Phoebe tumbled out of the blinding white light, her body crashing onto the hard ground. The gravel dug painfully into her back.
The massive axe in her hand, Rock-Crushing Mountain, slipped from her grasp and skidded away, its blade scraping against the stones with a harsh, grating screech.
Lying prone on the barren ground, she snapped her eyes open and pushed herself up with her arms.
Before her lay a completely unfamiliar wilderness. Withered, yellow grass stretched from beneath her feet to a distant ridge, and a few stunted, crooked trees stood lonely on the hillside.
Dusk was approaching, and dark purple clouds blanketed the entire sky.
The air was dry. There was none of the damp, musty smell that permanently clung to the dungeon, nor was there any trace of Bai Xuan's comforting scent.
She propped herself up and sat straight, looking down at the hem of her skirt. The dark dress hid most of the blood, but the fabric her fingertips brushed against was stiff and dry—it was Bai Xuan's blood, long since dried.
Fragmented memories flooded her mind. The instant half of his body was torn apart, warm blood had erupted, splattering across her cheeks, her neck, and the hem of her dress. The scalding sensation still seemed to linger on her skin.
She fumbled in her pocket for the Speed-Shift Scroll, clutching it tightly in her palm. Closing her eyes, she poured a steady stream of mana into it. The scroll flickered with a faint, fragmented golden light, only to die out a moment later.
Refusing to give up, she repeatedly channeled her mana into it, but there was still no reaction.
She did not know how to use the scroll properly, but driven by sheer obsession, she tried again and again. It was only when her mana was nearly depleted, her head spinning with dizziness, and her fingers trembling uncontrollably that the scroll finally slipped from her weak palm and fell to the ground.
It was useless. She couldn't go back.
She reached out to pull Rock-Crushing Mountain back to her side, hugging it tightly against her chest. Her silver-white hair cascaded over her shoulders, veiling most of her face.
Phoebe curled up, pulling her knees to her chest. Suppressed tremors racked her entire body, and quiet, broken sobs squeezed from the depths of her throat.
She had no idea how long she cried there alone. Her tears had run dry, leaving her eyes burning and dry, filled with a profound sense of helplessness and despair.
The evening wind swept across the wilderness in gusts, lifting her messy silver hair up and down. She slowly raised her head, gazing toward the hazy, gray horizon.
The final three words Bai Xuan had left her floated up from the depths of her memory, becoming her sole lifeline in this drowning state.
Myriad City!
She did not know where this city was located, which direction she should take, or if she could even make it there safely. But this was Bai Xuan's final request, and her only destination.
Phoebe vigorously wiped away the remaining tear tracks on her face, carefully folded the crumpled scroll, and tucked it securely against her body.
She bent down to pick up Rock-Crushing Mountain, hoisting the heavy axe onto her shoulder as she stood.
The twilight breeze rustled her silver hair, sending it swaying gently. She looked up, picked a direction at random, and began to walk.
She had no idea if this path led to Myriad City, but staying in this place for even a second longer felt as though the grief and despair building up inside would swallow her whole.
Only by moving forward could she keep her weeping suppressed. No matter where she went, she just couldn't stop walking.
After walking aimlessly for an unknown amount of time, an unusual sound carried on the wind.
The crisp clanging of clashing metal, the heavy thuds of iron weapons cleaving, and the fierce roars and sounds of human combat.
Phoebe stopped. She listened intently for a moment, gripped the massive axe on her shoulder tighter, and walked steadily toward the source of the noise.
On a dirt road stood two carriages. Though low-profile in design, they were made of high-quality materials. The wood of the carriage frames was solid and dense, and the horses were stout and well-fed—definitely not something ordinary commoners could afford.
Around the carriages, a chaotic melee involving dozens of people was underway. Seven or eight guards in light traveler's attire, swords drawn and shields raised, formed a tight defensive ring around the carriages, retreating step by step as they struggled to hold their ground.
Their opponents were a group of attackers uniformly dressed in black leather armor. Outnumbering the guards, they launched fierce attacks with seamless coordination.
On the other side of the battlefield, the knight Alberto was currently in an unprecedentedly pathetic state.
The Lava Warhorse beneath him paced anxiously, leaving layers of scorched black marks on the ground.
He should have charged back to the carriages, should have stood by Her Highness's side, but the swordsman clung to him like glue, making it impossible to break away.
“Damn it!”
Alberto swung his sword in a powerful slash, forcing back the close-range swordsman, and then violently dug his heels into the horse's flanks.
The Lava Warhorse let out a long neigh and surged forward, but a freezing ice spike suddenly shot from the side, brushing past his ear before pinning itself deep into a nearby tree trunk.
With a sharp crack, the thick trunk snapped and crashed to the ground.
Not far away, a mage holding a staff that glowed with blue light wore a playful, cold sneer. Alberto clenched his jaw, rage boiling in his chest.
This mage kept launching sneak attacks from a distance, playing with him to keep him pinned down. The opponent's intention was all too clear: to buy time until the black-robed man dealt with Her Highness in the carriage, and then team up to finish him off.
Alberto gripped his hilt tightly, beads of cold sweat trickling down his forehead. He turned to look at the tightly curtained carriage, the anxiety and self-reproach in his heart growing ever stronger.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
He whipped around and slashed at his pursuer, but the swordsman nimbly sidestepped the blow, counter-thrusting toward his poorly defended flank.
Unable to pull his sword back in time, Alberto could only twist his body violently to dodge. The sharp tip of the blade scraped across his metal armor with a sharp, ear-piercing screech.
At the rear of the group, a black-robed man stood silently, holding a round crystal in his palm as he calmly directed and coordinated the attack.
The curtain of the first carriage was quietly pried open a crack, and a young face peeked out.
The blonde, blue-eyed girl was about eighteen years old, with delicate features. Her clear eyes reflected the firelight of the battlefield and the chaotic melee.
Watching the guards crumble step by step, she unconsciously clenched her fingers around the carriage curtain.
The crystal in the black-robed man's palm suddenly flickered with a faint light.
He glanced down, frowning slightly, and immediately looked up toward the bushes where Phoebe was hiding. Her silver-white figure was faintly visible among the green foliage, exceptionally eye-catching.
“There is someone else over there,” the black-robed man ordered coldly in a low, chilling voice. “Go deal with them.”
Two of the attackers immediately broke away from the battlefield, drawing the long blades from their waists and charging toward Phoebe at full speed.
Their blades gleamed with a cold light. Without a moment's hesitation or a single question, their eyes held nothing but pure intent to kill.
She was merely passing by, having never provoked anyone, yet without even a chance to explain herself, she was to be ruthlessly eliminated.
The image of Bai Xuan's tragic death suddenly swept through her mind—the warm blood erupting the instant the giant beast tore his body apart.
The resolute, gentle look in his eyes when he used the last of his strength to say, “Go.”
Frame after frame of those memories pressed against her heart like branding irons, the pain so intense she could barely breathe.
The two attackers had already closed the distance. One swung his blade toward her neck, while the other thrust his toward her midsection.
Phoebe slowly raised her eyes. Her naturally pale golden pupils were stained layer by layer with a deep, dark red, spreading from the depths of her eyes to her entire iris, turning them completely into a dark, blood-red color.
Her body moved before her conscious mind could react. Rock-Crushing Mountain swept out in a wide arc, accompanied by a sharp, whistling wind.
Rate on N.U.
