The Arduous Path and a Moment’s Respite

Within a room overflowing with books, they encountered a pack of demon cats, moving with eerie silence, leaping between bookshelves, melting into the shadows, only to suddenly materialize from thin air.

Fortunately, Sovenia had fed these demon cats before, remembering their scent; upon entering the room, she immediately detected the pungent smell of cat urine, which served as an early warning.

She immediately crouched down, shouting Wawalde’s name.

The demon cats were too numerous, and some specialized ones even stood on high perches, launching magic projectiles at them.

Wawalde was forced to summon his doppelgangers; one charged forward, while another defended from the rear, thus expanding his control over the battlefield.

He then employed broad, sweeping sword techniques to repel most of the incoming attacks.

Only then did the tide of battle begin to turn.

Capitalizing on the chaos, Sovenia, with Wawalde’s assistance, slew the demon cat leader.

Moreover, by ‘snatching the kill,’ she earned herself four card draw opportunities.

Sovenia, however, chose not to take a single card, disdaining them as ‘tainted cards’.

Afterward, they pressed onward.

In a corridor near the armory, they encountered another ‘demon promotion faction.’

These factions were locked in internecine combat, each vying for the chance to ascend to Demon King.

Their current leader was a Demon Warrior wielding four weapons simultaneously.

The warrior’s attacks rained down like a furious storm.

It took Wawalde two Divine Slashes to gravely wound him, and as Sovenia delivered the finishing blow, she mused, ‘This dumb dog is truly becoming more skilled, practically a mobile card chest.’

Before succumbing, the warrior retaliated with a desperate flail strike, sweeping towards Sovenia.

Wawalde intercepted it, using both his sword and his body, leaving half of his body numb.

Sovenia seized the opportunity to finish off her opponent, acquiring a gold card.

Upon inspecting it, she again chose not to add it to her deck, opting instead to shatter it for gold fragments to charge her Blazing Gold Forging Hammer.

The most arduous battle occurred within a partially collapsed courtyard.

Their adversary was a Demon God-Chosen, mounted upon a savage bull entirely clad in black iron heavy armor, its eyes ablaze with hellfire.

The God-Chosen wielded a scorching red lance, each swing echoing with a thunderous roar.

Even with a mere glancing blow in their initial clash, Wawalde’s breastplate suffered a gash, and he himself was sent flying.

He could only evade the savage bull’s lethal charges by swapping positions with his doppelgangers, no longer hesitating to unleash Divine Slashes—first felling the bull, then the God-Chosen.

In the battle’s climax, Wawalde ultimately slew the God-Chosen, though not without sustaining a retaliatory strike to his shoulder in the adversary’s dying moments, resulting in a fractured collarbone.

This particular battle had been perilous, much to Sovenia’s regret, as she hadn’t managed to land a finishing blow.

At this point, the party was in a precarious state, and Sovenia had no intention of exhausting Wawalde to death today.

Thus, guided by her memory, she sought out a suitable place for them to rest.

Along the way, they encountered an unforeseen complication: they triggered a magical trap, finding themselves besieged by several demon sorcerers.

Wawalde, enduring a barrage of curses and shadow arrows, forced his way through, interrupting their incantations.

After everything finally settled into calm, they discovered a secluded storage room, which they designated as their temporary refuge.

The room was small, containing only a stone table and a few stone stools, with some moldy hay piled in a corner.

Its entrance was narrow, making it easy to defend yet difficult to assault, and it even boasted a hidden ‘dog hole’ serving as a back exit.

As soon as they entered the room, securing and locking the door behind them, Wawalde practically collapsed into the corner.

His plate armor was increasingly battered, new wounds layering over old, blood soaking through his bandages and then congealing outside into dark red crusts.

Leaning against the wall, he gasped for breath, his face ashen as paper, barely possessing the strength to lift his head.

Beside him lay a demon longsword, its blade entirely chipped and blunted.

Throughout this day, he had endured five battles within the Demon King’s Hall, all while striving to create opportunities for Sovenia to land finishing blows.

Such high-intensity combat had pushed his stamina to its absolute limit, and nearly all his magical energy was depleted.

Wawalde slowly lifted his eyelids, his gaze falling upon Miss Sovenia, who stood in the center of the room.

Sovenia, in contrast, was in considerably better condition.

She was panting heavily as she raised her arms to remove her stuffy, foul-smelling helmet, which bore two dents from magic projectiles.

The young woman then unfastened the blue ribbon from her fishtail braid with a flick of her wrist, her silver hair instantly cascading down, half-damp with sweat.

Parts of it clung to her pointed ears and delicate, oval face, framing a visage so beautiful it seemed almost ethereal.

In stark contrast to Wawalde, who had bled profusely, Sovenia had shed copious amounts of sweat.

It had soaked through the collar of her golden-patterned long-sleeved tunic, the fabric clinging to her chest.

Her short skirt, too, adhered partially to her damp, glistening, shapely thighs.

Several streaks of crimson blood marred her thighs, standing out starkly against her snow-white, delicate skin—like rose petals scattered across fresh snow, both beautiful and unsettling.

Wawalde’s gaze lingered for a moment on the crimson streaks, taking in her current appearance.

Suddenly, all his wounds and pain seemed to fade into insignificance.

To be able to protect this brave yet seemingly fragile young woman, he felt, was worth enduring any number of further injuries.

Had Wawalde known that this ‘fragile young woman’ was currently plotting how to wring every last drop of combat value from him, it was uncertain if he would still be quite so moved.

Sovenia noticed Wawalde’s fixed stare on her thighs.

Following his gaze to the bloodstains on her leg, she thought, ‘What is this dumb dog staring at my wounds for? He must have fought too much today; even his mind is dull.’

Back when he worked in the mines, he’d often stare blankly when exhausted to the point of collapse.

Sovenia said,