Spring.

  No matter which plane or continent it is, spring is a season that delights most races.

  However, there are always exceptions. In this world made up of numerous planes, countless continents, complex races, and billions of living beings, exceptions may be few, but their absolute number still surpasses the computing capacity of many intelligent races.

  The world is complex, to the extent that even the gods find it difficult to grasp in its entirety. Destruction and rebirth alternate, stars and energies flicker in the void. The heavens themselves are complex, with countless stars shining in the endless night sky, gazed upon by an unknown number of beings. In the eyes of different beings, the stars hold different meanings: they are both hope and destruction. Some see eternal stillness, others see the hidden paths of cosmic laws in their movements. In the eyes of most, stars are symbols of the gods, while in the eyes of a few wise beings, the stars represent planes, lands, and countless strange worlds.

  The stars are eternal, yet only a few beings can foresee their destruction, and even fewer have witnessed it firsthand. These beings, they are now one with the stars. For the stars too will perish, and thus, so shall they fall. But before the end arrives, they often believe they have become eternal.

  Spring is a general term. For example, in an unknown plane, there is also spring. However, this plane has only two seasons: the thriving and growing season, which is spring, and the season of life’s slumber and death, which is autumn. Every cycle of the seasons, by the laws of the world’s primary plane, spans twelve years. In this plane, three suns hang in the sky, and huge stars stretch across the horizon, with starlight and sunlight shining together, visible even during the day. The giant stars’ orbits are surrounded by countless rings of colored bands, slowly rotating. This is the origin of countless beautiful legends in this world.

  This plane does not consist of a single continent; its life-bearer is an entire planet. The surface of the planet is mostly ocean, with land covering less than one-sixth of it. From the sky, the entire planet gleams with a deep purple glow, both magnificent and mysterious. Six moons orbit it, and on every clear night, the planet’s natives can see at least three moons, each with varying shades. These six moons are the source of the magical tides and the foundation of the plane’s magic and civilization.

  On the continent, there are mountains, rivers, lakes, and forests. Purple remains the dominant color, but there are also other mottled hues. The terrain of the continent is winding and undulating, with several towering and treacherous mountain ranges crossing it. The shortest of these mountains spans nearly ten thousand kilometers, and peaks exceeding ten thousand meters are a common sight. Across this land, cities of all sizes are scattered, and the most magnificent of them stands atop the highest peak! At an elevation of twenty thousand meters, the summit of this mountain is as flat as if cut by a blade, occupied by a magnificent city covering hundreds of square kilometers. Within this city, spiral-shaped buildings rise, piercing the sky. They shine with a metallic luster, and the rich purple hue fluctuates, as if life itself circulates through them.

  At the heart of this massive city stands a tower three thousand meters high. The spiraling pinnacle of the tower continuously spouts purple and gold symbols that form brilliant light bands, swirling around the spire. At the very top of the tower stands a tall figure—his upper body humanoid, with muscular arms bulging with strength, and beneath him, two reverse-jointed legs ending in massive hooves. His dark blue skin does not hide the majesty of his face, and dozens of long, thin tendrils grow from his chin and cheeks, constantly waving as if they were alive. He wears strange heavy armor that gleams with a metallic sheen, with several key parts, such as the shoulder armor, actually growing directly from his body.

  He is an old man, and the deep wrinkles on his skin are not natural, but scars carved by the passage of time.

  He stands in a vast space, with countless glowing runes floating around him. Their paths appear chaotic, but in truth, they align with the movements of the stars. In front of him, a ten-meter-high transparent wall acts as a panoramic screen, allowing him to see the outside world. This is a miraculous city built on the summit of a twenty-thousand-meter-high peak, and the place where he stands is the highest point in the city. Looking out from here, the distant horizon clearly arcs, and if one’s sight is sharp enough, they might feel that they are gazing upon the entire world.

  This is the place that all beings in this plane dream of standing in one day. It has an apt name—The Hall of Overlook. And the towering spire at the center of the city is the holy land of the entire continent: the Twilight Temple.

  In the depths of the Hall of Overlook, a flash of light appears, and a young figure emerges from the light. His body is even more imposing, striding forward, his hooves clashing with the metallic floor, sending sparks flying. Each heavy step causes the entire hall to tremble. Inside his powerful frame, a surge of energy cannot be suppressed, leaking out in flashes of lightning or dark black mini-storms that smash against his heavy armor, which remains unscathed despite the violent energy impact.

  The young man rushes to kneel behind the old man, his voice clear and forceful as he says, "High Priest! My forces can no longer hold out, please leave at once!"

  The old man does not respond, nor does he move. Even his tendrils fall softly, calm, as he continues to gaze at the outside world, as though nothing could divert his attention. It is the twilight hour, the most beautiful time on this continent, when the noise of the day gradually fades, and the sky is painted with soft purple hues. The two suns that have not yet set, along with the three rising moons, all hang in the sky, and a beautiful ring of light reflects colors so numerous that no living being can fully distinguish them. It is a time when countless legends unfold, and it is also the origin of the Twilight Temple’s name.

  But this twilight now feels like the end of the world. Flashing lights appear intermittently in the mountains, followed by columns of fire shooting up into the sky, slowly turning into thick black smoke. Now, this dark smoke has covered half the sky. But in the areas visible, countless small dots can be seen swirling in the sky, chasing and colliding with each other, with occasional figures falling, burning as they descend. The transparent magical wall isolates the sound, but the tremors cannot be blocked. The Hall of Overlook continues to shake.

  Far in the sky, a blood-red planet occupies most of the sky, and against its backdrop, dozens of massive dark shapes can be seen floating in the air. They move slowly, seemingly insignificant from a distance, but in truth, each one is almost as large as an entire city! These giant shapes have fins like ship sails protruding from their backs, and enormous bone wings stretch out to the sides. They resemble the ancient beasts that once lurked in the deepest parts of the oceans, massive and incomprehensible in size.

  They sway their bodies slowly, shaking off pieces of flame. Each flame can cover an entire city. This is not magical fire, nor is it divine flame. It has almost no temperature but can burn everything and cannot be extinguished. Beneath them, cities begin to burn, and the cries of the dying stretch out endlessly. In this flame, inanimate matter burns fiercely until it is completely consumed, but life can persist for a long time, a slow and painful death.

  From afar, the sky is sometimes lit by strange red clouds, signaling the appearance of yet another ancient beast.

  Figures rise from the mountains, charging towards the massive black shapes soaring through the sky. The High Priest and the young man both know that these are warriors from their race, now launching a desperate assault against an unseen enemy, at the cost of their lives. Their attacks are heroic and tragic, but with little effect. The majority of the warriors are engulfed by the unquenchable flames before they can even get close to the enemy, falling from the sky with their cries.

