"Have you been obsessed with my head since just now, Flügel?"
Arthur looked at her strangely.
To be honest, this was a novel experience for him. Enemies in the past had either fought to the death because of conflicting positions (like the clones and Vortigern), fawned over him, or been perverts like Lucius and Think, who wanted to defeat him and then imprison him.
Of course, all of this stemmed from his charm.
But this Flügel before him… the charm had definitely worked, no doubt about it. So why was she so fixated on his head? Did the Flügel really see something as grotesque as dismemberment as sacred and beautiful?
"Master, the Flügel collect the heads of their enemies as trophies… After all, they are a warlike race born for battle." Think's attitude shifted quickly as he explained with uncharacteristic earnestness.
By the way, he had never been this respectful when speaking to Sen Shen.
Thinking of it this way, Arthur felt he was enjoying Think's "first time."
"…All right."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Confirmed: all Flügel are perverts.
Collecting heads as a hobby was beyond twisted.
His gaze at Jibril grew more regretful.
What a waste of such a face… no, it was a shame that someone with such a pure, beautiful visage chose to act like such a nymphomaniac.
"Ah? A mere forest bastard with longer ears, and yet he has some knowledge." Jibril covered her mouth and laughed softly, though her murderous intent only deepened.
Two enemies stood before her.
Compared to Arthur—whose aura was irresistible and multifaceted—Think was trivial. Not even worth chopping off.
Uninteresting. Unthreatening. Unworthy of effort.
But Arthur… Arthur was different.
"What's wrong? Dissatisfied with my interests? Even if you complain, I'll still keep your head."
"No, I'm just curious why you assume I'll be the one killed. You also said I carry the aura of an Old Deus. Does that mean you think you can defeat one?" Arthur chuckled. "I heard the Flügel were the only race to kill a god during the war. But one person alone? Not enough."
"Excuse me, you misunderstood me. You do carry the aura of an Old Deus, yes, but it's only that—an aura. I see that you possess a massive amount of spirits, but I've faced opponents like you before." Jibril explained gracefully.
"I see—"
"—!"
The voice came from behind!
In the blink of an eye, Arthur's body dissolved into shadow, and a golden sword lunged from a blind spot at Jibril.
No warning. Not even a trace of breath.
A perfect surprise attack.
But the Flügel—the God-killing Vanguard—were not so easily caught off guard. And Jibril was no ordinary Flügel.
Almost instantly, she whirled and countered, striking back with speed and precision beyond her limits.
A torrent of spirit energy condensed into a pitch-black weapon, cleaving down mercilessly.
Bang—
The muffled explosion echoed. Arthur's shadow dispersed into nothing.
Bait?!
Then the real body—!
Jibril spun around, eyes glimmering, lips wet with anticipation. "I knew it! I've stumbled upon a truly rare head!"
What greeted her was a radiant beam of light.
The Starlight Sword detonated at an angle calculated to be inescapable.
Jibril tried to teleport, but the surrounding space thickened unnaturally, as if sealed shut. Movement became sluggish. Even her spatial acceleration faltered into obscurity.
Interference?
A barrier!
By the time she realized, it was already too late.
The torrent of light swallowed her whole.
One second. Two seconds. Then Jibril reappeared—intact… if you could call it that. She had plummeted to the ground, several massive lumps swelling on her head, her skin ruptured and bleeding as if her very blood vessels had burst.
Yet her body's functions remained unimpaired. She simply looked… miserable.
"Is this your strongest attack? I admit—you are powerful. I apologize for underestimating you earlier. However—" Jibril rose slowly, bowing with an enraged, twisted smile. "Please pay your respects. I am Jibril, and I will bury you. Simply put, I will make you my most precious specimen."
Sealed space. Movement restricted. Her mental state manipulated. Then an unavoidable fatal strike.
Against a living being of the seventh races or below, survival would have been impossible.
Arthur was different.
And Jibril… for the first time, unease welled within her heart.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
This overly beautiful, dangerously fascinating man truly had the ability to threaten her.
"Full strength? Haha~ Whether it was or not, who can say?" Arthur waved his hand lightly, his expression relaxed.
Strictly speaking, the attack just now was nothing—an idle flick of the arm, a casual release of Starlight. Not even a real strike. Pure kindness, really. If he killed the Flügel outright, where would he find such an entertaining creature again?
He crooked a finger. "Go on. Attack me. Show me if the [Sky Strike] that once destroyed the Elven capital can reach me."
A clumsy provocation.
But perfect for arrogant prey.
"You think one strike is enough to defeat me? Then let me answer. Let's fight—kill, destroy, conquer—and at the end, I'll sever your head!"
A mass of elven spirits compressed into a colossal scythe. Jibril's lips curled into a wild grin as she broke through the sound barrier in a mad rush.
The posture radiated insanity.
Not an angel. Not even in appearance. No—an angel of death, born only to kill.
The more unhinged she became, the more interesting it was.
"Law:
The power of words.
The giant scythe in Jibril's hand shattered instantly. Even the organs linking her wings to the Elven Corridor faltered for a breath.
The sudden weakness sent her crashing straight toward Arthur, utterly defenseless—like she was offering her neck to the blade.
Yet Jibril showed no fear. On the contrary, she stomped down hard, propelling herself faster, determined to crash into him with devastating impact.
A suicidal tactic.
Even in success, she would bleed.
"Sharp instincts, but too reckless," Arthur said calmly—and drove a punch straight into her.
Jibril's body was hurled backward, faster than before.
Think, watching from the side, opened his mouth—then closed it again.
That demon… was being suppressed. Completely.
-End Chapter-
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