Chapter 72: It Doesn’t Matter

Moriel smiled, but perhaps because her facial features were too sharp and defined, the smile carried no warmth at all. Instead, it appeared aggressive and domineering.

"I said before, you saved me twice, and I will surely repay you." Moriel's smile widened, yet it still held no kindness—only an overwhelming sense of authority and oppression.

"Now tell me, what is your final wish before you leave this world? As a token of my gratitude, I will do my best to fulfill your last desire."

"Final wish? What do you mean by that?" Asa was stunned.

"What do I mean? Naturally, I mean that I'm going to kill you." Moriel looked at him, her body and eyes completely devoid of any killing intent, yet Asa could tell she wasn't joking.

After everything he had been through—all the trials and tribulations—his nerves were as tough as steel, and very little in this world could truly surprise him anymore. Yet, at this moment, his mind was blank, thrown into utter chaos.

In truth, no one could remain unfazed in a situation like this. A dragon whom he had not only saved but also greatly aided—her first action upon regaining her strength was to kill him.

"Moriel, please understand, it was those temple knights who attacked you—the ones from Celeste. I have nothing to do with this..." Asa stepped back, hoping this was just some absurd misunderstanding.

Although Moriel looked like a mere woman now, Asa was certain that, in front of her, he was no stronger than a chicken. Lancelote and the temple knights had only managed to wound her because she had been in a weakened state. Now that the seal was fully restored, while she might not yet be at full power, even if Lancelote were to return with the temple knights and stand alongside Asa, the result would still be the same.

"I know very well, you don't need to remind me." Moriel's tone remained cold. "Don't worry, I won't forget what those bastards did. After I kill you, I'll take some time to regain my strength before heading out. I've heard that the Glory Fortress is the grandest structure on the continent. I've always been curious—curious whether I could level it to the ground in half a day..."

Though her expression darkened momentarily when she spoke of the temple knights, and a surge of fury and killing intent briefly escaped her, her voice remained sharp and clear. She was perfectly lucid—she knew exactly what she was doing.

As Asa retreated, Moriel advanced toward him.

With two swift whooshes, Hilika and Rodhart, who had been feasting on corpses, suddenly sprang into the air, launching themselves toward Moriel's back. But with a mere turn, in the blink of an eye, their charging figures were sent flying backward.

With two resounding crashes, Hilika and Rodhart were sent hurtling backward, slamming into the rock wall and leaving two deep craters upon impact. Their already battered bodies twisted grotesquely, like cockroaches cruelly crushed by a massive hand. They could only writhe weakly, their disfigured limbs struggling to regain mobility.

Hilika's charge had been slightly unsteady, but his fist had already been wrapped in a layer of blood-red fight spirit. Meanwhile, Rodhart had picked up a temple knight's longsword, his charred body completely engulfed in a dazzling white radiance. The sheer brilliance of his swordplay—emerging from the hands of a burnt zombie—was enough to make ninety-nine percent of the continent's swordsmen question their very existence and abandon their blades forever.

Their martial prowess had not diminished in the slightest from when they were alive. Asa knew that even he and Lancelote, if forced to face these two together, would have to go all out just to stand a chance. And yet, all Moriel had done was turn, lift a leg, and in the next instant, both of them had been sent flying.

Her movements were simple—so simple they seemed effortless, as if she were merely kicking two balls. But this simplicity was executed with such speed and power that it was beyond comprehension. Neither Hilika's fist nor Rodhart's sword had been able to make any difference. They had simply been swatted away.

It was pure, direct motion—exactly like Grutt's style. And yet, unlike Grutt, this black dragon in human form had no need for fight spirit. She was even stronger, even faster.

At the very moment Rodhart and Hilika rose to attack, and Moriel turned to send them flying with a single kick, Asa had already drawn his blade. His fight spirit and killing intent had instinctively gathered, a pure reaction honed by countless battles.

But in the end, the strike never landed.

Asa knew that even though Moriel's turn presented a genuine opening, and his blade could indeed reach her, the only one who would die as a result would be himself.

Though she appeared as a woman, her true form was a dragon. Even if this strike managed to wound her, it would be no more than a minor injury—nowhere near enough to kill. And the moment she was hurt, things would truly spiral beyond control.

"Lord Moriel, at least explain why—" Asa continued retreating, his voice edged with wariness.

"Go ask Akibard."

