The dagger, moving decisively from left to right, cut the artery in her neck. Blood, warm with her body temperature, flowed out, soaking the stone platform. Life left her body, entering the void. Selene felt the world around her become blurry, but her brain and thoughts received an invisible blessing, becoming incredibly clear. Her body swayed, but she stood firm. The left side of her body was completely soaked in blood.

The pain remained. The wound remained. A severed carotid artery was enough to cause death in a matter of minutes, but Selene’s life, as if locked by the number “one,” wouldn’t change. This unnatural sight caused the priest’s pupils to constrict. He could hardly believe it.

—Even for a de-personalized heretic like him, this kind of wound should be enough to make someone fall to the ground and await death!

An invisible bloody mist formed around Selene. The swords, daggers, and projectiles flying towards her were all dissolved. The “Fury” conduits who had rushed forward screamed, fell to the ground, some managing to survive by falling from the platform, while others convulsed silently on the ground, becoming part of the bloody mist.

Selene held the dagger in her right hand and pressed it against her left hand. Then she slowly exerted force. The blade cut through the skin, tore through the flesh, severed tendons, and finally, stopped by the hard bone, embedded itself inside.

“I offer this, and pray for the ascension of life!”

The blood flowing from her wounds, in an instant, seemed to have taken on independent lives. They intertwined, clung to each other, and surged forward—

Enduring intense pain, Selene gripped the dagger in her right hand, holding it tight until her right hand, like her left, was also flowing with blood. Her muscles were torn. She used her bones to clamp down on the base of the blade and shouted,

“I offer this, and pray for the blade to become one with me, and for the increase of my unwavering resolve!”

The large and small wounds on her body seemed to burst open again, oozing blood. The blood merged with the blood that had risen from the ground. Ten blood-red snakes seemed to entwine around her right side. The blood snakes greedily lapped at her skin, licking her wounds, drinking the blood from her legs to her waist, and from her chest to her face.

The blood snakes greedily drank her blood and flesh, then continued to lick her palm, which was clamping down on the dagger, as if begging, as if longing.

Selene ignored them and once again gripped the dagger. The blade cut through the bone, making a chilling sound. The blood snakes shot out, transforming into long swords, sharp blades, and arrows that flew towards the gathered heretics. Just as Selene had said, adding wounds to them—

The swords and arrows pierced their bodies, adding wounds, giving them the steps of the Blade of Wounds. In the ancient, long-lost “Blade of Wounds sect,” wounds were considered tests and steps bestowed by the Blade of Wounds. The more wounds you bore, the higher you climbed the stairs, the more you could understand the truth of wounds, and achieve the ascension of life.

But they didn’t endure this trial, and fell like dominoes.

However, this large underground hall was far larger than they had imagined. Many heretics, though wounded, weren’t fatally injured, and still had the strength to move. The priest, who had dropped his sword and regained his clarity, realized the strangeness of the Ritual of the Wound and tried to escape, gathering a large group of heretics to protect him as a shield.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

But Selene didn’t give them the chance to escape. Her left foot suddenly stepped to the side, intentionally stumbling, twisting her left ankle into a horrible shape. Her calf and foot were practically at a ninety-degree angle. A second later, her right hand, which was still clamping down on the dagger, plunged into her ankle.

The blood from more than ten people shot out like sharp arrows, piercing the ankles of the heretics, who fell to the side like dominoes, one after another.

But a few heretics didn’t lose their ability to move. They were the “Pride” conduits. Under the priest’s instructions, they raised a pale green shield, blocking the incoming swords and the newly-formed blood-swords.

The priest was still trying to escape. His movements faltering, his strength waning. But he was very close to the exit. Just a few more steps, and he would escape successfully.

But Selene just smiled. Her right hand rose high, then suddenly plunged down, stabbing her own neck, piercing the area between her collarbones—

“I offer my life, and pray for the ascension of the unwavering…”

【This is so moving. This is the grace of the Blade of Wounds. This is my grace.】

【Wounds are grace. Wounds are ascension.】

The life that was focused as “one” passed away in an instant.

Selene fell limply onto the altar. An invisible weight descended from the heavens, precisely targeting the remaining active heretics, crushing them into a bloody mess. The priest’s face turned pale, but only his limbs were injured. His body and head were intact. Though he had lost consciousness, he was still alive.

She watched this unfold, gasping for breath. She felt a heavy pressure on her chest. The lack of oxygen caused a haze, making it hard to focus. She wanted to call for help. She opened her mouth, but only pink frothy blood came out. Her pupils constricted and dilated from the intense pain, eventually becoming blurry…

But I’m not planning on dying like this.

Her hand reached into her pocket. She pulled out the candle she had lit before the Guiding Doe statue. It had been placed in her left pocket, easily accessible.

The moment her hand grasped the candle, the wounds on her body, enough to kill a normal person ten times over, seemed to be restrained, and her organs began to function normally again.

But Selene knew this was only temporary. She still couldn’t stand up and could only lie on the ground, raising the candle high in her hand.

“I invoke the Guiding Doe, envoy born of sunlight, envoy of radiant sacrifice—”

“This is my offering—”

The Guiding Doe was the envoy of offerings and sacrifice, the envoy who sacrificed himself for others. A part of his sacrificial ritual was naturally also a ritual of offering and sacrifice, a ritual of self-sacrifice for the benefit of others. The higher the level of “offering” of the person conducting the ritual, the more attention the Guiding Doe would pay to that person—

This didn’t mean that he would actively bestow power or knowledge, but the attention of the “Guiding Doe” itself could accomplish many things.

And Selene’s Ritual of the Wound, objectively speaking, was a self-destructive and destructive act, a double loss. It had nothing to do with offering. But to the “Blade of Wounds,” this “envoy who bears the scars,” wounds were a blessing. Wounds made the heretics stronger. So the Ritual of the Wound became “Selene hurting herself to give the heretics a chance to become stronger.”

This was undoubtedly also a form of offering.

Selene performed two rituals simultaneously. During the sacrificial ritual, she performed the Ritual of the Wound, using it to deal with the heretics, and using the “offering” aspect of the Ritual of the Wound to complete the sacrificial ritual, using it to heal her wounds and strengthen herself.

Warm fire and light ignited on Selene’s body. This fire and light burned her wounds, as if driving away the darkness. Selene’s life force was recovering at a visible speed. She even felt that she had advanced a step on the path of becoming a “Ritual Magician,” and her spirit power had increased again. All she needed to do was prepare the materials needed for the ascension ritual. She could ascend to the next level anytime.

“A win-win situation.” Selene touched her neck and slowly stood up, whispering, “I won twice.”