After Yun Wei took off the pendant and put it away, he no longer suppressed the magic power surging wildly into his body.
A dense cluster of elemental light surrounded him, like a seven-colored cloud.
As the elements nourished and replenished, the Time Branch, which originally had only six layers, began to grow slowly, sprouting new branches with a gray-white base and gold threads.
Once the new branches have fully grown, he will once again become a true level seven professional, a Grand Magus.
[Yun, are you alright? What's the situation over there?]
Just then, he heard Isaac's voice from the depths of his heart.
Yun Wei couldn't help but laugh, and he quickly answered in his mind:
[Thankfully, I successfully suppressed Blackfuse's mage corps and even advanced a rank. What about you?]
Isaac paused for a moment, then replied: "It was at a stalemate, but it'll be over soon."
Yun Wei: [That's good. Be careful, don't get hurt.]
"Yes, I know," the knight replied, then added, "Yun, congratulations."
Yun Wei did not reply.
There's nothing to congratulate about; it's just a natural progression.
He continued channeling the silence spell in his hands, but couldn't help but drift into a daze.
He once spent five years living in seclusion, working diligently and painstakingly, and even reached the level of a Level 7 professional.
But at that time, he was filled with anxiety and unease, even feeling immense fear about his own talent. Fate is not a philanthropist; every seemingly generous gift comes with a price tag.
Unexpectedly, a year later, when his realm fell and returned to the seventh level, he felt only calmness, without the slightest ripple.
Clearly, his state of mind had changed without him realizing it.
It was this change that ultimately became the opportunity for a breakthrough, enabling him to confidently fight alone with his own strength.
However, without a doubt, he is still himself.
It is the real me, untouched by possession.
He was so sure because every decision he made in the past year was one he had made himself.
There may be some regrets, but I have never felt remorse.
It is these choices, one after another, that have shaped his life trajectory to this point.
What force, seemingly invisible, shaped and propelled these changes?
What force compels him to make one decision after another?
The necromancer, still pondering the questions of life and death, also questioned his own soul in the pitch-black darkness.
...
Before the cold and imposing military formation, in the fading holy light, the two continued their fierce battle.
Alejo was inevitably a little anxious.
This anxiety did not stem from the pressure of his opponent's sudden advancement, but rather from the gradual collapse of his long-held beliefs.
He always felt that he was unfortunate.
That is why, if anyone or anything stands in his way, he can, fueled by the resentment that erupts in his heart, ruthlessly chop them to pieces with a sharp blade.
Through this explosive rage, he regained everything he had lost. He then logically concluded that as long as he was enraged, he could get anything he wanted.
But the reality was that no matter how hard he tried, the knight could block his attacks perfectly. This rendered his carefully planned, aesthetically pleasing, and fierce offensive utterly humiliating.
It's important to understand that human emotions are a finite resource, and the power of anger is not inexhaustible.
This frustrated him, and he became increasingly desperate with his trump cards.
Finally, Alejo disappeared into the darkest shadows, folding his body into an eerie arc before suddenly springing out, his blade flashing like lightning as his torso spun, slicing towards the knight's vulnerable neck.
"At the end of one's rope."
This is the Assassin family's most treasured secret technique, imbued with a self-destructive resolve, meant to perish together with the enemy.
"clang!"
It was another miraculous block.
His chest was clearly facing the opponent's sword, but the opponent quietly rotated the hilt, the sharp cracking sound making his eardrums ache, and the sharp pain from the tiger's mouth forced his eyes to open as wide as possible.
He watched in dismay as his blade pressed against Isaac's artery.
The sharp blade only sliced through the skin; if the curve had been even slightly more dangerous, he might have succeeded.
The next moment, scorching power erupted from the opponent's sword, burning fiercely like fire.
Despite deliberately avoiding vital points, he was completely rendered incapable of fighting under the piercing and burning power of the opponent's surging sword energy.
The outcome is decided; he has lost.
The defeated assassin, no longer as agile as before, fell to the ground like heavy slag.
As Isaac bent his arm and wiped the mithril sword with his sleeve, he stood in front of Alejo, who was kneeling on the ground, and earnestly praised him: "Your strength is not bad, quite agile, but your strength and endurance are a bit weak."
The victor's tone was too relaxed, as if the life-or-death struggle just now was nothing more than a common sparring match. But to the loser, it was more painful than death.
Alejo forced himself to lift his head, looking coldly into the other person's eyes, "Cough, you, you're just lucky."
His lungs were scorched by the flames, making it incredibly difficult for him to utter a single word.
The other person is very lucky.
If his dagger hadn't been half an inch shorter, he would be standing on the other person's lifeless corpse right now.
"Alejo!" Just then, Vivian ran to her brother's side and frantically slapped healing spells on his charred body like a string of arrows.
Isaac had no objection to this.
Unless divine magic is used, the opponent will find it difficult to recover their fighting strength within three days using only magical healing.
He was very sensible, deliberately waiting until after the "Praise of Light" was over before making his move.
However, it was precisely because of Joshua's wicked humor that he suddenly felt that His Holiness the Pope was full of a familiar presence that made him both laugh and cry, and grit his teeth in exasperation.
Dilis, Lord of Glory.
We haven't seen each other for eight hundred years. He looked at the divine runes that had finally completely disappeared and thought with great complexity.
However, this was merely his intuitive conjecture, without any evidence. Perhaps he was overly wary of the Radiant Church, leading him to make all sorts of unfounded associations.
not to mention--
The thought of my once masculine friend, now residing in a body of androgynous beauty, singing hymns in a delicate voice...
The object is still the other person themselves.
Such a scene is truly terrifying and horrifying.
Even though he was betrayed, he still got goosebumps and felt quite uncomfortable.
So he stopped his random thoughts, squatted down, and said to Alejo, "You really don't know where you went wrong?"
“Stop nagging.” Alejo sat on the ground, looking sadly at his sister. “Stop being so wishy-washy. Just kill me or torture me, give me a quick death.”
Fate is so unfair. The defeated prince thought to himself.
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