The instant he heard her reply, Moriel's fist was already upon him. Though her hand seemed anything but massive or imposing, the speed of her strike turned it into a mere blur, faster than even Asa's eyes could fully perceive.

There was no dodging it. At best, he could block.

He crossed his arms, fight spirit surging to form a protective barrier over his chest, bracing himself. He blocked it.

Moriel's fist landed directly against his reinforced guard, striking the strongest point of his stance, where his aura was dense enough to withstand a full-force blow from an ogre warrior.

Yet in the very next instant, his aura shattered like glass.

He could almost hear the groan of his bones under the immense force. His arms did not break outright, but the moment of impact sent a terrible sensation rippling through his entire body—a sickening feeling as though every muscle and bone had been crushed.

With a dull thud, Asa slammed into the rock wall behind him. Compared to the two Dread Knights, his impact was far less intense—both in force and spectacle. The punch had been partially deflected by his block, dissipating much of its power. Because of that, he hadn't been reduced to a mangled mess like Hylika and Rodhart.

But it felt like he had.

How… how could this be possible?

This was the last thought Asa could barely piece together as his consciousness faded. The collision left him feeling as if his brain had shattered into dozens of fragments—along with parts of his muscles and organs, all mashed into an indistinguishable mess inside him.

Othello lay in absolute silence, a city reduced to ruins.

The holy flames of the Purgatory Paradise had finally burned out, leaving behind a battlefield so thoroughly scoured that not even a single corpse remained. All that stood were the remnants of shattered walls, gravestones marking the graveyard of a once-thriving dark elven city. Neither the dark elves nor the minotaurs had the time to clean up the battlefield now.

In one corner of the ruins, a massive pile of rock suddenly shattered with a sharp crack.

From beneath the rubble, the figures of the Minotaur Shaman and the Harpy Chieftain emerged, covered in dirt but still very much alive.

At the very moment when the Purgatory Paradise had descended, its divine flames raining down in an all-consuming tide, Shaman Timmah had expended every last drop of his magical energy to raise a thick earthen barrier, a dome of solid rock that had shielded him and Lorelei beneath it.

Against any other forbidden spell, such a defense would have been as fragile as paper, offering no resistance at all.

But Purgatory Paradise was unique.

Its divine flames could incinerate armor, flesh, and even magical barriers with ease, yet they did nothing to solid stone.

Timmah's mastery of earth magic had been his salvation. Amidst a sea of holy fire, he had clawed back a thread of life from the brink of annihilation.

The evil eye leader, being too far from Shaman Timmah, failed to make it into the protective barrier in time. The magic shield it hastily conjured with its psychic power lasted only half a blink before the sacred fire of the forbidden spell incinerated it. Along with a half-formed scream, its grotesque body disintegrated into ashes.

"Those church scum…" Lorelei shrieked hoarsely, her voice echoing through the desolate ruins. Though no corpses remained in sight, she had witnessed the moment before diving into Timmah's rocky shield—many of her harpy kin crying out in terror as they were swallowed by the descending white flames, vanishing into nothingness.

The harpy numbers had already been few, and this battle had nearly emptied their ranks. Had Timmah not grabbed her in time, she would have lost herself to rage and recklessly flown toward the rift in the cavern ceiling, straight into the fire.

Lorelei turned to Timmah, her voice shrill with fury. "I told you! I told you all humans are treacherous maggots! Even the lowest of the cave-dwellers are more trustworthy than them! But you—you—chose to believe that Cardinal's lies! You chose to work with them—"

"Enough."

Timmah's bellow shook the ruins. The twin flames in his massive bull-like eyes flared as if they would burst from their sockets. His mood was worse than Lorelei's—darker, more violent. He barely resisted the urge to rip this shrieking harpy in half.

But he endured. Unlike ordinary minotaurs, who let their impulses dictate their actions, he had always relied on strategy, patience, and control. That was why he had come this far.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a low, heavy tone. "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?!" Lorelei screamed. By now, screaming seemed to be the only way she knew how to speak. She could not understand how, after everything, this could still not matter.

"I underestimated Lancelote's schemes. That was my mistake. But that temple knight was only a piece they left behind. Lancelote and the others did go to kill Moriel. You heard that dragon's roar just now."

"If Moriel dies, then Nigen is ours. The grand scheme is set. What do a few casualties matter?"