  Flames, ice spears, and lightning shoot up from the ground, crossing vast distances, hitting the enemies floating in the sky. The ability to launch magical attacks so far means that those delivering them are not nameless beings in this vast continent. Though the coverage of those flames and lightning seems small, their power is enough to flatten an entire mountain. Behind those seemingly simple lights and shadows are names that make one’s breath catch: deep blue roars, void divine punishments, searing light beams, dragon breaths, and neutral slashes.

  However, when these powerful magical attacks, divine arts, and skills hit the giant beasts, they only stir ripples in the air, shattering a few flames and causing a few small black mushroom clouds to burst forth from their bodies. But the beasts’ paths of flight do not veer even slightly, showing that no harm has been done to them.

  The young man remains kneeling, but his gaze shifts to the silent end-of-world scene outside the wall. He already has a deep understanding of these unseen enemies. Only moments before, he was one of the fearless warriors charging into the sky, but he returned to the ground alive thanks to his superhuman strength, coming here to the Hall of Overlook. It is not that he lacks the courage to die, but rather that a more important responsibility awaits him here.

  So when he speaks again, his voice carries a faint sense of despair: "High Priest, only the attacks of peak warriors can cause them harm. The magic and divine arts of legendary mages and priests are completely ineffective! Even the divine punishments cast using the power of the gods are useless! But to them, the damage caused by peak warriors is insignificant. High Priest, the gods have abandoned us..."

  "Don’t worry, we still have the war beasts of the gods," the High Priest replies slowly.

  "But..." the young warrior trails off, turning once again to gaze at the world of doom outside.

  The earth trembles, and from the distant mountains rises a silver giant dragon, its grace and beauty lighting up the mountainside. This is one of the peak war beasts, the guardian of the plane, the Frost Dragon, Sera. Over the ages, her presence has destroyed countless invasions from otherworldly creatures.

  Even in the silent Hall of Overlook, the earth-shattering roar of the Frost Dragon seems to echo. She lunges at one of the massive enemies in the sky

  , attacking with claws, horns, and breath. Compared to the enemies floating above, the Frost Dragon seems small and frail, but with her strike, the unknown enemy begins to struggle violently for the first time, slowly plummeting toward the mountains below.

  At the same time, cheers erupt across the continent. For the first time in the doomsday war, an enemy has been struck down.

  "But... there is only one Sera." The young man speaks words that could be considered blasphemous, but the High Priest merely sighs deeply. This young man is the continent’s most outstanding genius of the past decade, his power having reached the pinnacle known in legend. He is also the sole survivor of the battle against the harbinger of the end of days. His judgment is never wrong.

  The High Priest's skin wrinkles even more deeply, as though he has aged decades in an instant. He shakes his head and sighs heavily. Several of his tendrils fall from his chin, turning to ash before they even hit the ground.

  Suddenly, a grayish-white light column appears in the distance, connecting the earth and the sky. This is the place where Sera struck down the destroyer of the apocalypse. Within the gray light column, the Frost Dragon soars, struggling to escape the grasp of the gray light. She roars in intense pain, but her wings quickly disintegrate, and her massive body is shrouded in silver sand, dissipating in an instant, becoming nothing but particles of silver dust.

  "High Priest! We must go, it’s not too late! With my strength, I can open a portal between planes and send you to another world. As long as you survive, the legacy of the Twilight Temple will live on!" The young man’s voice remains strong and resolute. Though he does not say it, the cost of opening the portal would be his entire life and soul. But this is the last hope for the world.

  In the High Priest’s hand, a bronze-colored book suddenly appears. This heavy, ancient tome emanates the solemn aura of billions of years from the plane’s creation, filling the entire Hall of Overlook.

  "The Book of Eternity!!" Hope shines in the young man’s eyes once more. He had almost forgotten that the High Priest still possessed such a divine artifact.

  But the High Priest remains calm as he opens the Book of Eternity. As the pages turn, an image begins to emerge: it is the Frost Dragon struggling in the gray light column. The yellowed, monochromatic lines of the ancient pages send a tremor through every soul that gazes upon it. It is the very image of despair.

  The young man clearly understands the nature of the Book of Eternity, but he merely scans the page briefly, his focus quickly turning back to the High Priest’s hand, silently urging him to turn the page. The High Priest does not pause, and the pages of the Book of Eternity silently turn, finally revealing the last page.

  But after the fall of the guardian of the plane, there are no more chapters.

  The young man stares blankly at the last page of the Book of Eternity, his heart hollow.

  Outside the wall, all the end-of-world destroyers have caught fire, and gray light columns now pierce the heavens. They are the fire starters, igniting the entire plane.

  The Sixth Epoch ends here.

  It is finished.

  The legendary continent of Norland was a land both magical and breathtakingly beautiful. Its vastness was almost beyond imagination, and its fertility and abundance inspired awe.

  If Norland were likened to an extravagant robe adorned with jewels and rare treasures, then the Evernight Forest—stretching for thousands of kilometers—would merely be a single, lovely emerald sewn upon its hem. It was neither the largest nor the most stunning gem on the garment. Yet, some whispered that the forest’s true area was far greater than depicted on any map. Legends spoke of more than one hidden demi-plane concealed within its depths, and the court of the Silvermoon Elves was said to lie at its very heart. But legends were simply that—legends. No human or other race had ever entered the fabled elven court; perhaps a precious few had managed to do so throughout the ages, but they evidently chose to keep the secret to themselves.

  Near the outskirts of the Evernight Forest, a small, ordinary merchant caravan moved forward leisurely. Consisting of just over a dozen wagons and fewer than twenty guards, the convoy traveled at an unhurried pace, an unusual sight among merchants who firmly believed that time was money.

  It was the most beautiful and delightful season on the continent. Warm breezes carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, gently brushing away the fatigue from body and mind. The caravan wasn’t large, and its cargo wasn’t particularly heavy. Anyone with experience could easily recognize the goods as specialties from the Evernight Forest—magical beast furs, meats, rare materials, and exotic timber. In contrast, the guards seemed almost luxurious: twenty young warriors, each at the peak of their physical prowess, clad in meticulously crafted armor and uniformly equipped with weapons, astride steeds that met the standards of military warhorses. Such fine equipment suggested they were formidable; even though they were young, it was clear their employer wasn’t short on money. In a society where wealth and power were closely linked, such ostentation spoke volumes.

  The flower-and-branch emblem emblazoned on the wagons indicated nobility. Anyone versed in heraldry would immediately recognize the significance of the three quails at its center. It belonged to a family with at least four centuries of history—ancient enough, and honored enough in past wars. Though the emblem might not represent the most illustrious lineage, it showed the family had certainly not declined.

  Nearby thieves would assess this caravan differently: the guards’ high-quality gear compensated for any potential lack of skill. Defeating them would undoubtedly incur heavy losses, with limited spoils hardly justifying the risk. Thieves always thought practically; shining armor and costly weapons influenced their decisions far more than actual fighting prowess.

  Thus, the modest caravan passed peacefully, untroubled by any reckless bandits.

