Chapter 99: [Bonus Chapter] Fierce Reckoning "Tiffany!"
Tristan erupted from where he stood, the ground beneath his feet splintering under the intensity of his fury. He surged forward, his singular focus aimed at Lord Schrodinger’s vulnerable throat.
Employing [Blink], he traversed the battlefield swiftly, his determination to kill that cat etched across his twisted face.
However, his advance was abruptly halted by the gleam of Xiaxia’s blade.
A mocking tone laced Xiaxia’s voice as she spoke, "Changed your mind, have you? I thought that you were not going to join this battle?"
Tristan’s pride was as shattered as his initial strategy. "Out of my way!"
There was no time to lick his wounded pride for taking back what he had promised. The safety of their mages hung in the balance, and Tristan’s every instinct urged him to protect them at any cost, or they would truly lose this battle.
Tristan’s resolve blazed hotter than the lava-scorched ground beneath his feet. With a singular purpose, he surged forward, eyes locked onto Lord Schrodinger’s exposed neck.
Every heartbeat pulsed with the urgency of saving their mages from the encroaching onslaught of Golems.
He triggered his [Blink] ability, propelling him through space in a series of rapid, controlled jumps. He covered the ground with astonishing speed, propelled by an adrenaline-fueled anger.
However, his trajectory was suddenly intercepted by a flash of movement.
In an instant, Xiaxia materialized before him. With their levels nearly identical, the confrontation was as much a battle of wills as it was of strength.
Xiaxia’s stance was solid, her feet planted firmly on the rugged terrain. Her eyes, usually soft with warmth, now gleamed with an uncharacteristic intensity.
The [Sunblade] in her hand hummed with latent power, and the [Spellguard Shield] on her arm crackled with protective energy.
Tristan’s momentum ground to a halt, and he skidded to a stop before her. His gaze was fierce as he sought a path past her to his ultimate target.
"I don’t have time for you! Get out of my way, and maybe I could spare your life!" he spat in urgency. His frustration seethed beneath the surface, a tempest waiting to break free.
Xiaxia’s response was equally unyielding. "I don’t want to. You’ll have to do it under my dead body . . . or you can always surrender." She beamed, her smile sweeter than honey.
"Move," Tristan’s command was sharp, his voice a blade cutting through the din of battle. "I won’t ask again."
Xiaxia’s lips curved into a defiant smile. "You always did find my persistence annoying, didn’t you?"
Tristan’s jaw clenched his frustration at her unwavering stance boiling to the surface. "I have no time for games."
A flicker of something more vulnerable passed through Xiaxia’s eyes, briefly softening her resolve. But it was fleeting, replaced by her usual strength. "And you used to like that about me, remember?"
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, a reminder of their shared history, the battles they had fought side by side, and the friction that had always simmered beneath their relationship.
Xiaxia’s gaze bore into Tristan, a complex blend of emotions swirling within her eyes. She had moved past the cordial entanglement they once shared, but that didn’t equate to being heartless enough to dismiss everything Tristan had done for her guild.
There was a weight to her intentions, a silent demand that hung heavy in the charged air. She wanted more than words; she wanted an apology –– an apology that came from the depths of his realization, one that acknowledged the troubles he had caused.
An apology on his knees on the ground.
Yet, beneath the veneer of her demand, there was a recognition of his actions. She couldn’t entirely disregard the sacrifices he had made for the guild, the battles they had fought side by side.
But the truth remained –– he had been dishonest, entering into a relationship with another girl behind her back.
And that, coupled with the audacity of broadcasting that she wasn’t over him, had been a bitter pill to swallow.
Xin was right.
She wanted revenge.
In the midst of their clash, a battle that extended beyond the realm of swords and magic, there was an undercurrent of unresolved feelings and lingering wounds. It was a clash of pride, a contest of emotions as much as combat skills.
Tristan’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his halberd, and his gaze locked onto Xiaxia’s. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat echoing the chaos that surrounded him.
Tristan’s eyes were wide with a mixture of frustration and desperation, locked onto the nightmarish scene unfolding before him.
Their mages, once the backbone of their strategy, were now ensnared in a deadly dance with the encroaching Golems.
They unleashed torrents of magic in a desperate bid to obliterate the relentless attackers. Bolts of fire, arcs of lightning, and bursts of frost erupted from their hands. Each spell is a witness to their will to survive.
Yet, as each Golem was vanquished in a fiery explosion, a new one emerged from the smoky remnants. It was an unending cycle, a nightmarish loop of destruction and rebirth that left Tristan’s chest tightening with anxiety.
What is this shit?! Tristan wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. Why weren’t the Golems decreasing in numbers?
His hateful gaze bore down at Lord Schrodinger. Just how many Golems could he create?!
Tristan’s muscles tensed, urging him to tear himself away from the standoff with Xiaxia and rush to their mages’ aid. But every step he took was met with her unwavering presence, a barrier he couldn’t breach.
His eyes flicked back to the mages, frustration, and helplessness mingling within him. He watched as their faces contorted with a mix of fear and hopelessness, their magical barrage relentless yet ultimately futile against the Golem onslaught.
And then, as if time itself had slowed, Tristan saw it –– the moment their mages’ forms were consumed by the ominous dust, their bodies disintegrating into particles.
The realization hit him like a blow to the gut, a sickening sensation that twisted his insides.
"No . . ." His voice was a hoarse whisper, a disbelieving denial that carried his despair.
When their mages gone, it was when Tristan truly realized that they had lost the war.