The Battle Over the City of Oryol

"You damn bastard..."

Xia Lun's pupils burned with undisguised killing intent.

While his opponent could fight without a care for the lives of the civilians below, Xia Lun couldn’t.

Down below, soldiers had begun evacuating the crowds—likely on Ankula’s orders—but the city was too densely packed, and many were still indoors with nowhere to flee.

If Xia Lun were to unleash his full power, countless innocent lives would be caught in the crossfire. At their level of combat, the devastation would rival that of a sudden natural disaster.

Death Praise tilted his head in confusion. "What’s the matter? Those worthless lives serving as offerings and fuel for our battle is the most meaningful way for them to die."

"That’s just what you think!! The value of life and death isn’t something a bastard like you gets to decide!!"

With a sudden burst of terrifying speed, Xia Lun flickered through the air, charging straight at Death Praise.

Death Praise raised a hand, conjuring a formidable barrier before him.

Yet, just as Xia Lun reached him, his figure vanished—the expected strike never came.

Instead, Xia Lun reappeared beneath Death Praise, his holy sword swinging upward with devastating force.

Clang—

Death Praise reacted instantly, shifting the barrier’s angle, but under Xia Lun’s overwhelming strength, he was sent hurtling skyward like a home-run baseball, barrier and all.

"So this was your plan…" The crimson lights in Death Praise’s goat-skull eye sockets flickered. "I truly don’t understand why you’d protect such weaklings."

"That’s why we call filth like you an evil god!" Xia Lun didn’t let up, his holy sword relentlessly hacking upward against the barrier.

Cracks spiderwebbed across Death Praise’s shield as the force of the blows sent him higher and higher.

Finally, the two came to a stop midair.

Xia Lun panted lightly—nearly 800 meters above the ground now. At this height, the collateral damage would be drastically reduced… though this was also the maximum altitude granted by the Goddess’s flight blessing.

"You’re a warrior worthy of respect. I’ll savor your death thoroughly." Death Praise’s skeletal fingers twisted into an esoteric seal Xia Lun had never seen before.

A sudden pang of dread shot through Xia Lun’s heart, and he instantly retreated a hundred meters.

Around Death Praise, hundreds of pitch-black figures materialized, each radiating a sinister aura.

Their forms were nearly identical to Death Praise—gaunt, crowned with goat skulls—though closer inspection revealed minor differences.

"Go, my kin. Prove the value of your deaths."

These "kin" were clearly already dead, mere puppets under Death Praise’s control.

"I’ll never understand creatures like you… If something benefits you, it has value? How selfish."

Xia Lun bit his finger and smeared blood along his holy sword’s blade.

"Goddess… lend me your strength to purge this evil."

The sword answered his plea, its glow intensifying a hundredfold as it drank his blood.

"Your connection to the ‘Goddess’ seems… unusual." Death Praise’s voice turned wary as his hands shifted the seal again. The surrounding puppets’ auras surged, and they lunged at Xia Lun.

With a single slash, Xia Lun bisected one puppet, the sword now radiating unstoppable sharpness.

But the swarm of puppets closed in from all sides—even a graze from them could inflict irreversible harm.

Xia Lun danced on the razor’s edge, flipping and weaving as sword light flashed around him.

Then, two shadowy figures appeared above and below him, pinning him in place. In an instant, Death Praise’s puppets enveloped him in an inescapable net.

This is bad.

Gritting his teeth, Xia Lun prepared to force his way out—even if it meant taking a hit. Staying trapped would only worsen his odds.

A searing column of fire blasted a hole through the net, and Xia Lun shot through the gap.

"How undignified, Hero." A silver-bell voice chimed.

Xia Lun’s face lit up. "Aina!"

Aina hovered behind him, her silver hair whipping in the high-altitude winds, robes fluttering.

"Status," she said coolly.

"World-traversing evil god. Tough opponent." Xia Lun summarized in one breath.

Aina’s gaze sharpened. "Understood."

Dozens of intricate magic circles flared around her, followed by thick, molten-white pillars of fire. The air turned blistering, the temperature spiking.

"Banquet of Flames."

The fire pillars lashed out like lasers, reducing swathes of Death Praise’s puppets to ash.

Even Xia Lun had to admit—compared to warriors, a mage’s destructive power was on full display here.

"Another formidable presence… So it’s you."

Death Praise extended a bony finger toward Aina as she cleared the puppets.

"Look out!"

A chill shot down Xia Lun’s spine. He lunged, wrapping an arm around Aina’s waist and yanking her aside.

A black beam speared through the space she’d occupied, warping and collapsing the very air.

Xia Lun stared at Death Praise, heart pounding.

"Aina, you okay?"

"I… could’ve dodged that myself," Aina muttered, voice flustered but feigning composure. "And—how long are you planning to hold me?"

"Sorry." Xia Lun released her.

If not for the dire circumstances, the moment might’ve been… charged.

This was the first time they’d had such close physical contact.

Come to think of it, he’d never even held her hand before—no, more accurately, he’d never seen Aina touch anyone.

His body had moved on instinct.

Focus. Now’s not the time.

Xia Lun shook his head, refocusing on Death Praise in the distance.

"Even together, you two are no match for me," Death Praise rasped.

"Oh?" Aina’s eyes gleamed dangerously. Though he was an evil god, her pride as the Demon King wouldn’t tolerate such disrespect.

A colossal magic circle—spanning a hundred meters—flared beneath Death Praise’s feet.

Aina swept an arm down, icy command in her voice.

"Hellforge."

A deluge of molten rock cascaded, burying Death Praise in an instant.