  Within the convoy rode a young girl dressed in elegant, fitted light armor. Her lovely chestnut hair was tied casually behind her head, and her bright eyes sparkled with youthful innocence and restless energy. Yet, the great two-handed sword hanging from her saddle hinted she might not be as harmless as she appeared. She yawned broadly and glanced around, boredom evident on her face.

  “It’s so quiet... Not even a single bandit group? Did they suddenly grow brains?”

  Beside her rode a slightly older girl, who smiled gently at her remark. “The ones without brains have already been wiped out.”

  The younger girl pouted stubbornly. “But aren’t there at least some with a bit of courage?”

  “The courageous thieves usually die even faster.”

  Unable to find a suitable retort, the younger girl puffed her cheeks in frustration. “Elanie, I never win when arguing with you!”

  Elanie wore a simple robe commonly seen on apprentice mages or junior wizards. Her dark hair was gathered loosely behind her, several strands falling gracefully along her slender face and over her shoulders. Although not exceptionally beautiful, there was a serene grace about her that naturally drew attention. Clearly fond of her younger companion, Elanie effortlessly cheered her up with a few softly spoken words, quickly returning the girl’s spirits.

  Suddenly, rapid hoofbeats echoed from behind the caravan, alerting the guards instantly. Though the wagons continued without pause, every guard’s hand instinctively went to their weapons. They were now within Viscount Ansik’s lands, known for his ruthless suppression of banditry. Still, the guards remained cautious, well-trained and alert.

  Thunderous hoofbeats approached swiftly!

  Yet, from the swirling dust emerged only a single rider—a rugged, burly man, his wild hair tied with a crimson cloth. Oddly enough, he wore leather armor directly over bare skin, revealing his powerful, hairy chest. Beneath him was a black warhorse, clearly mixed with magical beast blood, towering significantly above ordinary mounts. Rider and horse galloped with the force and sound of an entire army charging.

  The rider’s imposing aura unsettled several guards, who instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons. One even partially drew his sword, revealing the gleaming blade of a finely crafted magical weapon, whose value alone exceeded that of an entire cart of ordinary beast hides.

  With a metallic ring, the younger girl’s greatsword leaped into her hands almost of its own accord. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she stared at the approaching rider. “A bandit?!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Elanie gently admonished her eager companion, signaling the guards to clear the center of the road. Some guards hesitated, clearly displeased, but obeyed silently and moved aside.

  The rider thundered past the caravan, man and horse like a storm, whipping Elanie’s hair into a wild dance as he sped by.

  About fifty meters ahead, the black steed reared dramatically, spinning in place until the rider faced the caravan once more. The man’s voice boomed, clearly audible:

  “Hey there, beautiful girl—I’m Gordon!”

  With that roar, horse and rider spun back and raced off again, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

  “Elanie, was he trying to hit on you?” the younger girl asked after a long pause.

  “He meant you, Shia.”

  “No, he was clearly looking at you...” Before Shia could finish, Elanie flicked a tiny whirlwind at Shia’s horse, startling it into a reluctant trot forward and carrying the protesting girl away.

  Aside from this minor incident, nothing else disturbed their journey. By twilight, the caravan had reached its planned resting spot—the bustling town of Ludwik—and prepared to spend the night there.

  Ludwik Town was small, with only a single main road running through it, accompanied by several narrow alleys. The native population barely numbered a few hundred, yet its location—situated perfectly between Viscount Ansik’s domain and the Evernight Forest—made it a bustling center for traders and travelers, and as a result, the town was quite prosperous. The number of inns and taverns in the town was disproportionately high, and there were many shops selling weapons, magical artifacts, and magical beast furs. However, the most popular item among mercenaries was the locally made strong liquor.

  As night fell, the town became brightly lit, with even the breeze carrying the scents of food and drink. It was dinnertime, a moment of respite for those who had toiled all day. Inside the inn’s large dining hall, Elanie and Shia had taken a table, while the guards and the rest of the caravan had spread out to their own seats. The dining hall was spacious, and even with dozens of people inside, it only occupied a small part of the space, with other merchants and mercenaries filling up the remaining seats.

  Near the bar, three bards were performing. Two were playing guitars, and the older one in the middle was drumming rhythmically on a hand drum, singing an epic tale about the Black Knight King Alexander. The gritty, hoarse voice, the powerful drumbeats, the exotic music, and the passionate story all combined to create a captivating atmosphere. Even though the story had been sung for years, the audience still listened intently, as if enchanted. Jugs of strong liquor were brought to the tables, consumed eagerly, and the alcohol quickly surged into their veins, heating up their blood. The rhythm of the drum slowly gripped everyone’s hearts. Even Elanie and Shia were drawn into the performance.

  Suddenly, there was a thunderous sound of hooves outside the door, which abruptly stopped. A powerful man then entered the hall. He was so tall that he had to duck his head slightly to fit through the door. He scanned the room, and upon spotting Elanie and Shia, his eyes lit up. Without regard for the murderous glares from the guards, he strode over to their table, sat down with a loud thump, and fixed his gaze on Elanie, grinning widely.

  “Hey, beautiful! We meet again! My name’s Gordon!”

  It was now clear that he was a rugged, brash man with a strong, sculpted face, his features as hard as metal. His thick mustache, bristling like steel needles, covered his upper lip, yet it was evident he was still quite young. His eyes were clear and pure, like two deep green gems, and staring into them for too long gave the impression that they shimmered with an inner light. His dark skin had a fresh, faint scar running from the corner of his eye across his left cheek, which, far from ruining his chiseled features, seemed to add to his masculine charm. His leather armor was worn, with several scratches that hadn’t been repaired yet.

  Shia’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, she stared at Gordon. “A thief?”

  “Aventurer,” he replied.

  “Such a bore!” Shia’s response was full of disappointment, but she didn’t give up and continued questioning, “Then why are you bothering us?”

  Gordon grinned widely and pointed at Elanie. “Because I like her!”

  “So you’re just a pervert!” Shia said, her face full of disappointment.

  Elanie remained calm, though behind her, the sound of metal scraping echoed as the guards, faces hard with anger, drew their weapons. The moment the swords were unsheathed, the young guards’ posture shifted, a cold and murderous aura emanating from them. The temperature in the restaurant seemed to drop as other mercenaries, once chatting loudly, slowly fell silent, eyeing the situation with nervous curiosity. Veterans of adventuring understood what this sudden shift in atmosphere meant. These guards weren’t just skilled—they had blood on their hands, and their true strength far surpassed their youthful appearance.

  Elanie frowned slightly, her pale blue eyes meeting Gordon’s intense gaze without flinching. She raised her hand slightly, and the murderous intent of the guards disappeared. The swords were returned to their sheaths, and the guards quietly sat back down, but their cold, watchful eyes remained fixed on Gordon. One wrong move from him, and those blades would be drawn again in an instant.

  Elanie spoke in a calm, indifferent tone, “I don’t like pointless pestering. This won’t get you anywhere.”

  Gordon laughed loudly. “I like you, and you’ll fall for me too! It’s in the prophecy.”

