Chapter Fifty-Nine: Offering Death as a Sacrifice

For reasons unknown, ever since he stepped into this realm of mist, the Glorious One’s heart had been pounding violently, his whole being unnaturally tense, as if some ravenous beast lurked within the dense, impenetrable fog, waiting to bare its fangs should he relax his guard for even a moment. The danger was self-evident from the sight of the mist alone, but this spontaneous vigilance seemed excessive—almost as if he had once been killed by this very fog.

Of course, that was impossible.

Amy couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh. After dispatching the mindless high demon, they had been recuperating from their wounds—though the Glorious One, drenched in blood, was in fact the less seriously injured, his wounds mere superficial cuts. Not so for the Swordbearer; after overusing her holy mark, she had suffered severe backlash. Though outwardly unscathed, she had hovered on the very edge of life and death, and even now could muster little strength.

So, logically, he shouldn’t harbor such intense enmity for this mist, even if its origins were mysterious and worthy of caution.

His brows furrowed deeply as suspicion crept into the youth’s heart. But before he could ponder further, his premonition of death activated once more, and through the shifting layers of time, he glimpsed a fragment of the future.

Without warning, the murderer emerged from the fog—and blood stained the earth.

Mia was dead.

A dagger plunged straight into her left chest, a fatal blow, leaving the girl no chance to survive.

Thus, the Swordbearer died—her emerald eyes gradually losing their light, and no matter how unwilling, she could not rise again.

She was dead.

Fortunately, this was merely a vision of the future; hope remained.

The Glorious One’s gaze flickered, but before he could speak, a cold blade sliced through the fog, saturating the dark underworld in a shocking crimson.

Just as he foresaw, the Swordbearer collapsed in a pool of blood.

Her breaths grew faint, and with bitter regret, the girl swallowed her last breath.

She died.

This time, it was not the future but the present; the nightmare he had foreseen became reality.

What now?

The youth pressed his lips together, warily scanning his surroundings—the enemy was far stronger than he had anticipated. The earlier glimpse was as ephemeral as a dream, leaving no trace, and even now he could not discern when the foe had struck or melted back into the mist.

Had he been the target, he likely would not have escaped death.

No—

Perhaps even worse; even now, he had no confidence he could survive another attack.

Besides... Mia was already dead.

The Glorious One lowered his eyes, and after about three breaths, the dagger Darkblood sliced across his throat; crimson blood poured forth, staining the earth beneath in scarlet.

The world faded into darkness and emptiness.

Thus, death returned.

When Amy Ulysses opened his eyes, he was still in the mist-shrouded world, but the warmth at his back confirmed his success—by activating his unique ability, Death’s Premonition, he had reversed the Swordbearer’s demise, turned back the clock just a little, and achieved the miracle of resurrection. Though perhaps no one else would ever know, the satisfaction eased his pain tremendously.

“What’s wrong?” The girl behind him was quick to sense his discomfort. “Is there something strange about this mist?”

“No.” Still on alert, the Glorious One did not wipe the blood from his lips; he merely glanced at the Swordbearer’s position. “Be careful. The enemy is lurking in the mist.”

“Mm.” Mia’s reply, as usual, was brief yet reassuring.

But at that moment, the youth’s eyes widened—a white-haired, red-eyed assassin flashed through the fog, and a jet-black dagger plunged into his chest. Though he had sensed his impending death just before it came, he hadn’t time to fully grasp the montage of chaotic images before the assassin’s dagger claimed his life.

The future... had changed?

This time, the enemy chose him as the target?

After a brief shock, pain twisted a faint smile onto Amy’s lips.

—Got you.

He tried to speak, but no sound came.

Death arrived as expected.

“What’s wrong?” The Swordbearer’s usually cold voice was tinged with rare concern. “Are you alright?”

“I saw it,” the Glorious One answered, his face pale as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, an unsettling sight. “The enemy’s true form.”

“Oh?” The girl, for once, showed surprise.

“My ability lets me see through the mist.” The youth spoke gravely. “The enemy is a murderer—a white-haired, red-eyed killer. He seems able to merge with the fog. Please be extremely careful.”

“Mm.” The Swordbearer responded softly.

