By all logic, Ovid’s abrupt breaking of the negotiation between Anna and the two phoenix sisters was a foolish action. But actually, since their first appearance in the restaurant, Anna had contacted Irene through the stone rune to evacuate this section of the city. Now that no harm to life would occur if Ovid and Margrethe fought, there was no more point in the negotiation.

Margrethe was not even a decade old, and naturally was lacking in the field of intellect and schemes. She didn’t care if any human lives were lost if the two of them were to fight, as long as she could humiliate or kill Ovid, the goal she came here to achieve would be accomplished.

After finishing his sentence, Ovid stood in front of Anna. He no longer said anything and did nothing. Although Margrethe was a fraction of his age, she could be considered a great and sturdy mountain, while he was still a pine tree, that had not yet grown thick enough to survive the mountain shaking.

But at least, this pine tree would not bend in every way which the mountain shook and lose its foundations. Ovid would not fall on his knees, give way, or retreat.

A strand of his hair fell down and covered Ovid’s face as he silently thought about something.

That strand of loose hair was moved back behind his ear by Anna.

At the same time, she looked into his eyes and said extremely serious, “I will beg Julia to come to help you… Please stay alive.”

Ovid’s lip forcefully formed a weak smile as he said calmly, “I won’t”

“Good,” Anna never replied so quickly in her life. Immediately afterwards, she hurriedly ran towards Julia’s palace, her footsteps leaving behind soft yet heavy sounds.

Even if Anna possesses a high status as Julia’s sister, Margrethe may have killed her off regardless.

Fortunately, Margrethe followed the code of chivalry from the storybooks closely.

After Anna left, no more matters could distract Ovid.

He looked at the small girl sitting on the table. He began to roll up his sleeves.

His actions were very slow, very careful, and very focused.

The first rolled the right arm’s sleeves to his elbow, and then the left.

He found at earlier when fighting Glafx that his sleeves hinder his sword.

Ulrika’s expression turned cold.

Ovid had once heard the saying that life isn’t fair. Although Ovid reached the saint of half-saint after a year, breaking all known records, and although he had the star Tanin to supply mana to him, Margrethe is a completely different matter. The difference between their bloodline cannot be surmounted, besides, she had reached a similar level as he had at the age of eight.

This was a battle that only held death.

However, he was so calm, to have even rolled up his sleeves so neatly with steadiness far beyond his age. If Anna was still behind him at this moment, she would have suspected Ovid had the demeanour of a great swordsman.

After his injuries from Glafx, he was resigned to his room for over a month. Over that month, the thing he did most was read through manuals and then writing down methods to counter those techniques. Other than drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry, from morning to noon, he also did this. More importantly, over than span of time, his temperament had gradually returned to how he had been before his death. He was serene and tranquil to the extreme.

Cai Hua had told him that the key to mastering the sword is to be simple.

Who in the world could claim to be simpler than Ovid at the current moment?

Thus, right now, the mana surrounding him began to form a sword intent. It was both simple and pure, like a newborn that had just entered this world.

Ulrika suddenly began to laugh surprising both Ovid and Margrethe. She was laughing because she was truly impressed.

The streets in the city were absolutely silent. Dark clouds began to gather and raindrops began to slowly drip down.

Then, these clouds were pressed down even lower, and the light rain instantly turned into a flooding downpour.

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Saints were a world within a world. Their mood will cause the skies to shift.

Then, her half-beguile smile disappeared as she said impassively to Ovid.

“It’s truly a shame that you will die before growing into a pine.”

Ulrika was truly impressed, for Ovids’ rolling up of his sleeves and taking out of his blade meant he was going to attack first. What’s more, Ulrika could feel the murderous intent targeted towards her.

Never in recorded history had anyone below sainthood willingly attack a saint.

The dozen or so saints that exist in the world were no different from gods to the common man. To kill a god was nothing short of heretical. Even if it was a mere attempt, it was unheard of, even if Ovid was a half-saint.

Of course, Ovid’s hands were already stained with Glafx’s blood.

Ovid then lifted his head and looked at Ulrika with a calm expression, his eyes resembling the surface of a lake.

Unsheathing the blade of his sword, he made a gesture of courtesy as a heavy downpour hit the roof of the building.

“Please make your first move.”

Ulrika once more began to roar with laugher, the elegant sound piercing through the clouds, scattering the torrential rain.

“What a pity.”

Ulrika said with a sigh, sounding very regretful. Because she had to ensure Julia or any other saint would take this opportunity and kill them, she could not directly fight against Ovid.

“How excellent,” Margrethe then unconsciously let out.

Margrethe thought that although Ovid’s appearance was very pretty, to the point of disgusting her, at this moment, Ovid was very handsome. If she didn’t have to kill him, she would force him to be her closest subordinate.

“I’m firmly aware that the ending of today is my death, but I will not despair and fight until the end.” This sort of person was written countless times in the storybooks she read, but it was the first time she saw someone displaying those qualities.

