Chapter 453: For Him

"Rest, little glitch," Yan Zhaoge whispered into the smoky air, his voice barely audible. "The real fire hasn’t even begun."

***

The Grand Kitchens of the Iron-Stone Monastery were a sensory overload of roaring magma, hissing steam, and the aggressive clang of iron against obsidian.

The heat was an oppressive, physical weight that pressed against the lungs, a crucible designed to burn away mortal weakness.

Yet, in the corner of this volcanic inferno, the air grew suddenly, unnervingly still.

Lin Ji’an had completely surrendered to the exhaustion of her sudden Body Fusion ascension and the staggering potency of the Molten-Core Ale.

She lay slumped forward, her ethereal silver hair spilling like a waterfall of starlight across Yan Zhaoge’s lap, her breathing slow and even.

The soot smeared across her cheek only highlighted the devastating, delicate perfection of her features; the glitching artifact failed to hide the truth of her feminine form in the dim, fiery light.

Yan Zhaoge looked down at the sleeping girl, a rare, unreadable expression softening the cynical edges of his aristocratic face.

His dark amber eyes traced the slope of her brow, the stubborn set of her jaw even in sleep.

He reached out, his long, elegant fingers brushing a stray lock of silver hair away from her soot-stained cheek. It was a gesture of profound, almost melancholic familiarity, like a ghost story written across the stars.

"Zechuan is broken, the old drunkard is blind, and you..." Yan Zhaoge murmured to the sleeping chef, his voice barely a breath over the roaring magma. "You are burning yourself alive just to keep the embers warm."

He did not wake her. Instead, the Sovereign of the Iron-Stone Monastery raised his head, his gaze piercing through the thick, savory smoke of the kitchen, locking onto the heavy obsidian archway that led to the outer corridors.

He didn’t need to speak to issue a summons.

He released a compressed pulse of his Sovereign aura, aimed specifically at a spiritual signature that he knew was hovering exactly at the edge of his designated perimeter, waiting with the desperate, coiled tension of a starving predator.

Within three seconds, the ambient temperature of the corridor plummeted.

The molten rock bubbling in the nearby vents hissed violently as a wave of soul-crushing black frost crept across the floorboards.

Xie Wangchen materialized from the shadows.

The Ice Demon was pristine.

His white robes were immaculate, untouched by the soot and ash of the monastery. But his ruby eyes were dilated, burning with a frantic, apocalyptic crimson light that screamed of mass extinction.

The moment he saw Ji’an, his Ji’an, his Vanguard, his absolute universe, unconscious and draped across the lap of another man, the air around him shattered.

"Remove your hands from her," Wangchen whispered.

His voice was not a roar.

It was a soft, melodic, chillingly gentle hum that vibrated with the promise of eternal, frozen torment.

A thirty-foot scythe of solid black ice began to condense in his grip, the air screaming as the moisture was violently ripped from the atmosphere. "If you do not sever your own limbs in the next breath, I will freeze the blood in your veins and shatter your core into dust."

Yan Zhaoge did not flinch.

He did not move his hand from where it rested protectively near Ji’an’s shoulder.

He looked up at the enraged immortal, a dark, unimpressed smirk curling his lips.

"Lower your toy, Sovereign Xie," Yan Zhaoge drawled, his voice carrying the heavy, suffocating authority of a man who routinely dictated the terms of existence to lesser deities. "If you unleash an absolute-zero strike in this room, the resulting thermal shockwave against the ambient magma will trigger a steam explosion. You will not kill me. But you will severely burn her."

The threat of harming Ji’an hit Wangchen’s fractured psyche like a physical blow.

The black ice scythe instantly, violently evaporated into mist.

The murderous crimson glow in his eyes stuttered, replaced by a desperate panic.

"Step forward," Yan Zhaoge commanded, his tone shifting from mockery to uncompromising steel. "And keep your aura contained. She is asleep. I will not have you waking her with your juvenile temper tantrums."

Wangchen stepped into the kitchen, his boots leaving perfectly formed footprints of frost on the obsidian floor.

His entire body was rigid, vibrating with a suppressed, homicidal jealousy so intense it was actually causing a thin trail of blood to leak from his nose.

He stopped exactly three feet from Yan Zhaoge’s chair.

His eyes never left Ji’an’s face.

He saw the soft, even rise and fall of her chest beneath the heavy leather blacksmith’s apron. He saw the soot on her cheek.

He saw the vulnerable, completely unguarded peace in her expression, a peace she never, ever allowed herself to show when she was awake.

"Take care of this stupid little drunkard," Yan Zhaoge murmured, carefully, gently shifting his weight to lift Ji’an.

He didn’t hand her over like a sack of grain.

He transferred her with a surprising, almost reverent care.

Wangchen immediately reached out, his powerful arms wrapping around her small, delicate frame, pulling her flush against his chest.

The moment her body settled against his, the Ice Demon let out a ragged, shuddering breath.

She was so incredibly warm.

Her silver hair spilled over his arm, and her head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his neck, her breath fanning softly against his collarbone.

For a fraction of a second, the universe was entirely perfect.

She was in his arms. She was safe.

"Keep your cool, Xie Wangchen," Yan Zhaoge’s voice cut through the euphoric haze, sharp and utterly devoid of amusement.

"And keep your control. I know exactly what you are. I know the darkness that rots in your core. You are a weapon. A feral, possessive anomaly that thinks it has found a master."

Wangchen’s ruby eyes snapped up, glaring at the older Sovereign with pure venom. "I do not require your psychological evaluations, old man. I serve her. I protect her. That is the only truth that governs my existence. Do not presume to dictate my authority."

"Your authority?" Yan Zhaoge laughed, a short, bitter, terribly sad sound.

He stood up, towering over the Ice Demon, his amber eyes piercing through the physical realm, looking directly at the jagged, twisted karmic threads that bound Wangchen’s soul.

"Do not step out of your authority, Ice Demon," Yan Zhaoge warned, stepping closer, his voice dropping into a register that echoed with cosmic weight. "Do not let your obsession blind you to her reality. You think you are protecting her? You think your devotion is a shield? Your devotion is a cage. And she is a bird that has already broken her wings trying to fly through the bars."

Wangchen bared his teeth, a low, feral snarl rumbling in his chest. "You speak in riddles to mask your own arrogance. You know nothing of her. You know nothing of us."

"I know why she called for you," Yan Zhaoge countered smoothly, crossing his arms. "I called you here because I know that out of all the pathetic, hormone-poisoned peacocks trailing behind her... you are the only one she actually trusts to carry her when she falls. You are the only one she relies upon to watch her back when the fire gets too hot."

The words struck Wangchen like a physical blow.

The feral snarl died in his throat. His ruby eyes widened, the hostility wavering under the sudden influx of validation.

She trusted him.

Out of everyone, out of the golden retriever and the sword lord... the Overtime Boss had summoned him because Ji’an implicitly, inherently trusted him.

"She is... my Lord Vanguard," Wangchen whispered, his grip on her tightening infinitesimally, careful not to crush her. "I am her sword."

"She is a fool who takes on too much debt," Yan Zhaoge sighed, rubbing his temples, suddenly looking incredibly old. He looked down at Ji’an’s sleeping face, a shadow of profound, ancient grief passing over his features.

"She said something to me earlier," Yan Zhaoge murmured, his voice barely audible over the roaring flames, speaking more to himself than to the Ice Demon.

"When the liquor loosened her tongue, she started rambling about the timelines. She said she was tired. She said she was so tired of returning so many times... just for him."

The kitchen fell dead silent.

The roaring of the magma seemed to mute.