The phoenix’s mirage is suspended several hundred meters above the ground. It seemed to act like heaven itself, covering the darkness and bringing forth light to this world. Amid all this brightness, it’s two eyes was the most distinct, like two balls of cold fire that burned on endlessly, detached from the world surrounding it.
Margrethe’s colour clothes seemed even more vibrant, her petite body serenely frozen between the two cold fire. Although her figure was nothing more than a dot compared to the phoenix, it was impossible for one to doubt the two entities were the same. It was a law that even the natural world cannot interfere with.
In the middle of that existence as bright as the stars, an unimaginable pressure pressed down onto this world. Along with this pressure came an outburst of the most tempest of winds. Even the frenzied storms of the Afiloxenos Ocean were calm compared with this gale. The burnt grass crazily danced in the air and the roofs of the buildings were separated from the better-built constructions. There were even some buildings that collapsed entirely. One by one, these insulas were detached from its foundations.
With an aloof and beautiful cry, the phoenix flapped its wings and began to descend upon the city. It felt as though the sky itself was collapsing on Ovid. The dazzling light from its’ countless feathers dimmed and then illuminate once more, almost as if it were alive. Thus, the whole world began to burn. Even from the ocean, mist was visibly rising up while its surface was set ablaze.
Right beneath this ocean of flames was Juliana. This core of the city did not suffer the same fate as the fields outside it. It was personally protected by Juliana and so had a bubble surrounding it. The surface of this enormous bubble was smooth, and it especially shone under the light’s reflection. It was transparent and perfect.
As the phoenix approached, the blazing plains outside the city shone with light, but much of the city itself did not change at all. Many commoners outside the city had fled into the core protected by Julia, but those too late did not survive and quickly turned into ash.
Outside the boundaries of the city was Ovid, looking insignificant, as though a flap of the phoenix’s wing could blow him away. Yet he held a sword with a sword spirit in his hand. With it, he could not be considered someone insignificant at all.
The pig steel sword in his hand was not even long enough to pierce through the phoenix’s skin, could it stand up to this divine beast? Moreover, the sword spirit still has to be tempered, how could it go into battle immediately? Any expert looking at this picture would subconsciously ask this question in their mind.
This question, however, never appeared in Ovid’s mind, perhaps since his personality had been influenced by it to be a bit more arrogant. Regardless, the sword in his hand gave off a warm and amiable feeling, like it was a part of him from the very beginning.
The sword also disturbed his spirit. Suddenly, his heart began to beat several times faster and the mana flowing through his veins began to move at a much faster speed.
Even Tanin became to disturb, it’s warm body trembled and arcs rose on its’ surface.
Its entire body was made of the purest and undisturbed mana. With these arcs, a massive amount of the mana within Tanin was expelled, directly entering Ovid’s body at a rate even greater than it had been when he was within Gale’s tomb.
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The masses of mana within his body was a sweeping wind that disturbed all things. The frozen surface of his lake began to burn rapidly, melting into the clearest of water, before turning into dark clouds. These clouds then began to pour incessantly and water flowed endlessly through his body, shattering apart the mountains. These mountains were representations of his bones, so it was naturally a very painful event, but Ovid did not give off a single sound. He only tightened the grip on the hilt of the sword and stared at the approaching phoenix. The rain gathered into a single point.
That point was his waist. The violent shock from the torrential rain met with the sword, transforming into a never seen before sword intent.
His greatest advantage is his near-infinite supply of mana. Although the sword spirit was a newborn, a newborn with a gun can still kill a man.
Carrying a forbearing and prideful sword intent, Ovid wielded the pig steel sword and stabbed it at the divine phoenix.
A bright and infant ring appeared in this world for the first time, reverberating throughout the plains.
The proud and magnificent sword intent carried a frigid cold intent and travelled several miles through the sky. Beneath the heavens, it pierced at the space between those two equally cold balls of fire that were the phoenix’s eyes.
The Phoenix extended its sharp beak, fiercely colliding against the tip of the sword intent.
In the next moment, the sword intent disappeared. In the end, countless faint and tiny cracks appeared, indicating that space itself cannot resist the might of the collision.
A tide of mana instantly came down from the sky to the ground, then swept off as far as the Great Dividing Ranges. The few stubborn buildings on the outskirts of the city were all pulled off and blown off to someplace, even the bedrock beneath the plains had been peeled off.
Only that thin membrane did not shake at all.
Ovid did not pay attention to the destruction around him or seemed to have sensed the shockwave of mana. He stared at the pig steel sword in its hand, because at that moment when the two energies collided, the pig steel sword gave off an extremely clear sound.
It was the sound of clanging, like a swordsmith hitting the blade with a hammer.
A dusky layer of the sword fell off, turning into flakes of rust and disappearing with the wind.
This matter was a joyous one but Ovid could not appreciate it at this moment.
In the middle of the frenzied shockwave, Ovid retreated through the now desolate forest and fell against a humble hut, his impact breaking apart the stone.
His face was pale and blood seeped through his ears, dripping onto his clothes. He felt like all his bones were broken… even though he was a half-saint. The sword was simply yet to be ripe, it’s sword intent not fully developed.
Even if the sword spirit had a stature equal to that of a saint, it could not be an opponent to Margrethe.
Ovid glanced at the sword and noticed its surface had grown a much smoother and cleaner, appearing new once again. He realised the flakes that were expelled were probably the impurities within the metal.
He now realised his sword had actually been tempered.
Cai Hua could use a bamboo stick like a sword, but that was because he was an immortal who truly mastered his skills and understanding of the sword. Ovid was only a half-saint and still needed to rely on the quality of the metal. Now that the sword was finally tempered did it have a body truly fitting of its legendary status as a sword spirit.
He felt the sword that was now renewed with vigour and then silently walked out the remains of the stone hut. Once more he gazed at the burning sky.
For some reason Ovid did not understand, Margrethe had chosen to use her true form after all other options were exhausted. It was so strong, so why did Margrethe hesitate, Ovid, wondered.
Regardless, her true form, the phoenix had truly entered this world. Those two flames were still cold and indifferent. They proudly looked at Ovid’s significant person standing in the middle of the wheat fields.
Dark clouds roiled above, but it was covered by the phoenix’s wings. Countless bolts of lightning, however, managed to pass through, bringing emotion to the air.
The sword in his hand hummed as if excited by the air.
With this, the already powerful mana fluctuations surrounding Ovid rose once more.
The sword’s spirit had truly awakened.