, a lightning cut.
In her eyes, Oz moved slow as drifting ash.
She gripped her blade; body-born technique rewove itself and slit the air.
But this time, no pure white glow rose—only the blade’s cold gleam cut the space.
Their figures crossed; yet it wasn’t Oz who fell—it was Aphelia, dropping like a torn petal.
Another savage cut scored her shoulder; her blade was molten slag.
Her arm was scored with bloody lines; chains had embedded in her skin like barbed thorns.
Pain flared in her forearm like fire; the chains carried toxins or spells, keeping her wounds from knitting.
As she moved to sever them, Oz’s shadow rushed again, the archaic greatsword carving straight for her neck.
Aphelia wanted to break away, but the chains seemed fused to flesh; any force tugged them, dragging Oz in like a hooked predator.
With no choice, Aphelia threw her fists up to guard.
The incoming blade carried grave weight; each clash etched marks on her knuckles.
It didn’t slice her skin, but it stuttered her motion, letting the blade carve fresh wounds along her body.
The vast legions tightened like obeyed orders, ringed them into a round coliseum.
Blades leveled at Aphelia; one step out, and cold-lit steel would fall like hail, gifting Oz an opening.
Clearly, pure technique couldn’t pry her free from this endless formation; the observers saw it, and Aphelia felt it in her bones.
But—
Violet’s whisper drifted like wind. “Master Merlin, is this really alright…?”
Watching Aphelia sink step by step into a dead end, Violet’s worry pooled cold in her chest.
This wave stood far above the past; severed from Aether, Aphelia was on the back foot, likely to be bled out by attrition.
But this time, Merlin didn’t answer; he squinted, watching Aphelia take hits, his staff still pouring silver light, as if waiting like a fisherman for the strike.
Beside him, the tower spirit stayed silent too, her gaze wavering like a candle, unsure whether to step in and urge Merlin.
Shock flashed through her like cold water. “How… he’s getting stronger!”
She knocked aside the incoming blade and threw a stored-strength punch, smashing into Oz’s faceplate and denting the helm deep.
After the strike, she sucked a cold breath at her own mangled knuckles, shock flickering through her.
Across from her, Oz only rolled his neck; bone-sounds clicked inside the armor, as if the crooked head weren’t his.
He twitched the chains, raised the shield, and charged like a bull at Aphelia.
Aphelia moved to answer with Ancient Martial Flow, but the chains embedded in her arm yanked with brutal force.
Even with a True God-level body, she was jerked hard; fatigue bit, and her feet stumbled, baring the weak line of her back.
Oz covered the gap in a blink; his heavy archaic greatsword rose high without a flicker of doubt.
Like a cold executioner, he brought a blood-tinged wind as the weight fell for Aphelia’s neck.