  “You like me because of a prophecy?” Elanie’s expression remained unchanged, and her voice was as calm as ever. She didn’t even ask where this prophecy came from.

  “The second part is prophecy, but the first part isn’t. I saw you, then I liked you. It’s that simple.”

  “Whose prophecy?”

  “Mine!”

  Elanie sighed helplessly. If Gordon’s behavior had sparked a hint of curiosity earlier, she was now certain he was nothing more than a rogue. His eyes were unexpectedly clear, which had kept her from having the guards force him out, but his antics were beginning to wear on her patience.

  Shia, on the other hand, seemed even more intrigued. “Well, since you like Elanie, you should do something to show it! How about buying us a drink?”

  Before Elanie could protest, Gordon pulled out a pouch of coins, spilling them across the table. Pointing to the members of the caravan, he called out loudly, “Hey, boss! I’m treating. Get these gentlemen each a glass of grape…uh, no, mead…”

  The amount of money Gordon spilled on the table wasn’t much, most of it being copper coins. There were only a few silver coins and not a single gold coin in sight. This sum wasn’t enough to buy even a glass of expensive grape liquor, let alone a drink for everyone. Gordon scratched his head, smiling awkwardly. “Well… I just started adventuring, haven’t made much money yet…”

  The whole restaurant burst into laughter. The life of an adventurer was often dull and dangerous, so a little bit of chaos was a welcome diversion. The faces of the guards, however, grew darker.

  Shia seemed even more interested in Gordon now. “I must be prettier than Elanie, and my figure’s better. Why don’t you like me?”

  Shia, full of energy, was half a head taller than Elanie. Years of training had given her a body as graceful and dangerous as a cheetah, a physique that was far more alluring to men than Elanie’s.

  “Well… liking someone doesn’t need a reason. I saw her, and I liked her,” Gordon said, scratching his head.

  Shia wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Then tell me, what makes you worthy of someone like my sister Elanie?”

  "Look, I’m a noble!" Gordon pulled a crest from his pocket. The intricate patterns were somewhat faded, but it was still clear that it was a very old object. In the present day on the continent, status was of immense importance wherever humans lived, and many privileges were reserved only for the nobility.

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  "Then where’s your castle? How many vassals do you have?" This was the typical measure of a noble’s power.

  Gordon’s face turned a rare shade of red. "The ancestral castle… was sold off generations ago. As for me, I don’t have the right to inherit it yet." He phrased it delicately, but the truth was clear: his family had fallen into decline, losing its traditional lands, and Gordon didn’t have inheritance rights.

  "What about the rest?"

  "I’m a level-three warrior, but I haven’t chosen an advancement path yet." Gordon flexed his muscular arms and rock-solid chest. Unfortunately, this didn’t really prove much—once a warrior reached a higher level, strength was no longer solely measured by muscle.

  Shia didn’t bother hiding her disdain. "Level-three warrior? There are plenty of those."

  "It’s not the same! I’m a genius, I can use magical tattoos!" Gordon extended his arm, revealing the magical armguard. Etched on his forearm was the image of a bull, lifelike and detailed. This was no mere tattoo, but a magical sigil, equivalent to a small magical array embedded on the wearer’s body, granting significant attribute boosts or powerful skills. The presence of a magical sigil was another sign of one’s strength. Magical sigils were rare not just because of their power, but because magical sigil craftsmen were exceedingly scarce. For every two people, one could potentially bear a sigil, yet it was extremely rare to find someone who had actually obtained one.

  "That’s just the Bull’s Strength, nothing special. Is that really what you call genius?" Shia, clearly well-versed in these matters, immediately recognized the sigil’s function. The Bull’s Strength sigil gave warriors a strength boost—useful, but one of the most common magical tattoos. Elanie’s gaze lingered on Gordon’s arm for a moment longer before she furrowed her brow in thought.

  Gordon calmly put his armguard back on. "I don’t have the money for a better sigil. But once I find a relic or kill a high-level magical beast, I’ll have the funds. Look at my body—it can bear four sigils."

  "Now that’s more like it!" Shia seemed slightly satisfied. One’s potential for sigils wasn’t just about their base attributes or class; it was also about how many sigils they could bear. Most adventurers could only bear one sigil in their lifetime. Gordon could carry four, which was already a very good level, meaning he could have more attribute boosts or powerful skills than an average adventurer.

  With no further tension, the attention of the other patrons in the tavern gradually shifted elsewhere. The bards’ singing resumed, their deep, rhythmic drumming blending perfectly with the heavy, aromatic liquor. Shia quickly became more familiar with Gordon, exchanging various adventuring stories, and the alcohol kept flowing. Although it was her first time traveling far from home, Gordon’s vast experience made for thrilling tales, keeping Shia rapt.

  The rest of the evening continued on with a lively but peaceful atmosphere—no fights or disturbances. By the time the crowd had dispersed late into the night, no one could recall how much of the tavern’s wine cellar had been consumed, but the satisfied smile on the old man behind the bar said it all. Even Shia was swaying, barely able to stand, before Elanie had to drag her back.

  The next morning, as the caravan set off, they were surprised to see Gordon already awake, dressed in rough clothes, scrubbing horses in the stable, doing the kind of work usually reserved for servants.

  "Gordon, what are you doing?" Shia called out.

  "Not enough money to pay for the drinks and the room," Gordon’s voice rang out, bright and carefree. "No choice but to work it off!" Despite doing servant’s work in the guise of a noble, he seemed entirely unconcerned by any embarrassment. His movements were skilled and earnest, and each horse under his care gleamed with a polished coat.

  It suddenly dawned on Shia that all the drinks from the night before must have been charged to Gordon’s tab. She burst out laughing and told Gordon to enjoy the work. With that, she urged her horse forward. As the caravan rolled on, Elanie turned back and saw Gordon’s towering figure still waving farewell from the stable.

  The caravan journeyed northeast, leaving Viscount Ansik’s domain, passing through Count Bernan’s territory, and entering Count Tudom’s domain. Half a month passed in peaceful travel, with no sign of the bandits Shia had been expecting. However, they did run into Gordon twice more. He followed the caravan, telling more adventuring tales, buying drinks for the guards, and then working off the debts at the inns. This happened each time. After buying drinks for Shia and the caravan, Gordon would work for several days as labor. The area was quiet and safe, leaving few opportunities for adventurers to make money. Shia seemed unaware of the size of Gordon’s purse, as every time they drank until they could barely move, Gordon would settle the bill, often leaving him to work off the debt.

  "This is punishment, what else for him pestering you so much!" Shia chuckled at Elanie one day. Elanie merely shook her head, saying nothing further.

  The caravan moved forward, resupplying water at each stop. The cargo, however, never changed, still filled with the Evernight Forest’s specialties. Every few days, Gordon would appear. When the thundering sound of hooves and his cheerful laughter filled the air, the guards knew it was him. They also knew he had just paid off his debts. Sometimes, if Gordon was a day late, the guards would feel something was missing.

