Chapter 335: Arianne's Persistence

"RAAAGH!"

Arianne waved her sword with all her strength. However, her blade never connected—it only cut through air, a few inches past her enemy. Sekhmet's clone.

But unlike the time with Eve, the battle situation was reversed entirely.

Instead of Sekhmet dominating, it was actually Arianne who had the upper hand.

The reason was simple: her unrelenting attacks gave the goddess no time to stop, no moment to respond. Just the pure, forward momentum of rage and devotion, each swing of her blade another declaration of war.

As soon as she opened her eyes, before confusion or anything else could settle in, she caught sight of her "enemy" and attacked without hesitation.

All to avenge Eve's "death."

That was the only thing in her mind right now.

Not questions, not understanding, not the strange nature of this place. Only the burning need to strike back at whatever had taken her queen from her.

After all, she didn't find Eve where she was promised.

Instead, all she found was the same space, the so-called goddess, looking weak and vulnerable—standing in this strange dimension as if waiting.

The moment Arianne's consciousness solidified, she saw the enemy, and she moved. The fight began before she could even form a question, and it still hadn't stopped, minutes or hours or days in, Arianne had lost count of time entirely.

"You're great, you know that?"

Sekhmet, who couldn't even find a moment to explain, could only utter short phrases of praise. "You're already embodying your essence, as if you were born aware of it."

Each attack that Arianne unleashed was no mere "slash," but something that could actually hurt the goddess's clone. That was the main reason why she couldn't counter properly.

Arianne's offensive was so fast, so relentless, that Sekhmet couldn't even catch her breath.

"SHUT UP!"

And of course, Arianne had no intention of listening anyway.

Her sword contained rage, helplessness, and a simple desire to avenge her liege.

A sword of bitter revenge—of a desire to strike the enemy that dared to lay a hand on her queen. She had no mind to listen to explanations.

"JUST DIE FOR QUEEN EVE!"

"Heh!"

Sekhmet could have found the chance to counterattack if she'd tried.

But no.

She'd rather enjoy the fight, the challenge that Arianne was posing her in this clone form.

More than that, there was no need to rush.

Arianne, swinging her sword, was actually grasping the reality of her essence and making it hers faster than anyone could predict.

Not only that—after attacking an ethereal body, she'd even started to grasp the connection and difference between someone's physical and ethereal forms.

Her single-minded devotion, her simplistic approach of avenging her liege no matter the price—it was actually her fastest path toward godhood.

No doubt, no hesitation, no questioning of herself. Just the unwavering will to strike down the enemy before her.

That purity of purpose was exactly what her essence demanded.

She swung her blade once, twice, a thousand times, a million times over.

Seconds turned to minutes, to hours, to days. Whether it was real time or the subjective experience of this dimension, Arianne couldn't tell anymore.

There was no sun to mark the passage, no hunger or thirst to ground her in the cycle of the living. There was only the fight, only the endless rhythm of attack and counterattack.

However, Arianne never stopped.

Not once did she give up, not once did she surrender to fatigue or despair.

Each swing brought her blade closer to "slaying" the enemy.

Enough that even Sekhmet was starting to lose her leeway, her playful demeanor.

As a goddess, having a clone destroyed wouldn't bother her much. But it would still cost her a fraction of her power, however miniscule.

The decision to go all out was approaching faster and faster.

"...!"

And then, it happened.

Arianne's blade managed to touch Sekhmet's cheek.

It was nothing more than a slight touch—a surface wound that barely cut through skin. Not even deep enough to draw blood, if a goddess could even bleed.

However, it was an injury to her ethereal body nonetheless.

One powered by the "essence" that Arianne was forging nonstop.

But instead of anger, Sekhmet's lips curled up.

"GOOD!" She roared.

At the same time, a powerful pressure wave erupted from her, blasting Arianne back several dozen meters. Enough distance to give Sekhmet time to counterattack properly.

"Tsk!"

Arianne, seeing her streak interrupted, quickly steadied her stance and launched forward.

She only had her sword. If she stayed at a distance, she'd be forced into defense, passive and unable to attack.

She needed to get close. Everything else came after that.

"Take a brief rest first, and digest what you've grasped," Sekhmet called out.

Giving Sekhmet the chance to attack was a grave mistake.

Right after Arianne blinked, a red ball of flame was already before her eyes—like a speeding bullet, going straight through the middle of her forehead without giving her time to dodge.

The next moment... Darkness.

"...Gasp!"

But not for long.

In what felt like a split second, or maybe a full year, she regained consciousness, standing exactly where she'd first arrived in this space.

As if everything had been reset.

It was brief, but Arianne was certain.

She died just then.

And now, she was alive again.

Arianne could feel her heart beating, her lungs struggling for air, making her hyperventilate.

No matter what, 'dying wasn't a good feeling.' She was left stunned, unnerved, her mind still reeling from the sensations of her own death.

"Losing focus with just one death?" Sekhmet didn't stop.

The next moment, another ball of flame was forming on her palm.

Large at first—as big as a house—it shrank smaller and smaller until it was barely the size of a thumb. Flames compressed so far they looked burning white, hot enough that Arianne could feel the cold sweat on her skin evaporate even before the attack launched.

'Move...!' she thought.

But she was a moment too late.

When she blinked, the ball of flame was already on its way, heading straight for her head once more. Her forehead.

Arianne tried to move, to dodge, but before she could even tilt her head by a millimeter, the flame had melted through, leaving nothing but a charred thumb-sized hole.

With her brain functions cut off instantly, she couldn't feel anything.

No pain, no heat.

Just... darkness.

Then light once more.

"...!"

Arianne, reviving for the second time, didn't dare dally.

It was like shock therapy—brutal, immediate, and clarifying.

During the first death, she'd been unable to move, paralyzed like a helpless deer caught in a car's headlights, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding her body.

But the second death was different.

The fear had transformed into something else. Fuel. The moment she registered that she was alive again, breathing again, something inside her solidified.

"YOU BITCH...!"

Arianne rushed the moment consciousness fully returned to her, moving with a speed born from desperation and resolve.

She was fast enough to interrupt Sekhmet's next attack, her blade slashing upward to deflect the forming fireball instead of being struck by it.

"Hahah! Again, this?!"

Sekhmet laughed, but her voice sounded pleased rather than annoyed.

"Right! This is the way! Go on, brave knight! Slash at me, chop off my head, and claim victory!"

After all, her instincts as a goddess were telling her something.

As soon as Arianne managed to land a critical blow—truly strike her clone down—that would be the moment she'd understand her essence completely.

The moment she'd take the final step toward godhood.

Sekhmet didn't even think for even a moment, that it would be impossible for Arianne to take down a clone of a god.