Ovid took in three breathes, held it for three seconds, before gradually releasing it.

This action that his mother taught him made him very calm.

As the breath left him, the river and valleys that held the world within him began to rain once more. The relentlessness of this rain was countless times stronger than before, and within a moment, filled up the valleys between his mountains. At the same time, exquisite shards of ice appeared on the surface of the clear lake surrounding his heart.

The crystal shards touched the water, transforming it into ice. Perhaps the influence of the sword was too strong, or perhaps the scorching mana from Tanin had changed completely, the frost spread throughout his body. In the valleys filled with raging water, a layer of clear verglas the enclosed the flood from wreaking havoc throughout Ovid’s body.

The violent mana from Tanin set his blood ablaze, while the silver pearl and the sword froze his bones. The vast contrast between these two forces brought unimaginable pain, causing his face to become abnormally red, while his hand turned blue. However, Ovid seemed unfeeling of the pain, instead, his eyes grew brighter and brighter.

Ovid had already once set his blood ablaze when facing Glafx. Although one cannot be truly used to this pain, Ovid could be considered one of the few people use to it. Still, he only did this to provide enough mana for the sword spirit.

The divine phoenix in the sky before the plain looked at him indifferently. Its’ feathers were unruffled by the strong winds it brought, instead, it parted the winds itself, appearing magnificent. The cold fire in its eyes showed a tiny hint of emotion, a vague sense of respect.

Ovid’s body had been tempered many times already, and now has a defensive ability that even some saints cannot match. However, with the frigid cold and violent flames competing, an unimaginable amount of pressure built up within him. His right arm, where the flow was most violent, was unable to bear it anymore, and blood began trickling down.

The fresh blood was truly quite strange, it would be frozen into shards of ice in one moment, then blazing like the glimmers of stars the next. This strange fluid flowed down his arm, appearing extremely terrifying. Beneath his red stola, bones frozen purple could be seen. It wet the sleeves of his stola and also caused the hilt of his sword to become damp. These blood were saturated with mana, so the sword did not allow it to go to waste, and instead absorbed them before they landed on the soil.

Fissures began to appear in Ovid’s heart, yet no blood or flesh could be seen in the cracks. As more mana was channelled, the cracks grew larger by many times. It spread throughout his heart, stopping only where the veins began.

Julia had once judged Ovid’s heart to be extremely familiar. It was completely transparent - without any impurities. Hence, anything could pass through his body without obstruction. In theory, it could sustain an infinite amount of mana, or any other substance, such as the heavy liquid in the ravine.

Such a heart is limitless and could be either bad or good. It can be used to deplete the river that troubled Julia or carry a massive amount of violent energy.

All these things were unbeknownst to Ovid. He right now was a thin line away from death, and could not spend any of his towards anything aside from the phoenix.

The shadow of the divine phoenix landed on the plain. It spread its wings, enveloping the whole of the meadow and countless other things. Both the sky and ground became lit. It was like an omnipotent presence aware of everything everywhere, shining light onto any secrets. The remains of the stone hut behind Ovid could not stand it, it’s ruins crushed into dust.

This pressure was extremely powerful with almost no equal. It seemed to have solidified into something material, as apparent by the destroyed hut behind Ovid.

Of course, the pressure was not targeted at the stone hut, but the person before it.

Immediately, the fresh blood changing between states evaporated, whether burning or frozen. The pressure caused Ovid’s white hair to shrivel and turn a sickly yellow, gradually turning into dust that dispersed with a blow of the wind.

Stolen story; please report.

In…

Ovid looked at the dagger as he held his breath.

Out…

He was forcing his mind to remain tranquil.

Besides the heart where the soul rests, the only thing that Ovid brought to this world in his mind. Compared to the soul, it was less important, but one’s perception still relied on the mind. Preception was what one used to sense all things in this world. This included the sword spirit.

The sword in Ovid’s hand was very cold and extremely empty. It was like a world without light. In the deepest part of this world, the sword spirit gingerly rested. With Ovid’s calling, an extremely light ripple radiated throughout the space into the centre of this empty world. Afterwards, it gently touched the sword spirit, causing the edge of the spirit’s robes to ripple. Abruptly, the sword spirit’s eyes opened to this motion; despite the tenderness of the wave, the sword spirit carried killing intent in its eyes.

