NOVEL NEXT Chapter397-Edward’s Death
Milla had managed to withstand the last strike, but she was not unscathed.
Her body was riddled with abnormal states, her health faltering beneath the weight of Edward's carefully prepared attack. It was not something one could endure easily.
Across the battlefield, Alice heard Milla's sharp voice. She did not hesitate. At once, she turned and fled the scene, retreating from the storm that had threatened to consume her.
Milla had bought her that chance, but the cost was clear.
Even outside the reach of the blizzard, Milla's body was being steadily overtaken by ice.
Her movements slowed, frost crawling across her limbs. The freeze accelerated, locking her into place.
At the final moment, before she was entirely consumed, she managed to send a signal.
"Lord Daniel," she whispered through the psychic link, "I'll trouble you for some help."
Her body froze over completely.
An ice statue stood in her place, her health plummeting at terrifying speed. At most, she had ten seconds before death would claim her.
But Daniel would not abandon her.
The instant her plea reached him, one of his clones materialized beside her.
A cleansing technique flared, washing over her body, stripping away every negative state.
The ice cracked, melted, and fell away.
Edward's face darkened at the sight.
He remembered. He could not help but remember.
Fifteen thousand years ago, this same man had nearly destroyed him with a casual strike. Even now, that memory haunted him, and seeing Daniel's clone before him once more stirred that ancient fear.
Crisis pressed upon his heart.
Daniel's gaze met his.
It was cold. Detached.
"The last time," Daniel said, "I spared you for the sake of the God of Elements. But this time, Edward—you have come to seek your own death."
Edward had no chance to respond.
In the next instant, his body froze solid, encased in ice.
"Dean—save me!" he tried to call out.
But he never finished the thought. His plea did not reach anyone.
Daniel's domain unfolded, sealing him in.
Three seconds later, his broken body was hurled aside like refuse.
Edward, a peak Demigod Rank warrior, a devotee of the God of Elements, had been slain in the blink of an eye.
So easily.
So utterly.
The contrast was staggering.
Milla stared, still shaken from her own ordeal. Daniel's clone turned to her.
"Thank you," he said simply.
For without her intervention, Alice might have fallen.
Yes, Alice's death would not have doomed their cause. She would have resurrected, just like any other awakener.
But Edward would have succeeded in his ritual. He would have ascended into a Fake God.
That, Daniel could not allow. A second Fake God-level enemy would have turned the war into a nightmare.
If it had happened, he would have been forced to rely on Time Stream, rewinding himself to undo the outcome. But it was better this way.
One enemy removed. One complication erased.
Daniel gathered his thoughts, then turned toward Alice.
She had stopped running when she realized Edward was dead.
Her face held guilt, shame, as though she were a child who had erred.
Daniel spoke gently.
"Do not blame yourself. This was not your fault. You will face such enemies sooner or later. That is the path we walk."
"Alice, all you must do is give your best. You do not need to surpass everyone. This world has many strong figures. Strength alone is not the only measure of worth."
Alice's eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, comforted by his words.
Daniel's figure dissolved, vanishing from their side, reappearing at the battlefield where Fleshheart still raged.
The battle remained arduous. He was still only at Demigod Rank, fighting a foe of Fake God level. It was not an easy clash.
…
Meanwhile, on the Continent of Flesh, the awakeners were working with rising efficiency.
Their teamwork grew more fluid with each passing moment. Coordination sharpened. Attacks landed with precision.
The battlefield reflected their unity.
And with every success, Fleshheart's tendrils weakened.
The reason was simple.
Each heart destroyed drained it further. Every tendril severed demanded energy to regenerate.
The balance tipped, the monster grew weaker.
"Push harder!" one awakener shouted. "We've destroyed ten percent of the hearts already. Progress is fast!"
"Sector GB2500 cleared! Heart destroyed! Move to the next!"
Weapons clanged and shattered.
At first, they had used blades and spears, axes and hammers. But weapons wore down, chipped, and broke against the endless tide of flesh.
By the later stages, many fought barehanded, tearing the hearts apart with raw strength.
Some grew desperate.
A reckless werewolf, bloodstained and maddened, lunged forward and devoured one of the hearts whole.
The corruption hit instantly. His body warped, flesh writhing across his skin, threatening to overwhelm him.
But the Infinity Divine Temple's potion was ready.
They forced it into his mouth. The corruption burned away.
He staggered, panting. Then froze.
For he felt it.
Power. His strength had risen tangibly. His base attributes had grown stronger.
The werewolf's eyes widened in shock. He had devoured power itself.
At once, he reported the discovery up the chain.
Daniel received the message.
He blinked, momentarily surprised.
But realization dawned quickly.
Of course.
The hearts were vessels of Fleshheart's stored energy. Stripped of corruption, they were pure power.
The werewolf had absorbed a fragment of that energy, boosting his strength.
Fleshheart was Fake God-level. Even the smallest portion of its essence was immense to mortals.
Daniel considered it. Could others do the same?
He ordered experiments.
The results were grim.
For most races, the attempt ended in instant death. Their bodies ruptured, overwhelmed by both the corruption and the density of the energy.
Only the werewolves could withstand it, their physiology able to stomach the impossible.
The energy was wasted for all others.
Daniel shook his head with regret.
But then another report arrived.
"Captain Mejir has succeeded in consuming a heart," the messenger relayed. "He mixed the flesh with temple medicine, roasted it, and ate it. No explosion occurred."
"His base attributes increased by roughly ten percent."
Daniel's brows lifted.
Mejir?
The name sounded familiar. He thought he had heard it before, but his mind was crowded with recent struggles. He could not place it.
It hardly mattered.
The method mattered.
"Very well," Daniel ordered. "Spread this practice. Let every squad attempt it."
And so the battlefield shifted once again.
The focus changed.
Where before, efficiency meant smashing hearts as quickly as possible, now it meant cooking them.
On the Continent of Flesh, amid the battle cries and thunder of powers unleashed, a new sound rose—
The crackle of fires.
Smoke curled into the sky.
Squads experimented, roasting, boiling, searing the hearts to make them edible, to preserve more of their energy.
The war for survival turned, strangely, into a contest of culinary skill.
The battlefield was filled with both carnage and the smell of cooking meat.
The fight against Fleshheart had taken yet another bizarre turn.