Chapter 104
As Xenon shot forth like a beam of light, a thunderous roar echoed all around.
KWA-AANG!
It sounded as if a massive meteor had crashed down.
Reflexively covering my ears, I stared ahead into the dust that now clouded the battlefield.
It was undeniably a strike as powerful as a shooting star tearing across the heavens.
No matter how formidable Agatha was, he couldn’t possibly come out unscathed from that.
Even if he had protected himself with a shield, a blow like that must’ve dealt major damage somewhere.
But what about the one who delivered that strike?
“Xenon…?”
Was Xenon okay after unleashing his ultimate skill?
Struggling to calm my racing heart, I stared into the still-hazy cloud of dust.
“Urgh…”
The first sound I heard was a faint groan.
Nervous that it might be Xenon’s, I sharpened every sense.
“Haha… Looks like I let my guard down.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t Xenon.
Dusting off the dirt from his body, Agatha stood back up—still mostly unscathed.
But even the mighty Agatha couldn’t completely hide one thing:
He was injured.
Perhaps Xenon’s attack had struck his ankle.
Agatha, limping and far from his usual elegant self, approached me in a disheveled state.
“I never expected someone about to die to put up such a fight…”
Turning his gaze, Agatha looked at Xenon, who had collapsed with only a sliver of health remaining.
“I didn’t think he had it in him.”
He let out a chuckle, amused by the situation, and turned his steps.
“He’ll die soon anyway if left alone.”
Pant—
He approached Xenon, who now struggled to breathe, and crouched down to match his level.
“But somehow… I find you rather irritating.”
Grabbing Xenon’s hair, Agatha looked directly into his dull, unfocused eyes.
“You’re strong and utterly devoted. Your power and loyalty… I must admit, they’re quite tempting.”
Frowning at the cloudiness in Xenon’s blue eyes, Agatha suddenly flung him aside.
“Still… That’s only interesting when someone’s fighting to survive. I don’t enjoy talking to corpses.”
Brushing off his hand as if cleaning off filth—
Crunch.
He stepped on Xenon’s hand with a chilling calm.
“Wendy, I’ll give you one last chance.”
Like a twisted angel—
No, a devil wearing an angel’s mask, he smiled slyly and made his offer.
“Kneel. Crawl to me. Kiss the top of my foot.”
Raising his injured foot, he looked at me with amusement.
“If you do that, I’ll accept this one as my follower and spare his life.”
My lips trembled as I bit them and my shoulders shook.
It was true—among Agatha’s skills, there was a forbidden spell that allowed him to transplant the soul of the dead into another’s body.
“Forbidden Sorcery”.
It extracted the lives of ten living people to exchange for one person on the brink of death.
It was, in every sense, a vile magic.
But that wasn’t all.
The resurrected would serve the one who revived them—with absolute loyalty.
Worse still, they’d lose all memories of their previous life.
And to sustain the body resurrected by that sorcery—
One innocent life had to be sacrificed every month.
Would Xenon ever be happy with such a life?
Wouldn’t it just be my ugly, selfish desire?
“But if I let Xenon die like this…”
Would the future me ever be free from that regret?
If I could save Xenon—then temporary humiliation meant nothing.
A kiss? I could do that a dozen times.
But to see Xenon resurrected through Agatha’s power, like a puppet with no thoughts of his own—
Forced to obey Agatha for the rest of his life—
That…
That was a nightmare far worse than any humiliation.
So what should I do?
As I was drowning in that overwhelming despair—
Thud!
A dull thud echoed from somewhere.
Turning my head toward the sound—
“Kgh, what the—?”
I saw Agatha, struck square on the head by a stone.
He clutched his bleeding head with a twisted expression, eyes darting around in search of the culprit.
The stone that had struck Agatha rolled and bumped into the toe of someone’s boot…
Clatter. Tap.
It came to a stop.
When I looked up at the feet where the stone had stopped, I saw a blond man with green eyes.
“Yeriel?”
A man who radiated warmth stood there.
Kneeling down, Yeriel picked up the stone and said calmly—
“Xenon taught me how to throw stones. Turns out it’s useful after all.”
Unlike usual, Yeriel’s face was expressionless as he stared at the stone.
“Wendy.”
He called my name and stepped forward, standing protectively in front of me.
“The tree that protects you has not yet fallen.”
At the same time, Yeriel glared at Agatha with an icy gaze I had never seen from him before.
“I don’t like violence… but this man doesn’t seem to be one that can be reasoned with.”
The always-gentle Yeriel now looked unfamiliar.
I swallowed hard at the strange aura he exuded.
“On behalf of our fallen comrades—just for a moment…”
He spoke each word with solemn intensity, like a vow.
“…I will protect you.”
His normally gentle, warm voice now carried a deep majesty and a chill.
“Agatha, was it?”
He lightly patted my shoulder as if to calm my nerves, then turned his gaze to Agatha.
His gaze—once like a warm spring sunlight—now felt like a blade of winter frost.
This Yeriel was different.
Up until now, he had been endlessly gentle, nurturing, and compassionate.
But now, he looked like something else.
Like a snake that had swallowed a great power and was now preparing to release it.
The energy building in Yeriel’s eyes was intensifying.
And I knew what that meant.
‘Divine Descent.’
It was something Celestine had once experienced as well—at the Lake of Blood.
When an avatar harmonizes perfectly with their constellation, drawing out its power to the absolute limit in a dire situation.
Yeriel was now deeply synchronized with his constellation, Baridegi.
“Ridiculous. What can a mere healer do?”
Just as Agatha said—Yeriel was a healer.
A soft and comforting soul who had always healed our wounds—both physical and emotional.
That had always been Yeriel’s identity.
However…
“It seems you’re misunderstanding something.”
The look in Yeriel’s eyes now was not that of a mere healer.
He was Baridegi herself, standing at the boundary of life and death.
“The power my constellation governs… is not healing.”
Having already experienced one awakening and grown closer to the power of the constellations,
Yeriel’s hair began to turn black.
“The power of the one who lends me strength…”
At his gesture, black and crimson petals bloomed in the air.
The complete opposite of the warm pink petals of Myeolmangi.
These petals resembled the threshold of the underworld—dark, solemn.
The petals scattered like drops of blood, then gathered in Yeriel’s hand, transforming into a ritual bell.
[The constellation ‘The Abandoned Child’ reveals a portion of their true form.]
The air grew heavy, and the crisp chime of the bell rang sharply in my ears.
“That is—”
[The first true aspect of the constellation ‘The Abandoned Child’.]
“Death.”
[She is the ‘Matron of Death’.]
As Yeriel spoke those words, a majestic aura of dominion over the land of the dead enveloped his entire body.
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