  Two months had passed. Gordon had treated the caravan to drinks six times. Everyone knew that aside from those six days, he had been working hard to earn money. Perhaps on those six days, he’d worked too. Even the guards, who had initially disliked him, started feeling a little sorry for him. But Shia would always laugh and then add the sizable bills to Gordon’s account.

  Throughout these two months, Elanie and Gordon had spoken fewer than twenty words to each other. Yet the intensity in his eyes gradually became something Elanie found hard to bear.

  The journey was peaceful, yet not peaceful at all.

  They had entered Count Gaul’s domain, part of the Holy Alliance Empire. Among all the human factions on the continent, the Holy Alliance Empire was a behemoth. Unlike traditional empires, the Holy Alliance was more like a union of many smaller noble factions, with the Emperor being the most powerful figure among them. Ahead of the caravan, less than three thousand kilometers away, lay the capital of the Holy Alliance—the legendary city of Faust.

  The caravan slowly entered the small town of Noifude, within Count Gaul’s territory, which was the scheduled stop for the night. However, as they approached the town, they encountered a group of knights, escorting a mage, riding at full speed out of the town. The road in and out of the town was filled with merchants, and galloping horses were a great danger. The knights wore sky-blue cloaks emblazoned with Count Gaul’s crest, clearly visible from a distance. Travelers familiar with this trade route quickly stepped aside, while the knights skillfully maneuvered their warhorses, avoiding anyone in their path without slowing their pace.

  As they passed the caravan, the mage atop one of the horses suddenly gasped, turning to fix a cold, intense stare on Shia and Elanie. The mage was middle-aged, gaunt, with a sickly bluish hue to his skin, likely the result of toxins accumulated from years spent in magical laboratories. His pupils were murky, but his gaze was so chilling it sent an involuntary shiver through everyone nearby. His mage’s robes were extravagant, covered with intricate patterns, but they weren’t mere decoration. These were magic inscriptions, the result of fixed magic, and such robes could only be worn by a grand mage of at least level nine.

  The knight procession quickly moved down the road, but the mage’s sinister gaze remained etched in everyone’s minds, filling the caravan with an oppressive weight. The caravan stopped in front of the scheduled inn. As the guards dismounted and prepared to enter, Elanie suddenly said, “We need to leave immediately!”

  Shia gasped. “But Gordon will catch up with us today.”

  “Leave now.” Elanie repeated the command, her tone final. Shia didn’t question her further, but silently mounted her horse. Elanie rarely spoke, but when she did, she only repeated herself once.

  It was nearing dusk, and the nearest town was miles away. Leaving Noifude meant camping in the wild. However, Shia didn’t argue. She simply gestured to the guards, and they swiftly mounted their horses. The caravan began its journey again, increasing speed as they left Noifude behind. Soon, they discarded the slower wagons by the roadside. Even so, barely twenty kilometers out, the rumble of hooves echoed from behind.

  Elanie pointed to a low hill by the side of the road and said in a low voice, “Turn, form up for defense!” The guards quickly abandoned the wagons and urged their horses up the hill. Dismounting, they readied their weapons. Each guard carried a longsword, though more than half of them had longbows, making the proportion of archers unusually high—an abnormal ratio for an ordinary mercenary group.

  At the end of the road, the sound of hooves grew louder, like rolling thunder. Iron-armored warhorses emerged from the dust, charging toward them. The riders wore full plate armor and wielded two-meter-long heavy swords. Count Gaul’s heavy cavalry! Fifty heavy knights in total. Count Gaul had sent more than half of his elite troops after them!

  Flanking the heavy knights were hundreds of light cavalry, and at the center of the formation was the same mage they had seen at dusk, dressed in his extravagant robes, holding a three-meter-long magic staff. The massive crystal atop the staff shimmered with an alluring light, its radiance mixing with the intricate patterns on his robes, casting a strange glow in the now darkened sky.

  As the heavy knights appeared, the faces of the caravan’s guards changed. Everyone in the caravan had combat skills, even the drivers were level-two warriors. But they were light infantry, fewer than fifty in number, and ordinary arrows posed little threat to the heavily armored knights. And there was also the mage—at least a level twelve grand mage! Such a mage would be treated with caution even by nobles of Count Gaul’s stature. More likely, he served someone of even higher rank.

  On the hill, everyone grew silent, preparing for battle. Their only hope now was that this group wasn’t targeting them, though the hope was slim.

  Back in Noifude, the sound of hooves once again echoed, and Gordon, riding his black warhorse, charged into the town, stopping in front of the largest inn. But there, to his surprise, he didn’t find the familiar caravan’s wagons. The stables were empty. Over the past two months, Gordon had brushed down every horse in the caravan, so he knew them all. But none of the familiar horses were there.

  Gordon’s brow furrowed for the first time. His black warhorse reared, spinning a few times before its iron hooves struck the ground and it sped out of town, disappearing into the dark night.

  Meanwhile, on the hill, the battle had begun. Blood soaked the soil, and the corpses of warhorses and humans lay in heaps. The sound of hooves continued to roar as the heavy knights began to form up at the base of the hill, preparing for a second charge. They had faced unexpected resistance, losing nine comrades, but the remaining forty-one knights still presented an overwhelming threat. Their first charge had torn through the hilltop defenses, claiming the lives of several caravan members. The guards’ arrows had proven shockingly effective, piercing through armor and inflicting serious damage to the heavily armored knights. Meanwhile, the light cavalry who had been providing cover were struck down by more than twenty arrows. Their light armor, mostly chainmail, was almost useless against the piercing arrows.

  Shia panted heavily, gripping her longsword and pointing it forward, her body slightly crouched, ready to spring into action. Her eyes were fixed on the mage a hundred meters away. Her double-handed sword glowed with a soft, ethereal light—it was a high-quality magical sword. Shia’s warrior level wasn’t particularly high, but her swordsmanship and killing power were formidable. Even a heavy knight would be split in two if they faced her head-on. Half of the casualties among Count Gaul’s heavy knights had been caused by her.

  The battlefield was filled with flames, storms, lightning, and explosions of light, while Elanie was locked in a fierce magical duel with the grand mage across from her. Though Elanie’s magic was only at level six, her control over it was superb, and she was momentarily holding her own against his attacks. However, the vast gap in their levels couldn’t be bridged by skill alone. Elanie’s face was pale, sweat beading on her forehead.

  This was a strange caravan. Though their average level was lower than the elite forces under Count Gaul’s command, their equipment and skills far outclassed their opponents, allowing them to hold their ground against such a powerful enemy.

  Shia gathered her strength, her gaze locked on the grand mage. But at a distance of one hundred meters, she knew she could not threaten him. There were still forty heavy knights in her way.

