Chapter 1148: You're Gambling with Your Life |
Mo Shu was decisive. He wasn't distracted by The Prisoner's appearance and continued pressing forward, crushing Ji Yue's space to survive.
While obliterating her counterattacks with one hand, he looked down and sneered:
"How do you know it won't be you?"
Ji Yue was coughing blood, yet she laughed uproariously:
"Because I'm not the inferior horse!"
"Every drop of blood a War follower spills counts for something. You think constantly obliterating my vitality will kill me?"
"But you've forgotten..."
"How does one survive?"
"Through blood! And fire!!"
For one moment, night became day!
Yet even under that apocalyptic blast of flame, Mo Shu emerged with nothing more than a few singed hairs. He pulled back from Ji Yue with a dark expression, never imagining the defensive technique he'd prepared for Cheng Shi's lightning would be needed here.
But he wasn't concerned. He could tell Ji Yue was a spent force. The Purgatory Bishop was genuinely formidable—if they'd squared off from scratch, he might've needed more time and resources to deal with her.
But there were no second chances. She was gravely wounded. Once the flames' momentum died, the only fate awaiting the Purgatory Bishop was obliteration.
So Mo Shu held back, content to let the storm pass.
But time waits for no one—and certainly not for him. Just as the worldburning fire lit up the night sky, The Prisoner had already flash-stepped to Zhao Xishi's front. Looking into her eyes—rage contracted to a pinpoint, firelight dancing in her pupils—he threw a single devastating punch and shook his head:
"Your eyes don't deserve to hold fire."
BOOM—
The titanic blow shattered Zhao Xishi's skull—but the expected spray of blood and brain never came. Her body disintegrated, dissolving into motes of azure light that vanished into the flame-lit brilliance.
The Prisoner landed, killing his momentum, eyes wide.
"Past Reflection?!"
"Heh. The Bishop was right—an inferior horse always dies first. But which one do you think that'll be?"
Zhao Xishi reappeared at the edge of a rooftop. Arms crossed, bathed in moonlight, she gazed down at the battlefield with amusement, then extended a hand toward Ji Yue below.
Countless threads of azure light shot out like strands of hair, piercing into Ji Yue's skull. Even when Ji Yue "set herself ablaze," the flames couldn't burn through these foreign objects.
Watching Ji Yue struggle on death's doorstep, it was Zhao Xishi's turn to sneer.
"Useless. It may only be a quasi-divine artifact, but its effects rival a Servant God's relic."
"This was prepared for the Fate Weaver. Using it on you is giving you more credit than you deserve!"
"Now tell me—who's the inferior horse?"
With a flick of her wrist, she severed the threads. Countless broken strands burrowed back into Ji Yue's body like parasites.
Watching his comrade about to die, The Prisoner felt neither grief nor rage. He simply let every expression drain from his face in a single instant. With solemn gravity, he raised a fist and slammed it into the ground, bellowing:
"All things return to silence. The universe... goes mute!"
WOOOOM—
A heart-shaking soundwave swept outward in concentric rings. Everything around them froze.
Ji Yue's struggle. Mo Shu's advance. The flames' wild dance. The threads' writhing. Everything visible, everything audible—form and sound alike, silenced!
In that razor-thin window—practically equivalent to Silence's own descent—The Prisoner launched himself up, ripped the azure threads from Ji Yue's body before they could fully burrow in, scooped her up, and vanished from the lost battlefield in the blink of an eye.
Moments later, the "silence" departed and the world came alive again. But the flames had died, the light was gone, and endless night rolled back in.
Mo Shu watched the direction they'd fled but didn't pursue. Instead, he hopped onto the rooftop and stood beside Zhao Xishi with a furrowed brow:
"You were gambling with your life."
"If The Prisoner had chosen to kill you instead of saving her, you'd already be dead."
Despite her palms being drenched in sweat, Zhao Xishi allowed herself a small smirk:
"But I bet correctly, didn't I?"
"History is a mirror—look into it and you see the person."
"The Prisoner I've studied may be insufferable, but he's never once abandoned a companion."
"Counterintuitive, isn't it?"
"But that's the fact. Even though his companions are few, even though everyone rejects his company—he's always been this way."
"Of course, there's a prerequisite: it only works if he chose you. Not if you chose him."
Mo Shu heard this and was briefly taken aback, then nodded.
Zhao Xishi caught his reaction from the corner of her eye and sneered:
"Don't tell me you think that's some kind of admirable quality."