Then... Amy Ulysses wiped the blood from his lips with his sword hand—

Time froze!

“To the right, sweep!”

The young Glorious One abruptly halted his motion, crouched like a leopard to give the girl space to swing her sword, and in a sudden burst of sparks, he launched forward like a cannonball. Darkblood, his dagger, slashed a cross at blinding speed; blue blood splattered from the mist, revealing the stunned face of the white-haired murderer.

“Miscalculated.”

The killer with ash-white hair spoke in a hoarse voice, “That just now was bait, wasn’t it?”

But the youth merely regarded him coldly, offering no answers—indeed, it was bait to lure the assassin into attacking. Through his last death, Amy realized the future was not fixed; what he saw in Death’s Premonition was not immutable fate, but a possibility that altered with circumstances.

For example, by mentioning the enemy in the mist, he successfully drew the murderer’s attention, causing him to shift his hostility and attack Amy instead. Later, faced with uncertainty about when the assassin might strike, Amy deliberately exposed a weakness to create an opportunity for attack.

Of course, the plan was more nuanced.

During his conversation with the Swordbearer, he deliberately revealed the killer’s true form and his ability to see through the mist—not only attracting hostility, but also using his words to guide the enemy’s perception, making him believe Amy truly possessed such an ability. When Amy wiped the blood from his mouth with his right hand, his gaze naturally shifted right, exposing a vulnerable left side, the perfect spot for the assassin to strike. If the killer could hear their conversation, he would likely attack from the left.

Back to back with Mia, his left was the girl’s right; as Amy Ulysses shouted the command, the Swordbearer’s silver greatsword sliced through the air, striking the spot where the assassin was most likely to appear.

Then, it was time to close the net.

Sounds complicated, doesn’t it? In truth, it wasn’t—simply put, the youth was gambling with his life.

He dared play such a game only because he had the means to endure failure, and through Death’s Premonition had learned something of the enemy’s nature, allowing him to predict the killer’s actions to some extent. There was no intricate scheme, no intellectual duel—he merely leveraged asymmetric information, guiding the murderer into his carefully laid trap through words and intelligence.

He was not a clever person.

Never had been.

The Glorious One was well aware of this.

“This sword—doesn’t look ordinary.” Now that his identity was exposed and among intruders one could see through the mist, the murderer abandoned his hidden hunt, consuming the mist around him to heal his wounds. Unexpectedly, his body’s regeneration was hampered, likely by some power; even after exhausting the mist, he barely stemmed the bleeding, the injury healing no further. “It’s an ancient relic from the Kings’ Era, isn’t it?”

He spoke with certainty.

Amy merely stared at him, offering no reply.

For reasons unknown, though the killer was revealed, the oppressive atmosphere did not lessen; it only grew stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Mia?” What worried him more was the Swordbearer’s state. Though their time together was brief and they were hardly familiar, he knew the girl was not one to endure patiently, especially when facing an aberration. Yet now, despite the enemy’s proximity, she made no move to attack, merely locking eyes with the silver-haired, red-eyed assassin, her expression grave. “What’s the matter?”

“Ulysses.” The golden-haired, blue-eyed girl uttered his surname, her tone unprecedentedly solemn. “Leave. Don’t worry about me. Don’t look back.”

“You?” The Glorious One looked at the murderer, gaining a deeper understanding of the enemy’s threat.

“Ulysses, should I praise your ignorance for its fearlessness, or commend your foolish courage?” The murderer sneered, his voice low and hoarse. “Even here, in my domain, you remain oblivious. In a way, perhaps that is your talent.”

Domain—

So, a true high demon.

The Glorious One thought, as the girl’s voice sounded in his ear.

“Unlike the previous one, this one is complete. Against it, we have no chance—” The Swordbearer gripped her sword with both hands, emerald eyes blazing, “So don’t hesitate. Run. I’ll hold him back.”

“Run?” Amy fell silent.

To abandon a comrade and flee alone...

Sorry, he couldn’t do it.

Besides—

His gaze sharpened, and within his dark eyes a phantom appeared, one that did not belong to this world.

—The debt of being killed so many times must be settled!

Without hesitation, he broke the stalemate.

Thus, the battle resumed.