  Suddenly, the mage shuddered, sensing an inexplicable threat. His gaze shifted, and among the many enemies, he locked onto the small, ornate shortbow now in Shia’s hands. It looked like a child’s toy, yet it radiated the most genuine threat of death. The mage’s lips curled into a sinister smile, and for a moment, Shia felt a chill run down her spine. But she steadied her hand, her movements practiced and precise. A delicate arrow was notched onto the shortbow and, in an instant, shot toward the mage’s forehead!

  The arrow’s trajectory defied all common principles, appearing to defy space itself as it reached its target. The mage’s long-range protective shield silently dissipated before the arrow’s point.

  One of the highest skills of an archer—Breaking Magic!

  The arrow left the bow, and Shia couldn’t help but exhale, but what she saw next made her freeze, her eyes wide in shock.

  The mage still wore his sinister, eerie smile, and behind him, a cloud of smoke, seemingly caused by an explosion of magic, coalesced but refused to dissipate. In complete silence, a massive sword extended from the smoke, no slashing motion involved, as though it had been lying there all along. The small arrow collided with the sword’s shaft, easily deflected as though it were no more than a toy. The smoke gradually faded, revealing a knight fully concealed in heavy armor. Light shot out from the gaps in his armor, and his warhorse, far larger than a normal steed, bore no saddles or armor. Instead, intricate magical runes seemed directly etched into its hide.

  “Construct Knight!” Shia exclaimed, her voice full of disbelief. For the first time, true fear overtook her expression.

  Construct Knights were the ultimate weapon used by humans in war. They were advanced warriors clad in specially crafted magical heavy armor. But the final characteristic that made a knight a Construct Knight was the magical runes equipped both on their bodies and on their warhorses. Only those who bore five or more magical constructs could be called Construct Knights. On the battlefield, a single Construct Knight could easily slaughter an entire squadron of heavy cavalry, possessing the power to change the outcome of a battle. When the first regiment of Construct Knights appeared hundreds of years ago, they immediately became the deepest nightmare of other races across the continent. From that point on, those skilled in inscribing magical constructs became the most sought-after individuals. However, the extreme talent required for this made such magicians exceedingly rare.

  The appearance of the Construct Knight made Shia momentarily lose her composure. At that moment, a green leaf suddenly shot through the air, sticking to Shia’s body. A massive surge of magical energy erupted from the leaf, enveloping Shia entirely.

  “Elanie!” Shia immediately reacted, calling out, but she couldn’t resist the magical force. Her figure gradually became transparent, fading from view. The leaf was a powerful one-time teleportation magic artifact, capable of transporting a person to a designated location in the most dangerous of circumstances. It was a force beyond Shia’s control. As she disappeared, she could only watch helplessly as the overwhelming tide of magic engulfed and knocked down Elanie.

  Elanie had already collapsed, intense pain blurring her vision. She could barely see any guards still resisting. The magic wave that had broken her resolve had also swept over her companions. Although they managed to fend off the incoming light cavalry, the heavy knights were now accelerating. Another charge, and these young and elite warriors would all perish here. Elanie didn’t think of what would happen if she fell into their hands, because she knew she would never let that happen. A jade dagger appeared in Elanie’s hand, pressed against her chest. The blade gleamed with a faint gray light, and the death magic inscribed on it would not only claim her life but destroy her soul, swiftly reducing her body to a pile of ash. Her final magic shield, a magical trinket, was still in place, but it would break soon, marking her end.

  She would leave nothing for these humans.

  The heavy knights began to charge, their thunderous hooves drowning out all sound. But this time, the sound of hooves was different, and Elanie heard something familiar within it.

  Gordon appeared at the edge of the battlefield, and the sight of the Construct Knight’s massive, menacing form made his pupils constrict! He instinctively urged his horse to retreat, but his eyes fell upon the fallen Elanie, her last shield flickering and close to breaking. Gordon’s face turned pale, then flushed red, and his eyes, wide open, were filled with bloodshot veins! With a desperate cry, he urged his horse toward the Construct Knight, charging into him!

  “It’s too late.” On the other side, Elanie’s consciousness was beginning to fade. She gripped the dagger tightly and plunged it toward her chest!

  With a sharp slap, her wrist was suddenly struck, sending the death dagger flying away. The blade barely grazed her clothing, just shy of piercing her skin. Had it drawn blood, there would have been no turning back. Then, a strong arm wrapped around her, lifting her up. She felt as though she were floating in the clouds, moving up and down. The familiar scent that reached her nose eased her panic, and her tense nerves loosened. Her vision darkened, and she finally lost consciousness. The last sensation she felt was the warmth and hardness of the person holding her, as though his body were made of steel.

  She didn’t know how long it had been, but when Elanie slowly woke, the first thing she saw was a bare back—dark skin, muscles rippling, and a web of scars. Although the man didn’t turn around, Elanie immediately knew it was Gordon. Her head still felt heavy, and she had no strength left in her body. She was confused about how a level-three warrior could have brought her out of that battlefield. They were in a cave, not a castle’s dungeon.

  She struggled to sit up, and as she did, she felt a chill across her chest. Only then did she realize her magical robe was completely torn open, and even the reinforced inner garment was damaged. As she sat up, the robe fell open, exposing her chest. Hearing movement behind her, Gordon turned just in time to see everything.

  “You!” Elanie blushed with fury, raising her hand to cast an instant magic spell. But her magic had already been exhausted. The forced attempt to channel it caused everything to go black before a sharp pain overwhelmed her mind, almost knocking her unconscious again. Her body collapsed back down.

  Gordon rushed over in surprise, catching her as she fell. Elanie struggled violently, but Gordon’s voice cut through the air, “What’s done is done. Don’t move!”

  There was something strange in Gordon’s voice, and the soft liquid and the scent of blood splashed onto Elanie’s face, snapping her out of her embarrassment and anger. The wound on Gordon’s left chest was exactly where his heart lay. As Elanie struggled, the wound tore open, and blood spurted out like an arrow.

  Seeing the color drain from Elanie’s face, Gordon remained as relaxed as ever, laughing heartily. He pointed at the wound on his chest and said, “It was from the Construct Knight. No problem! If I hadn’t taken that blow, I wouldn’t have escaped from him! Black Flame’s still young, couldn’t run fast enough.”

  Elanie didn’t move, nor did she wipe the blood off her face. Though her chest remained exposed, she no longer noticed, only staring at Gordon’s chest. A level-three warrior, escaping from a Construct Knight of at least level ten, even if he had the best luck, had to pay a price.

  Such a deep wound must have pierced his heart.

  “You…” She couldn’t finish her sentence because Gordon seemed to understand her thoughts. He took her hand and placed it on his chest. Under the thick, steel-like muscles, Elanie could feel a strong heartbeat.

  “I have two hearts, my recovery is stronger than a troll’s. Losing one heart doesn’t matter,” Gordon said with a smile as sunny as ever. Elanie suddenly felt very calm and safe. So when Gordon’s kiss descended, she didn’t resist.

  As night fell, a campfire was lit in the cave, driving away the cold night air.

