The moment the sword touched Margrethe’s milky white neck, several thousand tiny flames simultaneously appeared, blocked the moment of the sword and its’ powerful sword intent.
Not long after, Margrethe finally opened her. The flames all extinguished, and a cold, deep, frozen well appeared within her passionate and warm pupils. The ice of the glacier slowly eroded the flames in her eyes, replacing the red colour with an azure glint.
Ovid removed his sword from her neck and gazed at her as she floated over the city.
The two calmly gazed at each other, not exchanging a single word.
Margrethe was a being whose total age was on par with the old creatures like Julia. She possesses the ability to reincarnate after ten thousand years of rest, and have done so countless times. No matter how talented Cai Hua or Ovid is, they cannot overcome the fundamental difference between so many years of foundation and the innate ability of the most divine of beasts. Through transforming to her true form, unless a dragon or a god appears, it is almost impossible for her to lose.
However, if Margrethe could not lose, then Ovid must be the one to suffer defeat. But in this battle, defeat means death.
Even if Ovid fears death, living is far better. He could not accept this arrangement.
Looking at Margrethe, Ovid felt his heart was torn into pieces like paper, painfully and bleeding from his mouth, he continued to grip on his sword. In that short moment in which their gaze met, who knows what kind of injury Ovid suffered. Margrethe’s eye contained no killing intent, yet the life in Ovid was suppressed to it’s fullest.
Margrethe’s strength is now countless folds greater than Ovids’. From his determination to bear himself to meet her eyes showed not only his mental resilience but also strength; he could continue to expose his soul to her onslaught and persist until now. This made the now far more aloof Margrethe filled with admiration.
But because he had consumed her true blood, she could no longer force him to be her vassal. He must die.
The vermillion red in Margrethe’s purple had already become azure blue. Cold mana that was even chilling to Ovid emerged from her colourful robes. At this moment, one would have not assumed she was a fiery phoenix. At this moment, she seemed more like the deathly hoopoe who’s bones are seeped with death.
The vestiges of a phoenix appeared behind her.
The phoenix radiate intense rays of light that seemed to engulf all the half of the night sky. Just like that, it seemed as though another sun had appeared, causing the stars to gradually disappear without a trace.
Due to the light the bird emitted, there were no shadows or reflections of the creatures. Only staring at it directly can on see the feathers of the bird each seemed to be a star of its’ own. As the stars faded out, the feathers grew in brightness.
Gradually, a shape began to trace out. With the slow disappearance of the stars, this form became more distinct.
It was a pair of wings. It shone all colours in the world.
These wings span from one side of the continent to another, becoming the horizon itself. It could only be described as limitless, without end.
The phoenix, the divine empress of all beasts, finally revealed it’s true appearance.
Along with its appearance, the world changed colours. Those dark and heavy clouds that had washed over Margrethe and the city instantly dispersed.
Far away within the Aeon forest, a sparrow was crying out with all its might. With the gloominess of Gael’s tomb gone, spring had come early for these birds, who were crying out with all their might, reverberating the sound with great difficulty and hardship. The chirping sound repeated continuously through the now-lush land at the centre of the forest.
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After a long time, and with much effort, a pretty female sparrow split the leaves and landed on the same branch as he. Joyfully, the sparrow expended the last of its energy to create a wonderful symphony.
As it opened its mouth to sing the first note, a ray of bright light suddenly occupied its vision. Both sparrows hastily adopted the most servile of postures and lowered themselves into the mud. Before long, the rest of the forest followed suit. Even the aloof owl Minerva humbly bowed before the presence of the divine phoenix.
The phoenix did not need the Sun, because she herself was the Sun. The rays of light overflowed from its feathers, creating countless threads of light.
This scene was so beautiful that it seemed surreal. It one tried to compare it with something, only the largest cities in Ovid’s world would match it in luminosity.
In truth, even cities like New York could not compare. It only harnessed the power of the lonely blue planet, how can it compare to the grandness of the night sky?
The phoenix was one of the first creatures in this world, it had supposedly been born from a fallen star.
According to myth, the very moment it had gained consciousness, it was already at sainthood.
Now that the divine phoenix had appeared before Ovid, one could be sure to say that the myths were indeed true.
Ovid bore the might of the phoenix as it enveloped the sky.
When he first met eyes with Margrethe, he had been waiting for this moment to come.
