Chapter 52: Key Information About Rosalia

"Don’t rush. I trust our soldiers." Phield clenched his teeth and glanced at the mini-map. The red marker was still in the basement. "We’re all first-tier Divine Chosen. The more strength we preserve, the better our odds."

"Understood." Ashina’s crimson eyes swept across the battlefield as she warned, "Be careful—our enemy may have long-range attacks as well."

After enduring seven or eight waves of arrows, the guards had entered the corrupted corpses’ effective range. Grotesque creatures in the rear suddenly burst clusters of bone spikes from their bodies and hurled them toward the formation.

Thanks to Ashina’s warning, Phield reacted instantly. "Cease fire! Shields up! Prepare for contact!"

The guards raised their iron shields to cover their heads. Almost simultaneously, sharp metallic clangs rang out as bone spikes slammed into shields, armor, and wooden walls. Most were blocked, but the stinging impacts still made many guards bare their teeth in pain.

"Ah!"

The slaves behind the formation weren’t so lucky. Three were pinned to the ground on the spot by bone spikes. The rest went weak in the knees, turning to flee—only to see cavalry holding the rear. Afraid of being cut down as deserters, they froze in panic.

"Get behind the low walls and keep loading the crossbows," Phield waved them on. "Watch the bolts."

Ashina spun her spear one-handed. The rapidly rotating shaft became a whirling rotor, batting every incoming bone spike out of the air.

Sweat beaded on Phield’s forehead, but his expression didn’t change. He couldn’t afford to look shaken in front of the troops.

There were countless types of corrupted creatures. The mindless corrupted corpses they had encountered before were nothing more than the lowest-tier fodder.

"Good thing we didn’t assault the main building when we first arrived," he muttered. "Otherwise, they’d have died a hundred times over by now."

Boom!

The corrupted creatures charged like rabid dogs, utterly indifferent to the gleaming halberds awaiting them. They crashed forward—heads impaled clean through by spearpoints, bodies slamming into the wooden walls and shaking loose clouds of dust.

"Roaaar—!"

More corrupted creatures poured out from every exit of the main building, roaring hoarsely as they smashed themselves against the defenses.

The wooden bastion tactic proved highly effective. To harm the guards, corrupted corpses had to climb over or break through the thick wooden walls. Meanwhile, the guards, braced behind cover, used halberds and morningstars to smash skulls with ease.

Before long, countless corrupted corpses lay piled beneath the walls. The air grew thick with a suffocating, rancid stench.

"She’s here!"

Just as Phield was about to order a cavalry flanking charge, he caught sight of a red marker mixed into the tide of corpses. A chill ran through him. Thank the gods he hadn’t relaxed—one second later, and the entire line might have collapsed.

He lowered his voice. "She’s hiding among the corpses."

"Leave her to me." Ashina’s demeanor sharpened instantly. Her face turned solemn, her words few.

She moved out from the left flank, feigning a push against the corpses’ side, urging Drakewolf forward as if to break through.

A massive black-and-crimson energy ripple suddenly swept outward. Crackling violently, it annihilated everything in its path—corrupted corpses detonated one after another, bursting into clouds of blood mist. The thunderous blasts echoed through the air.

"Hmph. Still fond of cheap tricks." Ashina’s expression was icy as she snorted in disdain. Fully prepared, she slipped aside with a single movement, narrowly avoiding the explosive strike.

Having recovered, Rosalia had returned to her mature, commanding form.

"How—how did you dodge my divine technique?" Rosalia’s pupils shook in disbelief. By all logic, a Divine Chosen’s ambush was nearly impossible to guard against. Divine power was neither magic nor mana—almost impossible to sense.

Ashina only laughed coldly and shook her head. She didn’t waste words. Spurring the giant wolf, she launched an immediate counterattack. Blue light flared—and in an instant, she was beside Rosalia.

"Awooo—"

Drakewolf’s jaws yawned open to an astonishing angle. Driven by terrifying bite force, rows of fangs sank straight into Rosalia’s soft body. Having just unleashed her divine technique, Rosalia was in a brief state of exhaustion. She could only watch helplessly as the reeking maw descended.

Crunch.

Blood sprayed everywhere. Rosalia’s upper body was devoured in a single bite.

"Swallow." Ashina’s voice was cold, merciless. "Let’s see if you can regenerate after being eaten."

It was brutal—but Ashina had no intention of holding back.

Within three seconds, reality proved the method ineffective.

Drakewolf convulsed violently. Though it routinely fed on corrupted corpses, this was different. Bloodlines writhed savagely inside its mouth, drilling through its lower jaw, shattering teeth as they went. Blood poured out in torrents.

"Ghh—!"

The wolf retched, spewing out a massive lump of flesh and gore. It looked miserable.

"You dared let a lowly mongrel eat me. You truly deserve to be hanged."