  Gordon and Elanie sat around the campfire. A wild rabbit was roasting over the flames, but Elanie seemed to have lost her appetite. She hugged her knees, resting her head on them, lost in thought. Just moments ago, at the peak of their intimacy, Elanie had suddenly pushed Gordon away. If it had been anyone else, they might have been enraged. But this man, in that moment, acted as if nothing had happened, cheerfully preparing dinner. His eyes still remained as pure as ever, and Elanie saw no trace of anger or resentment in them—only happiness and affection.

  “Do you like me?” she asked.

  “Of course!”

  “And why?”

  “No reason.”

  Elanie gathered her thoughts before speaking. “We’ve only just met. You don’t know me, nor do you know my past. Have you never wondered why we were attacked by Count Gaul? You must know I have secrets.”

  “That doesn’t stop me from liking you. Men of the Ackmond family, when we like someone, we just do. No need for reasons,” Gordon said boldly.

  “You wouldn’t care what price you had to pay?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What if I asked you to die?”

  “If it’s necessary, then it’s fine,” Gordon laughed.

  Elanie didn’t respond immediately. She fell silent, reflecting on his words. She didn’t believe him. She and Gordon had barely spoken before, and even combined, their conversations had been few. Perhaps he was more familiar with Shia, but this man was saying he would die for her?

  Humans. Humans always make promises so easily but never intend to keep them.

  However, when Elanie saw the wound on Gordon’s chest, still oozing blood, her resolve began to waver.

  Silence.

  After a long while, Elanie finally broke the silence. “People in your family... are they all like this...?”

  “Foolish?” Gordon laughed and continued, “Maybe! We were all idiots when we were young. But it’s not so bad to be foolish. What’s worse is not being able to meet the people who make you act like a fool.”

  “Still, it doesn’t explain much. But Ackmond... That surname is odd. Can you tell me your full name?”

  “Gordon Isaiah Saitanistoría Ackmond.”

  Elanie looked up at him, surprised. His eyes were still as pure as the finest gems. Yet, her heart was no longer at peace. The name seemed absurd, and the pronunciation was unlike the traditional language. But her vast knowledge told her that part of the name, especially the middle, was connected to demons. If this man truly had demon blood, this name would bind him in a powerful way. Perhaps not as strongly as a demon’s true name, but still formidable.

  After a moment of silence, Elanie said, “Didn’t your family ever tell you that this name shouldn’t be spoken freely?”

  “Are you talking about my true name?” Gordon smiled. “When I was young, my mother told me true names shouldn’t be shared with others. If you have one, there can only be one.”

  So, he knew everything.

  Elanie suddenly didn’t know what to say. She found everything about this man, and everything related to him, absurd, yet so real. Between illusion and reality, there was something that touched her heart—a selfless, unconditional willingness to give. What Gordon said, about being willing to die for her, was not an idle boast. It was a genuine promise. By telling her his true name, he had essentially given his life to her. But how could a man be so foolish?

  “So what do you want to do in the future? Keep being an adventurer?”

  “Of course not! I’ll build my own army, conquer foreign lands, expand my territory, and establish my own kingdom!” Gordon said with a bold and commanding air, like a general who had led thousands into battle.

  Elanie didn’t reply. She simply stared at the flickering flames. The firelight cast fleeting shadows on her face, and it revealed a faint sadness between her brows.

  Clouds drifted across the sky, quietly obscuring the three moons. The night grew darker.

  Suddenly, Elanie stood up. “I’m leaving.”

  Gordon was stunned. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

  “To where I’m supposed to be,” Elanie replied without stopping, heading straight for the cave entrance.

  “What about us, then...?”

  “There is no us.” Elanie’s voice echoed faintly as she disappeared into the vast darkness. Gordon stood there, stunned, not following. He had just lost a heart and couldn’t possibly catch up to a level-five mage who had regained her magic, especially since Elanie also possessed a mysterious power that wasn’t characteristic of a mage.

  Gordon sat down dejectedly, gripping his hair tightly. After a moment, he suddenly burst into laughter. “It’s fine, after all, people from the Ackmond family always go crazy. ‘If you don’t go mad in the frenzy, you’ll die in silence.’ Huh, who was that idiot who said that?”

  In the stillness of the night, Gordon’s laughter echoed far and wide.

  The campfire still burned, and the rabbit roasting above had long since turned to charcoal.

  Time continued to slip by relentlessly, and five years passed quickly, like sand through fingers.

  When the sixth spring arrived, the Evernight Forest was no longer peaceful. Human armies had begun to push in from the outskirts of the forest, advancing deeper with each layer. Under the destructive power of weapons and magic, the lush, beautiful scenery was disappearing rapidly, with towering ancient trees being felled in massive numbers, and the peaceful beasts that had lived there for years were forced to abandon their nests and flee in panic. Among them were some very powerful creatures, but no matter how strong they were, they could not stand against the human construct knights.

  The Evernight Forest was the traditional domain of the Silvermoon Elves, who, descendants of the ancient high elves, had always driven out any invaders. They had repelled countless human armies attempting to seize the forest's riches, sending many greedy invaders home in defeat.

  But this invasion was different from the others. The commander was a war genius the elves had never encountered before, and the army included a squad of fifty construct knights. In battle, the elves' expertise in guerrilla warfare and their unrivaled archers could no longer maintain their overwhelming advantage. The divisions between the various elven tribes led to a fatal dispersal of their forces. The mightiest of the Silvermoon Elf tribes were defeated one after another, and more than half of the twelve great elven kings perished. Despite the elves' heroic sacrifices, the human forces, fierce and relentless, swept through the forest and pressed on toward the elven capital.

  At the foot of the elven palace, the remaining Silvermoon Elves made their last stand, but it was in vain. The entire alliance of elven tribes was annihilated, and after over a thousand years, the Silvermoon Elves' palace finally fell.

  Deep in the Evernight Forest, a small group of elves was running swiftly, blending with the trees so perfectly that they only left behind fleeting shadows. The forest, once serene, now echoed with the sounds of thundering hooves and the bloodthirsty battle cries of human soldiers. Flames raged through the trees, mercilessly consuming them and clearing a path for the advancing cavalry. It was clear from the elves' panic that this was no longer the forest they had known. Riders would occasionally leap out ahead, blocking their path.

  In the distance, the World Tree was burning fiercely, the flames lighting up half the sky.

  The elves were protecting a young priestess, and whenever an enemy attempted to intercept them, a few warriors would charge forward, sacrificing themselves to cover her retreat. Powerful elven warriors fell one by one, but the relentless construct knights kept coming.

  The young priestess held a golden, heavy book in her arms—this was the Holy Scripture of the Moon Goddess Elucia, the most sacred relic of the Silvermoon Elves. She ran with the speed of an elven warrior, showing no signs of being a spellcaster. After breaking through several enemy lines, only two warriors remained by her side.