It was just a shame that this person was a woman, and a hatefully beautiful one at that, Margrethe thought.

Margrethe stood up and walked over. As she arrived before him, she looked at Ovid with a perplexed gaze.

Ovid also looked at her. Although they had fought in Aeon forest and met in Gael’s tomb, this is the first time he properly looked at the terrifying girl.

Describing her as a child was incorrect, but so is labelling her as a teen. Based on her youthful appearance, she doesn’t seem a day past preadolescence. Her eyes were slender and elegant, burning with unknown passion towards the world. It described crudely, she seemed like an ordinary woman from a village, were one to ignore her colourful tunic and pants.

A battle to the death is completely different from a duel. Without any signs, the battle began as the restaurant and the building surrounding it burst into flames.

A pair of colourful wings spread open behind Margrethe amidst the flames. With a piercing cry, the flames were shaken up as an extremely fast object moving through the air. Margrethe’s petite hand disappeared from her sides and reappeared before Ovid the next moment. Her finger was now extended and pierced toward his forehead with a strand of terrifying mana on the tip.

Her finger was somewhat rough and ordinary looking, but anyone could imagine the power carried behind it.

Her actions were too sudden, and too quickly. For Ovid, who had already bear his sword horizontally before him, facing this attack that holds a spot among the fastest in the continent, he found that it was impossible to follow up.

Any action with the blade would be too late since he was unable to follow Margrethe’s speed. If he acted like a stubborn fool and directly faced that finger, a hole would soon appear in his forehead.

As such, he wisely chose to do nothing with the sword. He quickly retreated backwards, past the kitchen and into the crooked street.

A soft hum came from Margrethe’s finger. An energy that was not sent out was naturally frustrated. It did not come into contact with Ovid’s forehead and instead disintegrated the entire street of buildings Ovid had been standing behind.

Ovid suddenly disappeared before her eyes. This caused her to wonder about some things.

This was a matter that was somewhat interesting to her, but she did not think much on this topic, much less become alerted. After all, she was a bird and Ovid was a human.

Just when Ovid appeared at a certain area on the street, she appeared at almost the same time and continued to pierce her finger forward. Ovid was likewise not surprised that she was able to follow him, for he did not employ any movement technique and relied on pure speed alone.

However, he disappeared once again, and Margrethe disappeared with him. In the next moment, he appeared before one of the roads leading into the city, closely followed by Margrethe. On the flat open plain outside the city, there was only the sound of cicadas among the grass. The massive gathering of people had all disappeared.

Regardless, Ovid was unable to break away from Margrethe or that thin finger than drew closer towards him at all.

Simple is good in almost any situations. The steps he took required the least amount of effort or muscles to avoid that terrifying mana didn’t even leave behind traces of footprints. Yet it clearly held no significance to Margrethe.

However, he had only fled to buy himself some time.

He walked on the simplest path. The simplest path is the straight path.

In the strange and crooked streets of the city, during the silent exchange that occurred between the two, allowed him to gain some distance, he had moved extremely precisely and calculatingly. With that, he was provided with an opportunity to strike.

Past the coarse fabric of her clothes, his gaze focused on Margrethe’s forehead.

Without any sound, a cold sword ray appeared among the well-trimmed fields. Its coldness defied the warm sun.

It was a simple strike. That means the speed and force behind it was the fastest and strongest.

However… it was not as fast as Margrethe. Even if she moved at the same speed as him, it was not hard to break through his strike.

To strike with a sword need the movement of the wrist.

In contrast, Margrethe only needs to bend her fingers.

Margrethe’s fingers that moved towards Ovid’s forehead bent slightly, striking the body of the blade somewhat clumsily.

With a clear clang, the sword vibrated like a bell that fell onto the floor.

Ovid’s sword was knocked away. A power that carried the essence of lifetimes than no one alone can bear travelled from the metal body into his shoulder.

The sword was a normal sword, so it shattered with Margrethe’s attack.

However, the force left alone was enough to cripple a normal person, or at the very least, dislocated the individual’s shoulder.

Fortunately, Ovid’s body had been reinforced by the purest of mana from Tanin and was even stronger than most saint’s.

As Margrethe’s finger redirected back towards his forehead, a scabbard appeared in his free hand.

He usually holds the scabbard in his free hand. Now that the sword was shattered, he could only use the scabbard.

A scabbard did not have an edge. It was no longer piercing, but rather smashing.

The scabbard in his hand… moved towards Margrethe’s waist.

His power could not rival Margrethe’s since speed was determined by the power behind it, and his speed was unable to surpass Margrethe.

He, therefore, chose to travel the least amount of distance.

The action was minuscule. He only lifted his shoulder in a seemingly casual manner.

It reminded him of when his mother disciplined him with a ruler.

Thud.

The ruler hit.