Liquid gold poured through the night sky, illuminating the forest with its gilded light. The massive shadows created by the beast no longer existed, the forest seems to be burning.

Margrethe’s face was still full of immaturity, but her eyes suddenly contracted. Abandoning the rapier in her hand, red began to crawl upon her snow white wings.

In a moment of splendour, Margrethe’s wings burnt with equal splendour. Gripping her hand into a fist, she punched the sky.

Punching at the sky was one movement, and if Margrethe remained still, it would be like the images imprinted on the famous tapestries stored in the Papacy. However, her small fist had punched the star countless times, creating a compilation of countless images.

Margrethe’s first formed a perpendicular line with the cracked ground below her. Her eyes were focused solely on the star, but countless flames circled around her body, turning into a neigh-perfect sphere of light.

The light originating from the star touched the sphere and exploded in a muffled boom that rang as thunder permeated through the forest.

The initial rays of light had failed to penetrate Margrethe’s flames, but no stars burn for such an instant. Akin to a constant torrent, Tanin continues to release bursts of light at Margrethe.

A sound as clear as that made by a blacksmith hammering a metal was created, entering the ears of the beasts many kilometres away, the weaker monsters began to howl in pain.

The forest was filled with pellets of flame, spreading even to the banks of the river, yet not a single glimmer of light could draw close to Margrethe’s body. Not even the most volatile and meagre of flames could float into that sphere made of Margrethe’s soul flames.

The forest, under the intensity of the flames, were cleared into plains marked with the scars of the conflict. Like the surface of the moon, the marks densely covered its surface, whether shallow or deep.

Margrethe continued to stare hatefully at Ovid, holding her fist toward Tanin, she appeared as if frozen in time.

Yet if one inspect closely, they could see countless drops of sweat appearing on Margrethe’s forehead, before evaporating instantly into small streams of mist.

Like a phoenix undergoing nirvana.

Seeing this sight, Cai Hua wondered if this sort of battle was too intense. Ovid’s face had turned even paler than usual, indicating that all his energy had been dedicated on the star. Even if Margrethe was extremely inexperienced at combat, she is still on the level of a bishop.

Margrethe was currently using the flame of rebirth cultivated specifically for her next nirvana five hundred thousand years in the future. In cases of emergency, it could be used as a form of defence.

There was once a tale of the boy who had flew to close the sun, and suffered divine repercussions for his actions.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Yet a phoenix’s greatest affinity was with the sun, it for impossible for a phoenix to be burnt, for they possess the purest of flames.

It was clear that Margrethe’s superior bloodline and level had suppressed Ovid.

But to suppress your foe does not mean certain victory, rather, the battle seemed to have come to a deadlock.

Cai Hua was aware that all of Ovid’s cards had been spent and with the uncertainty nature of Ovid’s star, he could not help but worry. Then, he saw Irene lightly shaking her head atop the river.

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To Margrethe, Ovid’s expressionless face was the greatest of insults. Not only was it beautiful to look at, but was also the truest form of arrogance… Ovid was showing complete disregard towards her.

She had even displayed her most beautiful flames, but like a zombie, Ovid’s expression still didn’t change.

For someone as prideful as Margrethe, this sort of indifference was truly spiteful. Listening to the sound of explosions around her from the constant stream of light, Margrethe let out an arrogated, but might shout!

Accompanying it, was the moulding of her body in that of a splendid and elegant bird. With a serious of great cries, two crimson wings fluttered, causing her body to disappear, then to reappear infront of Ovid.

Piercing through the light with her claws, Margrethe’s massive body struck collectively at Ovid. She paid no mind to the harsh rays that contacted her brilliant feathers. Even if Ovid experienced the full impact of Margrethe’s attack, Tanin’s rays would pierce through her beautiful wings.

Due to Margrethe’s pride, the battle has reached it’s most dangerous stage almost instantly.

The attack of Margrethe was just like her previous moves with the rapier, bold and powerful, yet now, there exists a distinct fluctuation of mana in her strike.

Cai Hua had a hint of admiration for the decade-old girl, and said, “To be able to use Soul Flame, no wonder she gained sentience at such an early age.”

The soul of the phoenix is stored within its flames, which last as long as heaven and earth. It is through this flame, that phoenixes were able to reincarnate every five hundred thousand years without suffering the repercussions experienced by all other creatures. Due to the everlasting nature of the flame, it contains the strength of all the phoenix’s previous incarnations.

Usually, it would take a newborn phoenix several thousand years before they could master their soul flame, but afterwards, they are able to infuse it with any of their attacks and strengthen it countless folds.

A powerful wave of heat struck the world, yet the Steel Bark Trees that had suffered countless blow were not affected… Rather, the flames were perfectly controlled.

The claw slashed through space.

Ovid had only an ordinary sword, so how could he receive it?

Ovid stabbed the blade in the ground, with his flesh and bones, he placed his white and slender hand before him!

The original Ovid had consumed the remains of the old saints of Alexander’s empire, strengthening the body to one far stronger than those of ordinary man. Later, he had absorbed the blood essence of Cai Hua, so by now, his body should be comparable to those of a newly advanced bishop.

Even then, how could he resist the accumulation made through the countless times Margrethe had undergone nirvana?

The sharp and fearsome claws sunk into Ovid’s body.

Ovid’s body, although experiencing the harsh life of a peasant, did not give off a study feeling, it was more like the boneless bodies of the famous courtesans in Juliana, yet it managed to block that attack!

Amid the Steel Bark Tree, it was as if Ovid was the most towering and broadest tree, its roots spreading throughout the red soil granting him such stability.

The sound of cloth tearing could be heard.

The stola was made by the receptionist, a being that has lived as a hermit for several thousand years, in history, only two others had the same level of tailoring skills as the receptionist, one being the Pope of the human world. The clothes she creates not only is aesthetically pleasing but is also threaded in a manner to absorb the strongest of impact.

From the tear in Ovid’s stola, blood slowly seeped out, smearing Margethre’s claws.

Ovid’s blood was slightly different from that of normal humans’, although it was still red from oxidation, it was very cold, like a stream of water than should have been frozen long ago.

Finally, a hint of pain appeared on Ovid’s face, although it was a subtle sigh, it was present.

Margrethe noticed this and became a little proud of herself for finally breaking Ovid’s supposedly perfect veil that hid his hypocritical nature.

Cai Hua saw this, and though it that the response Ovid displayed was typical of what one would expect of a normal girl.

Irene saw this, and remained silent, lowering her head to stare deep within lake, where countless monsters reside.

Only Ovid knows that he was not afraid of fear, but rather, the pain was from his previous life.