  Suddenly, they reached an open space, revealing a tranquil lake. Moonstar Lake, a gem of the Evernight Forest, but now, a knight stood silently at the water’s edge, blocking their path. The air was thick with the murderous aura, disturbing the peaceful land. If one could see beneath the water, they would notice that the creatures of the lake had ceased all movement, deeply hiding at the bottom of the water.

  Though there was only one knight, his imposing figure stood like an insurmountable mountain. The black warhorse beneath him was half again as tall as a regular warhorse, and its armor was thick enough to astonish anyone. Despite its massive size, it seemed indifferent, occasionally letting out a small puff of flame from its nostrils. The knight wielded a massive sword, the three-meter-long blade radiating a chilling light, with blood dripping from the tip—clearly, the blood of elves.

  The priestess halted, but the warriors by her side charged forward. With a leap, they attacked the knight on horseback, aiming to drive their elven longswords into his chest, oblivious to the heavy sword swinging toward them. A deafening laugh came from beneath the knight’s helm, and the blade swept through the air like lightning, cutting through their ranks.

  The knight, clearly possessing beast-like blood, dismounted from his warhorse and walked toward the priestess, laughing as he spoke: “Noble and beautiful Moon Goddess priestess, you are one of the most important figures of the Elven Kingdom. If you escape with the Holy Scripture, it will diminish my victory in capturing the Elven Kingdom. Do you think I’ll let that happen? This is my first time commanding an army!”

  By the time he finished speaking, the bodies of two elven warriors fell to the ground. They were the most elite Silvermoon warriors but couldn’t stop the knight’s blow.

  The priestess trembled and suddenly clenched her teeth. “Gordon!?”

  The knight’s body stiffened, as if turned to stone. He threw off his helm, revealing a face as hard as iron, sharp with the marks of age and battle. It was Gordon, whose five years of adventures had left barely a mark on his face, save for the loss of youthful recklessness, replaced with a steady resolve. The adventurer of five years ago was now a general leading thousands of soldiers, having accomplished what no human in this world had done for millennia.

  Only his eyes remained unchanged, as pure and clear as they had been five years ago.

  Gordon stared at the priestess for a long while. Then, his face lit up with pure joy, and he shouted, “You’re... Elanie!”

  Standing before Gordon was the stunning Moon Goddess priestess, no longer the ordinary-looking human mage from years ago. But Gordon knew, despite the complete change in her appearance, she was still Elanie. Her eyes, the same eyes, had never changed. Back then, a level-three warrior could not comprehend the secret shape-shifting magic of the Elven Kingdom.

  Gordon’s joy began to fade, replaced by bitterness, and he spoke slowly, “So, you’re a Silvermoon Elf, a priestess of the Moon Goddess. No wonder your magic was so powerful back then.”

  He stared at Elanie for a long time before breaking into a wide grin. “Hi, girl! You’re beautiful, much more beautiful than the perfect woman I imagined. But I still prefer you as the mage you were.”

  Hearing that familiar laugh, Elanie felt as if she had returned to five years ago. But the weight and coldness of the Holy Scripture in her hands brought her back to reality. As the Moon Goddess priestess, she had to maintain flawless purity.

  Elanie held up the Holy Scripture and coldly said, “Gordon, your hands are stained with too much Silvermoon Elven blood. Today, only one of us can leave this place alive!”

  Gordon rubbed his nose and smiled wryly. “You... aren’t my match...” He didn’t finish his sentence, because Elanie had already charged forward with a speed matching that of the elven warriors, her Holy Scripture glowing brilliantly, its cover opening!

  As the elves charged forward without hesitation, Gordon’s massive two-handed sword soared through the air with a whistle, slashing horizontally with unbelievable speed. If this blow landed, it wouldn’t just cleave the frail Silvermoon Elves in two—it could split even a giant ogre in half. Five years had passed, and the once-level-three warrior had grown into someone whose strength was beyond measure.

  The shadow of death hovered above them, yet Elanie was oblivious. As she surged forward, memories of their encounter five years ago replayed before her eyes.

  In front of a flickering campfire, she had once asked, "What if I told you to die?"

  "If necessary, I wouldn't hesitate," Gordon had replied.

  Five years had passed, and Gordon’s appearance had not changed. He had truly become a general, commanding thousands of soldiers. But why... Why was his army heading towards the Evernight Forest?

  Elanie suddenly smiled. The tip of the heavy sword expanded within her pupils. She didn’t dodge; instead, she swiftly drew a dagger from the Holy Scripture, accelerating even faster, leaving a trail of afterimages, and aimed straight for Gordon's chest. She remembered that night when she had felt his heartbeat, and from that, she had memorized the position of his second heart.

  Elanie knew this strike would be unavoidable for Gordon. This was the Silvermoon Elves' ultimate fighting technique, the Secret Sword: Moonlight Slash. She was the Moon Goddess’s priestess, and her swordsmanship surpassed even magic and divine arts. Blessed by the Moon Goddess, Elucia, her strike would pierce through any armor, even that of the strongest construct knights.

  The dagger, imbued with Moonlight, flew through the air—never to return.

  But as her dagger rushed forward, Elanie’s mind involuntarily conjured an image of Gordon’s chest, the deep wound that had been there. Five years ago, he had lost his first heart to save her. And now, she was about to strike his second heart.

  For Gordon’s heavy sword, she had no intention of evading, nor could she evade. She only hoped that she could drive the dagger into his heart before his sword cleaved her in half, making him pay the price for the lives lost in the flames and the Silvermoon Elves.

  Let us stay here, together, in this forest... she thought.

  The dagger, glowing with Moonlight, easily cut through the heavy armor and drove deep into his chest, piercing the pulsing heart, its power crushing the heart completely.

  But the sword stopped without warning, its tip pressing against her skin but no further. The hand that held the sword was as steady as a mountain.

  Gordon stared at Elanie, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no sound came out. Yet he smiled.

  The heavy sword slowly fell to the ground, and Gordon's towering figure leaned forward, collapsing into Elanie's arms. The hot blood pouring from his chest quickly soaked her half, just as it had five years ago.

  "You..." Elanie could no longer speak, her vision blurring, her body washed by the warm blood.

  "Being foolish isn’t the problem, the worst is not meeting someone who makes you foolish." The words Gordon had once spoken to her rang clearly in her ears.

  The Holy Scripture quietly fell from her hands, and she clutched Gordon tightly as his body grew colder in her embrace.

  "You won’t die... you won’t!" Elanie whispered, holding him close.

  What followed was seven days between dream and reality. After seven days, Gordon slowly opened his eyes. He lay in a cave, his chest wound healed. There was no heartbeat in his chest, but his vitality surged as it always had. He turned his head slowly and saw the priestess's robe scattered on the ground. The robe was stained with his hot blood. The blood had long since dried, but the fragrance of Elanie’s scent still lingered. Faint and sweet, it not only clung to the robe but also to him.

  The fragrance lingered, but the vision of Elanie's beauty was gone. The days of affection, springtime, and closeness were like a fleeting spring dream—passing without a trace.

  This time, there was truly no "after."

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