The sword spirit looked at the empty world surrounding her and showed an equal lack of interest. It was a newborn yet instantly knew what’s happening outside due to the bond it possesses with Ovid. Of course, it could see the phoenix in the sky.

The killing intent in its eyes grew. It only entered this world moments ago and knew no other emotions.

A clear and earsplitting ring reverberated throughout this world, travelling to its’ edge. The chime continued out of this world, and into the open field. The sword trembled even more violently, and countless sword intents blossomed. In the next moment, they withered like flowers in winter.

Ovid did not realise that a sea of sword intent bloomed and died within the sword, but he knew that the spirit of the sword had gained consciousness.

He raised his head and looked at the phoenix in the sky. His expression was slightly colder than usual.

He held the sword horizontally before him, before letting it forwards the ground.

Yet instead of falling, the sword turned into a stream of cold light, leaving the ruins of the stone hut, it flew toward the divine phoenix. With a trembling that shook the plain, the lone sword resembled an entire world!

In a perfectly straight line, the sword travelled through the vast sky.

It did not reflect the magnificent light given off by the phoenix’s feather but rather, created its own brilliance.

Faintly, in the radiance, it seemed as though a giant sword had appeared, cutting through the sky.

The phoenix gave off a clear and beautiful cry, incomparably grave and solemn, it resounded through the entire plain. Extending both of its claws, it straight away grabbed the body of the massive sword intent!

A terrifying noise reverberated ceaselessly throughout the world.

The starlight-like radiance of the sword instantly dimmed, yet did not shatter under the mighty claws, directly cutting through its talon, the incredibly sharp sword intent grew to raise over the night sky.

Several radiant feathers drifted up.

The shattered feathers were cut into finer pieces by the sword, as though it was cutting the stars itself!

Another phoenix cry rang out, far more tyrannical than before.

The sword had thrust itself into its feathers, yet failed to cut through the phoenix’s flesh.

The phoenix ruffled its wings before thrusting its sharp beak against the tip of the sword intent.

The countless streams of light swayed restlessly, both magnificent and painful, it was a scene neigh impossible to describe!

If the appearance of the phoenix was alike to the sun, this scene was light the universe had been lit by a quasar. From the Northern palace to the Holy See, from Julia’s palace to the frigid south, countless defensive formations were activated by the mana pulsating in the sky. Countless spheres of light almost simultaneously appeared everywhere on the continent.

This scene was truly far too beautiful, so beautiful that one would ashamed when watching it directly. In truth, few people can see this scene.

Bang!

A colourless light flashed in the sky, and the colours of the world disappeared.

The plain outside the city completely collapsed. It formed a whole several hundred meters deep, and ten kilometres wide.

Grass and rocks shattered, and dams supplying water to the city were destroyed.

Even the cliff overlooking the village collapsed. With a rumble like thunder, they rolled onto the farmland. From everywhere came the sound of ripping airflow, the violent clash between two saintly auras, and the miserable cries of the phoenix. This lasted until the last, final toil from the sword spirit.

The sword intent was so clear and distant that it seemed to originate from primordial times, but it was also full of vibrancy. It was overbearing and infinitely aloof.

An unknown amount of time passed, and feathers began falling from the sky along with pedals of snow. The violent and dreadful sounds finally disappeared, and the lands around the capital gained some peace. The hundreds of thousands of civilians raised their heads with fear and worry.

They saw that there was only the dark night left. No enormous frigid sword, no phoenix that radiated all colours of the world. All phenomena had disappeared, almost as if nothing had happened.

A very small yet colourful dot drifted down from high altitudes, like a sparrow that had exhausted all its energy flying. Only after a long time did the little sparrow hit the ground. It gave off a small plop and was extremely hard to detect when compared to the piercing sounds from the divine phoenix before.

The sparrow that fell from the ground was Margrethe. She landed heavily on the ground, and splat out a lot of true blood. The area where she landed was directly before the ruined stone hut - in other words, directly before Ovid.

Ovid squatted down and looked at her. Despite his status as a winner, he did not chose to look at her from above.

Still, he had probably done so because after defeating the phoenix, he was in extremely bad conditions.

Still, there was still a matter he had to finish.

He raised his arm toward Margrethe before him. He silently waited.

Another small object fell from the sky and before long, a sword appeared in his hand.