Chapter 2046: Chapter 2046
"Steam bombs? Ah, those were with Princess Sophia. The silver dragon forged its own scales using ancient alchemy, creating a unique type of spatial artifact. An alchemical item, you could say."
Alexia remarked. Then, both she and Dolores watched as Jenkins was flung from the white mist at an angle, as if he'd been struck by a powerful fist.
While still in the air, he pointed deep into the mist. Vines instantly erupted from the fog, shooting skyward to coil around his wrist and pull him back down to the ground.
A flash of white sword light split the fog. After a piercing shriek, like nails scraping across glass, a moment of silence finally fell. Google seaʀᴄh Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
Dolores tried to ask what was happening, but was shocked to discover she couldn't make a sound.
"Most spell abilities require a verbal component, so imposing silence is an effective way to stop them. However, skilled Enchanters can often bypass the chanting process by using hand gestures and mental focus, rendering this method useless against those of a higher level."
Alexia's voice echoed directly in Dolores's mind. She nodded, a little bewildered, as she watched the 'fireworks show' below resume.
Judging by the sights and sounds alone, the battle below was undeniably fierce. While it wasn't intense enough to tear apart the fabric of space, everyone agreed that if the building hadn't been actively protecting those in the 'audience', there would have been deaths and injuries long ago.
But whenever Dolores remembered the reality of the situation—Jenkins just standing there, tossing all sorts of strange objects into the air, occasionally stroking Chocolate, and exchanging a few words with Princess Sophia—the whole scene struck her as utterly ridiculous.
Otherwise, the people of the next epoch would never again trust a single word—not even the punctuation—from the Believers of Lies.
The battle raged on for about an hour, ending abruptly just as the audience was beginning to tire of the 'sound and light show'.
At last, the white mist dissipated, revealing Miss Fabricy kneeling on one knee, her hands braced on the hilt of the White Bone Holy Sword. Her hair had fallen loose, and her forehead was slick with sweat, yet her clothes were, surprisingly, as pristine as if they had just been ironed.
Jenkins, on the other hand, looked far more disheveled. He lay on his side, his face turned toward the ground, where a wide swath of floor tiles had caved in as if struck by a giant's fist. His jacket was reduced to half a sleeve, his pant legs looked singed, and his white shirt was stained a muddy yellow.
His legs were slightly bent, one over the other, and his body was curled like a shrimp. His left hand was clenched into a fist near his head, while his right arm was trapped beneath it, close to his tucked-in knees.
Chocolate lay beside Jenkins's head, meowing softly as if trying to wake him. The cat's black-and-white fur was matted with dust, but he paid it no mind, nudging against Jenkins's hair in an attempt to get a response.
His right hand twitched. After a few shudders ran through his body, he finally managed to push himself up into a sitting position.
Both Jenkins and Miss Fabricy gasped for breath. Superficially, Jenkins looked far worse for wear, but no one dared declare a victor.
After a long moment, Jenkins scooped up his cat and climbed to his feet in the crater. Miss Fabricy, however, remained on one knee, still leaning on her sword.
"Just concede. There's no point in continuing this. We don't need to settle this with a death blow."
Jenkins spoke, pressing a hand that glowed with green light against his chest. The color instantly returned to his pale face.
"William... Williamette, you... you weren't honest."
Compared to Jenkins's firm, resonant tone, Miss Fabricy's voice was not only broken but also exceptionally faint:
"You have secrets. You're stronger than I ever imagined."
"Everyone has secrets. Isn't that normal? Are you telling me you don't?"
He straightened his clothes, brushing dust from the hem before tearing off what was left of his jacket and tossing it aside. He stood there in his torn and grimy shirt.
Though his clothes were practically ruined, his elven heritage lent him a grace that made him look far less wretched than he felt.
"Your secret... I never would have guessed."
Suddenly, Miss Fabricy clapped a hand over her mouth. Those closest to her could see dark, reddish-black blood seeping between her fingers.
"Concede. I think I can heal you. It sounds like a boast, I know, but I'm probably the finest healer in the material world this era has ever seen."
"No, Williamette. After all the sacrifices to reach this final step... Mr. Candle is dead, the apocalypse is upon us. We've planned and waited for so long. How could I possibly retreat now?"
Miss Fabricy finally rose to her feet, but she didn't retrieve the holy sword—she couldn't. The White Bone Holy Sword had inherited certain traits from the Skull Sword, such as being usable only by its true master. Anyone else who tried would suffer the blade's punishment, and Princess Sophia had no desire to be cursed.
"What else do you want? To keep fighting? I'm certain you'll lose. It's pointless."
Jenkins spoke with grim seriousness, patting the cat on his shoulder to still it before raising his cane once more:
"If you wish to continue, I won't stop you. But you could die."
Miss Fabricy let out a laugh, a sound both mournful and mocking:
"And what if I do? I admit, you are formidable. Even without your power as a Saint, I doubt even a demigod could defeat you... But that's a good thing. A savior should possess such strength. I only wonder if you truly understand what you're wielding... Come on. I think I'll be fine... If you win, this sword is yours."
She gave the sword embedded in the ground a light kick:
"To neutralize the Skull Sword's overwhelming necromantic energy, we reforged it with a branch from the ancient World Tree. That means you can probably wield this Bestowal as well. If you win, the sword is yours. Williamette, since you're so certain you'll win, then prove it!"