Chapter 529 - 486: Thunderbolt, Lunar Radiance, and a Hole in the Divine Body

Chapter 529: Chapter 486: Thunderbolt, Lunar Radiance, and a Hole in the Divine Body

Roland’s figure left a faint trail of Residual Shadows, following a twisting, unpredictable trajectory infused with the subtle premonition of a Time Traveler. He skirted around the front, where the "Freeze Frame" Force Field was strongest, and thrust his sword tip straight at Yemiga’s side, slightly exposed from his Casting.

There, a silvery-white "thread" was pulsating at an ultra-high frequency, providing Energy for Yemiga’s Authority.

The thrust was fast, precise, and ruthless, its timing devilishly perfect.

Yemiga’s dark yellow, slitted pupils finally constricted slightly.

He seemed not to have expected Roland to maintain such mobility within the "Freeze Frame" Domain, much less that he could so precisely locate the "vein" of his Power transmission.

His outstretched right hand had no time to retract, but his left arm twisted back unnaturally with inhuman speed and at an impossible angle.

With his index and middle fingers held together, their tips wreathed in the faint glimmer of fractured Space-Time, he aimed them at the tip of "Bright Moon" just in the nick of time.

TING!

An exquisitely crisp impact rang out, like shattering crystal mixed with the long chime of a bell.

At the point of contact between sword and fingers, no sparks flew. Instead, a visible, distorted ripple erupted outward—a mixture of silvery Space-Time turbulence and a faint, dark-red golden glow.

Wherever the ripple passed, the Morning Star Archive’s sturdy stone floor silently developed spiderweb-like cracks. The nearest rows of bookshelves disintegrated with a crash, their books turning to dust.

Roland let out a muffled grunt, feeling a strange power surge up the blade toward him—a power so cold, chaotic, and bizarre it felt as if it could tear apart existence itself.

His entire arm went numb instantly. The web of his thumb split open, and blood seeped out.

"Bright Moon" let out a wail, unable to bear the strain. The cold light on its blade flickered violently, almost going out completely.

The immense force sent him sliding backward, his feet plowing two deep grooves into the floor.

For the first time, Yemiga’s figure visibly wavered, and he drifted back half a step.

On the tips of his two joined fingers, the surrounding glimmer of Space-Time dimmed for an instant. There was even a minuscule, erratic flash, like a short-circuiting wire.

He glanced down at his fingers, then looked at Roland. The man had stumbled to a halt, his sword arm trembling slightly, but his gaze remained sharp.

In his dark yellow, slitted pupils, a third emotion—aside from curiosity and surprise—clearly appeared for the first time...

A trace of detached acknowledgment, something akin to finally taking him seriously.

The battle had only just begun, but the turbulent Energy and killing intent filling the air were already thick enough to be suffocating.

Both sides had tested some of the other’s hidden cards and paid the price.

Duraga and Avril had just broken free from the enhanced "Freeze Frame." Galvis’s song was laced with ragged breaths. Roland’s sword hand was dripping blood...

As for Yemiga, he remained floating in the air, his posture still elegant. But the aura of absolute control and composure surrounding him seemed to have developed a nigh-imperceptible crack.

The fight resumed.

An unknown amount of time passed, marked by alternating periods of silence and roaring chaos.

The once solemn and elegant great hall of the Morning Star Archive was now a ravaged battlefield.

The exquisite crystal chandeliers had long since shattered into a carpet of glittering shards. The star-chart-inlaid dome was covered in spiderweb cracks. Precious ancient tomes and Scrolls were either reduced to ash or lay soaking amidst molten flagstones and scorch marks.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of ozone, the choking dust of powdered stone, and a faint, almost imperceptible...

Strange, scorched odor.

Duraga’s armor was covered in a crisscrossing network of shallow marks.

He was breathing heavily, each swing of his War Axe more difficult than the last.

Yemiga’s subtle manipulation of gravity and space made it feel as if he were constantly rowing against the current. The dark-red glow of his Divine Attribute flickered unsteadily on his Iron Gloves, like a candle in the wind.

But still he roared, using his body and War Axe to block one invisible spatial compression and Time Lag after another for his companions. His rock-solid will was the Shield at the forefront of their group.

Avril’s green Leather Armor was torn in multiple places, seeping blood. The wounds were mostly from flying shards of fractured Space-Time.

She was like a wounded but even swifter martin, darting through the cracks in nearly frozen time and twisted Spatial Folds. Every draw of her bow was perilous.

Her Arrows no longer sought a fatal blow. Instead, she targeted the junctures of the silvery-white "threads" around Yemiga, or the fleeting "vortexes" in his Energy flow, desperately trying to create the slightest possible opening for Roland.

The Elf’s stamina was rapidly draining, but her emerald eyes burned with an unyielding Flame.

Two of Galvis’s Lute strings had already snapped, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

It was the backlash from over-exerting his Spiritual Power to chant War Songs and Curse-Breaking Songs.

His voice had long grown hoarse, but he never stopped singing. At times, his song rose high like a bugle call for a Charge, forcibly bolstering his companions’ crumbling morale and speed.

At other times, it grew as sharp as thorns, continuously disrupting Yemiga’s inhumanly precise "calculations" and Casting rhythm.

He was both an invisible adhesive and a source of interference, using his voice to hold together the team’s faltering line under the god’s Authority.

And as the one leading the charge, Roland was in the worst condition of all.

The web of the right hand gripping "Bright Moon" was already a mangled mess of flesh and blood. His entire arm, all the way to his shoulder, was covered in black-and-blue bruises and minute spatial tears.

His face was pale and his breathing rapid. The strain that the Time Trace Weaver’s Engraving Blade placed on his Spirit and soul was far greater than he had imagined. Continuously analyzing and disrupting the fabric of Space-Time gave him a splitting headache, and his vision periodically blacked out.

And yet, his eyes only grew brighter, shining with the resolve of one betting everything on a single, final gambit.