He had died once before, it was gradual; from when he had first entered the hospital to losing his life, it had taken about three months. Over the course of time, he had too much time to prepare - he had grown numb.
That numbness extended to his encounter with Glafx. Even as his flesh was being consumed, Ovid had stayed tranquil and calm.
So he believed that he was not afraid of death.
Yet at this moment, Ovid realised the true despair death brings. It was too abrupt, he did not even manage to adjust his mind.
This sort of feeling was novel, but certainly not pleasant.
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Divine beasts like the phoenix were only rivalled by the strongest of dragons. Margrethe, who had to transform into her true form, had abandoned many things, including her current incarnation, her relationship with Ulrika and ten thousand years. As a result, only when Ovid had pushed her to the absolute limit, and confirmed his identity as a man who consumed her first blood, did she chose to transform into this form.
Just how can Ovid face up against this world-shaking divine beast? Even for a saint, defeating a phoenix would be the same as a myth, much less a half-saint like him. He had already saturated his body with Tanin’s mana, yet did not manage to leave a scratch on her. Even if he could perform his most powerful strike countless times, he would not be able to face up against this phoenix at the peak of sainthood.
The sword in his hand was a wonderful treasure Cai Hua had cultivated throughout his journey to immortality. It had slain immortals and even stunned Julia… but Ovid was not Cai Hua. At this moment, the pressure and light from the phoenix had stilled the sword. Although it still showed it’s carefree arrogance, can it be an opponent to the phoenix?
The frozen sword intent from the silvery pearl retreated back into his body as the body of the blade trembled at great speed, giving off a clear hum that was very similar to when Cai Hua sang.
Of course, the man was not here, but even then, the sword showed no fear. It had trembled out of excitement.
Sensing the aura of the phoenix and the near-infinite supply of mana… the sword was ready to rush it and temper itself in phoenix blood.
It dared to do this because it had already bathed in the blood of other divine beasts… such as the dragon.
The sword as indeed like the man itself. It was infinitely proud and arrogant, a rebel desiring freedom from its core. Its dull shine that resulted from the cheap metal it was made from scattered the light from the feather of the phoenix as if performing an act of defiance.
Looking at the sword, Ovid did not feel an instant reverence to it for he had been around Cai Hua for too long. Still, his gaze became more resolute when he learnt the nature of this sword.
The sword was brought by Cai Hua at the beginning of his journey to eternity. At that time, he had incredibly impoverished, only after selling all the furniture in his house did he manage to afford this sword.
Even then, it was only half a liang, something akin to a month’s wage, Cai Hua had to earn by selling all his possessions. From that alone, one could imagine the poverty he and this sword had cultivated under.
Cai Hua’s remarkable theory of ‘everything can be a sword’ was not some grand enlightenment, but because he quite literally had nothing at the time. Yet with this understanding, and his peerless talent, Cai Hua eventually managed to stand at the top at the sword, matched by none, feared by all.
This sword consequently, gained a legendary status. Many youths who viewed Cai Hua as an idol would refuse to use a sword with a legendary status, rather choosing to be accompanied by a cheap sword that cost only half a liang.
Unfortunately, there cannot be a second Cai Hua, even Ovid, his personal disciple and a genius of the sword in his own right could not achieve the same comprehension as he had.
But this sword of legendary renown had been gifted to Ovid by Cai Hua without a second thought. This was because of a simple reason.
It never cultivated a sword spirit.
Without a sword spirit, even the sword made with the best material was as useless as a lump of metal in a true expert’s eye. They can create the hardness and sharpness needed by a sword with their mana or spiritual essence, but they cannot create a spirit.
But today, under the influence from the cold intent of the silver pearl, Cai Hua’s comprehension of the sword, and the insurmountably fierce mana from Margrethe’s true form, it finally gained a spirit.
Now that the sword possesses a spirit, it combined both Ovid and Cai Hua’s comprehension of the sword. It was arrogant, yet pure and tranquil at the same time. It carried a noble bearing that originated from its very existence as one of six - now seven swords with a spirit.
Its’ existence was a miracle in itself. How could it fear the phoenix?
Ovid looked at the sword and felt it’s immature pride. Perhaps because a third of the sword’s existence can be contributed to him, Ovid felt it was extremely familiar.
This type of familiarity was hard to explain. It was extremely strong and independent, causing his mind to grow agitated, and slivers of arrogance to appear within himself.
It was not sure which began first, but both his hand and the sword trembled.