His nose was straight and normal, but his lips below it were tightly closed and almost bloodless.
And those blue eyes, which revealed a hint of weariness but also unwavering determination, seemed chillingly cold to me.
He stared intently at his own face, trying to clear his mind and find his true thoughts.
Gradually, he noticed his eyes beginning to tremble and waver. His so-called resolve was slowly sinking into the ever-rippled surface of his pupils.
Am I feeling lost?
As it discovered its true thoughts, several cracks appeared on the mirror's surface. The mutation didn't stop there; the demonic aura of the monster emanated from elsewhere.
The knight instantly entered battle mode. From behind the villa, several ice-sculpted monsters—a clawed eagle, a yaksha, a demonic ape, and a demonic lion—leaped out one by one, each perched on the roof of the villa in its own unique form and posture.
Firsa faces an unexpected battle.
The Icefire Sword? Upon being drawn by Franzan, it transformed into a flame sword under the control of its master's will. An undying phantom of fire was reflected on the sword's surface, releasing scorching flames;
At the same time, it is reflected on the surrounding ice sculptures, adding a new layer of color to the city.
He did not show any mercy just because the villa was a symbol of his home in the city.
The flames in his hand swept across everything in front of him like a plunderer. The ice sculptures met their nemesis and vanished in an instant, including his "own" ice sculpture villa and the ice monsters that were unable to escape. They all turned into steaming water vapor.
The demonic aura that had suddenly appeared a few seconds earlier vanished completely under the ravages of the flames. Looking back, most of the buildings on this street corner had melted beyond recognition due to the residual heat of the flames.
Just as he was triumphantly sheathing his sword, Philsa felt a sudden dizziness and a splitting pain in his chest.
He looked distressed, not expecting his demonic veins to flare up again. He drew his sword with his left hand, wary of a sneak attack.
He pulled the small bag of crystals—a special medicine for the demonic vein disease—from his breast pocket with his right hand. He picked up two of them with his fingers and swallowed them. The medicine spread throughout his body, and his symptoms finally lessened considerably, though his forehead was already drenched in sweat.
He thought to himself that if it weren't for the special medicine that Shirley had prepared for him earlier, which came in handy at this crucial moment, he would have already collapsed in this group of ice sculptures, and might even have turned into one of the ice statues.
His intuition told him that he might encounter all sorts of unexpected battles at any time, and the old problem with his demonic veins could become a fatal flaw in such situations.
Therefore, Firsa reminded herself that she had to be extra careful.
There is another place in the land of ice that is completely different from what I remember: a magnificent, towering building located in the very center of the city.
He continued to approach, trying to observe it more clearly. It was a tower-like building, wider at the bottom and narrower at the top, topped with a disc-shaped support, like a multi-petaled flower in full bloom. He guessed it was a large open-air observation platform.
Originally, in my hometown, this location was occupied by a low, ancient-style watchtower.
At that time, Firsa had heard her father mention that the mayor planned to demolish the dilapidated watchtower and build a brand new observation platform. The long-cherished wish of the mayor and the townspeople was actually fulfilled at this time and place.
A series of bizarre and dreamlike scenes unfolded, leaving the visitor increasingly confused. In a daze, he realized that someone seemed to be looking down on him from a high place, like an eagle in the sky eyeing a rabbit on the ground, its sharp claws not yet striking, but its imposing presence already present. The one emanating this imposing aura made no attempt to conceal its gaze or presence.
He looked up, following the source of the demonic aura. The killing intent emanated from the observation platform high above.
Although Philsa didn't have the "eagle eye" of Shirley, she was still able to make out the general appearance and clothing of the person.
The Demon Lord's attire, the father's face.
If I am dreaming, then it must be an unprecedented nightmare.
Philsa immediately sought a way to reach the top of the observatory. He stepped into the entrance on the ground floor of the building and climbed the long staircase leading to the top as quickly as possible, during which time the demon lord's demonic aura became increasingly evident.
At the top, the view suddenly opened up. It was spacious, and a cool breeze from high above brushed against my face.
The place it is located in is the closest place to the sky in this ice city.
The owner, who has meticulously prepared everything in the Ice City for visitors, has been waiting here for a long time.
For the first time, the Demon Lord Fred removed his mask, revealing his true face.
He was very young; it had been almost a decade since I last saw him, yet he had never aged. His face was sharply defined, as resolute as a diamond, and without a single wrinkle. His pupils were unlike those of ordinary people, displaying a striking red and blue hue, and were incredibly sharp.
"Who are you……"
Without a doubt, this is the father.
Anger, coldness, and a clear sense of disappointment—three intertwined gazes coalesced into a accusing dagger piercing the heart.
Previously, Philsa believed that everything he encountered in the city of ice sculptures was nothing more than an illusion, but now he had to admit the truth before him. What lay before him were not ice sculptures, not illusions, but living people, long-lost relatives.
On the massive ice sculpture observation platform, he was reunited with his father. In the past, his only companion was his sister. Now, overwhelmed with emotion at meeting his blood relative, he was deeply moved.
At the same time, Firza's body was being overwhelmed by another kind of excitement.
The demonic blood and veins within the body resonated intensely with the most powerful monarch among the master's clan, causing every drop of demonic blood and every demonic particle to boil.
Both his left hand, which held the sword, and his right hand, which was empty, were trembling uncontrollably.
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