"It's stupidity. Naked, undeniable stupidity!"
"In this world, all sincerity is dead weight. It only drags you into the abyss."
"Hmph."
Mo Shu returned her look with cold eyes, feeling that the "sincerity" on her lips was really meant to be "Zhen Xin."
Zhao Xishi didn't notice Mo Shu's subtle expression and continued:
"What a pity. His sincerity will become the blade that kills him."
"Just wait. He won't give up trying to save her. He'll go find the Fate Weaver. And the moment the Fate Weaver heals the Purgatory Bishop, they'll have dug their own grave. Recovered memories will turn War's flames into our weapon—burning away every last defense our enemies have."
...
The Prisoner sprinted with Ji Yue in his arms. Seeing the blood she coughed increasing with every step, he set his jaw, emptied every potion from his personal storage, and poured them into Ji Yue's mouth one by one.
But the Oblivion power saturating her body was overwhelming. He himself hadn't been able to withstand it—let alone a mage.
And beyond the Oblivion force, the threads in Ji Yue's brain were the real problem. They were bottomless pits, greedily devouring every drop of external healing energy while writhing and thrashing chaotically through her mind.
Ji Yue was dizzy and drained. She couldn't fight anymore. She managed to tap The Prisoner's arm and give him a look that said: slow down.
Her body couldn't handle this violent jostling anymore.
The Prisoner's eyes darkened. All trace of his usual chatter evaporated. He ducked into an alley, picked a random house, kicked in the door, knocked out the sleeping resident, and gently laid Ji Yue on the bed.
He poured the last potion down her throat, his voice low and grave: "I'm going to find brother-in-law. He's a Priest—he'll know what to do."
He turned to leave.
Ji Yue used her last ounce of strength to catch one of his fingers. She turned her head, coughed up a mouthful of blood, and with a ghastly pale face managed a smile:
"You shouldn't have saved me... cough cough... Battle opportunities vanish in a flash. You should've killed Zhao Xishi."
The Prisoner paused. He turned and looked at Ji Yue, shaking his head:
"Then you'd die."
Ji Yue laughed out loud:
"Cough cough cough... Everyone dies. But as long as my death means something, I can accept it."
"What meaning?"
"Just to kill a Historian that even Zhen Yi didn't think was worth her time?"
The Prisoner seemed genuinely angry. He jabbed a finger toward where Zhao Xishi had been and cursed: "She's not worthy!"
Ji Yue smiled. For the first time, she found this so-called second unluckiest Silence follower almost endearing.
"No wonder Qin Xin recruited you."
"He really does have an eye for people..."
"Though it's a shame—another City Defender. That Fang Shiqing girl sure is lucky."
The Prisoner patted Ji Yue's hand: "Stop talking. I'm going to find him. There's still time."
"There's no time left..."
"I know my own body. The ancient battlefield's corrosion already has me running at maximum capacity year-round. Add this tidal wave of Oblivion power, plus whatever those Memory threads are doing..."
"Don't say—"
"Let me say it. Let me finish."
"War followers aren't brainless. City Builders aren't impulsive."
"Everything I did wasn't reckless bravado. I just wanted the Fate Weaver—the one you called the Torchbearers' answer—to draw closer to us."
"Mo Shu is too hard to kill. Killing Zhao Xishi was a golden opportunity, but... it didn't work out."
"I know that using emotion to manipulate someone isn't noble. But for a greater light, I'm willing to shoulder a moment of darkness."
"City Builders never fear death. We only fear dying without meaning. If my death could advance the God Creation Plan... then I can face all those City Builder predecessors hanging on that wall..."
"Cough cough... The Prisoner. As fellow Torchbearers—promise me one thing."
"Burn my body. Let me return to the embrace of flames."
"I don't know what the Historian planted in me, but I don't want to become your enemy after I'm gone..."
"Why are you crying... cough cough... Promise me. Please?"
"..."
In that moment, every trace of the second unluckiest man alive vanished from The Prisoner's face. His fists clenched white-knuckled, veins bulging, as he choked back fury and grief. He stepped forward, planted his foot on his own fallen tear, seized Ji Yue's hand, and nodded—hard.
"I... promise."
The words had barely died when the door behind him was kicked clean off its hinges. Before any figure could be seen, a healing spell of staggering density crashed down on both of them like a tidal wave.
At the same time, a scoffing voice drifted in from outside:
"Tch—"
"I don't."
"No Priest would tolerate a teammate dying in front of them."
"You want to die? Did you ask me first?"
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