The bloodlines squirmed, reconstructing Rosalia’s human form. Yet the restored mature appearance was little more than a fleeting illusion. Before Phield could even register it, an elegant, pure-looking noble young lady stood there instead, glaring furiously at Ashina.

"It’s a giant wolf, not a mongrel." Ashina wagged a finger, arching a brow with mocking levity. She seemed to relish Rosalia’s anger, correcting her with shameless delight. Then she covered her mouth and laughed softly. "So—are you running away again this time, my dear noble lady?"

"I—I have never run!" Rosalia’s face flushed with a mix of shame and fury. The long chain bound to her left hand trembled violently. Grinding her teeth, she turned her gaze toward Phield. "The Sacred Griffin Empire must have been ruined by cowardly soldiers to fall in just ten years to demi-humans. And now even the Northern Province has demi-human Divine Chosen."

Phield met Rosalia’s eyes. Both froze.

"Heavens—this must be a dream. You’re a human lord?" Rosalia swayed, pressing a pale hand to her forehead. "A human lord—an ancient noble, no less—contracting a demi-human. Why would I dream of something like this? I must be starving out of my mind."

"Ancient noble?" Ashina echoed, puzzled, turning to Phield.

That sounded impressive.

"The title isn’t important," Phield said wryly. "What matters is that she really hasn’t left Nightfall Domain for ten years."

Ten years ago—or rather, seven. Black hair with black eyes, ash hair with gray eyes, darker skin, high noses, and deep-set eyes were once the symbols of true nobility. Blonde hair, red hair, and other assorted colors—including Ashina’s silver—were dismissed as barbarian traits.

But the Ancient Kingdom of Taloria—the Phoenix Empire—had long since fallen. Even its legitimate successor, the Purple Gold Empire, had recently been overrun and massacred by heretics. With eastern nomads sweeping west and waves of black-haired slaves flooding in, the so-called marks of ancient nobility twisted into something else entirely. Without a provable family genealogy, one was branded a slave-born or enemy spawn, worthy only of scorn.

Of course, the Sacred Griffin Empire’s own upper echelon—including the Empress—were blonde. They weren’t about to despise themselves.

"Greetings. Though this is hardly a ballroom, it’s a pleasure to meet you." To everyone’s surprise, Rosalia’s attitude softened. She drew back her fury, a faint smile curving her lips. Bending her long, shapely legs slightly, she lifted her skirt with both hands and inclined her head in a flawless noble salute.

Amidst filth, blood, and corrupted monsters, she looked like a golden flower in bloom—so beautiful it bordered on art.

"Greetings, my lady," Phield returned the courtesy with equal nobility.

After endless contempt in Ross territory, he hadn’t expected a beautiful noble lady to greet him in Nightfall Domain. Life was full of surprises.

If only she were truly alive.

On the mini-map, the red marker expanded into a simple panel.

Name: Rosalia Starnight

Level: First-tier Divine Chosen

Type: Vanguard Infantry / Corrupted Hybrid

Status: Confused, Extreme Bloodlust

Liege: None (Not defeated—Contract unavailable)

"So... she can be contracted after defeat?" Phield rubbed his eyes, scarcely believing it.

He decided to try diplomacy first. "Rosalia, perhaps we could talk. You—"

"Nope." Rosalia smiled sweetly, her voice tinged with a breathy moan as she hugged herself, trembling. "I don’t want to cut down nobles... but I can’t hold it back anymore. Just thinking about slicing open a noble’s body makes me shiver with excitement. That moment will become the light of my life."

You’re insane.

As expected—corrupted beings possessed only pure, unfiltered bloodlust, even if fragments of memory or intelligence remained.

"Negotiations failed. Ashina—kill her."

Phield gave the order without hesitation.

"Whoosh—"

A silver arrow flashed toward its target.

Clink.

"Heh. Did you really think your little trick would work twice?"

Rosalia had been guarding against sneak attacks the entire time. The instant she heard the whistle, she snapped her chain, knocking the arrow aside. Killing intent surged as she raised her greatsword, cleaving the surrounding corrupted corpses in half. Torrents of life energy flooded into the blade.

"Divine Technique—Endless Severance!"

The demonic eye embedded in the sword’s center blazed with horrifying crimson light. With a deep, resonant hum, seven or eight massive waves of annihilating sword energy erupted outward. Their surfaces were stained with the gray-black hue of corruption. One glance was enough to feel your mind dragged toward them, threatening madness and despair.

"This time—where will you run?"

The space-tearing sword waves sealed off every possible escape route around Ashina.

"Drakewolf—hold."

Ashina abandoned mobility entirely. With nowhere to dodge, she could only take cover behind Drakewolf.

All of the wolf’s scales bristled upright as ghostly blue flames surged forth, wrapping its body in a living suit of plate armor.