Truman saw his guess was right. Piecing together what he'd learned during their reunion, he'd sorted out the situation. Now, he was gambling for his life, hoping to carve a path to survival.
"Your Highness, this concerns me deeply. I believe you'll need my help to return to the holy city!"
"A mortal… a blasphemous one at that. What help could you offer?"
Elaviel almost laughed in exasperation. She couldn't fathom how a mere human dared make such grandiose claims, meddling in mythical battles. Curiosity piqued, she anticipated his nonsense, savoring the thought of his futile struggle before her inevitable judgment.
"Your Highness, I admit my unforgivable sin, but it was to ease your suffering. Haven't you felt the curse weaken?"
Elaviel frowned. Indeed, the sin's grip had lessened after their night of debauchery. Logically, indulgence should've intensified it, not diminished it.
But she was certain this mortal had nothing to do with it.
Seeing an opening, Truman pressed on. "I genuinely want to help. Please don't act impulsively."
Her lips tightened, his words striking a nerve. "I am the Lord's judge, embodying justice and truth. I don't wield punishment from emotion. You've committed blasphemy, and I'll judge you for it."
Her icy words brought Truman relief. Thank goodness she was a stickler for rules. Any savvier mythical being would've turned him to ash by now.
"I trust Your Highness prioritizes the greater good. My actions last night and my offer stem from my unique constitution—the key to aiding you!"
His words tumbled out like rapid-fire, desperate to avoid execution.
"Constitution?"
Elaviel's brow furrowed. She knew the Middle Kingdom's cultivation prized innate constitutions and spiritual roots, but to her, all mortal practices held no secrets. Truman was utterly mundane, devoid of any special traits.
"It's true!" he insisted. "I have a constitution unseen in this world—'All-Proof Immunity'!"
He'd considered calling it "Imagine Breaker," but there might be copyright issues involved, so he settled on "All-Proof Immunity."
He hastily explained its marvels. He was immune to all spells, blessings, barriers, curses, divine arts, and magical incantations, forever bound to a purely mortal life. This immunity didn't extend to physical attacks or objects—Elaviel could crush him with a fist or a boulder if she chose.
"Thus, I can purge your curse, stabilize your existence, and serve as a surprise weapon, giving you an edge against the Sin Demon!"
Elaviel listened silently to Truman's explanation, her expression unchanging. Only at the end did she speak, her voice flat: "You think me a fool? You'll pay for this clumsy lie."
Her face grew colder.
Truman's heart sank. "If Your Highness doubts me, test it! I can shrug off any pure divine art!"
"No need."
His blood ran cold.
Elaviel rose slowly, unwilling to be played by this sinner. She grabbed his shoulder and leaped from the window.
To the observant, a white speck darted through the azure sky, piercing the clouds to reach the heavens.
In the howling chill, the city's towers shrank in Truman's view, people reduced to sesame seeds. They soared to a thousand feet in moments, Elaviel hovering amid roiling clouds.
Her pristine wings quivered in the sunlight, each feather trembling with her seething rage.
Like an enraged lion cub, she brimmed with fury and sorrow.
Her divine power churned the nearby cloud-sea, golden lightning coiling around cloud-peaks.
The moment he fell into those clouds, this mortal's filthy flesh would burn to ash, his remains scattering across the earth.
Elaviel drew the Gospel's final tattered page, inscribed with a single passage:
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth, a crown of righteousness awaits."
With mournful eyes, she burned the page to ash, conjuring a weapon from the flames—the Spear of Destiny, an executioner's blade.
Though now merely an elemental facsimile of the divine artifact, it sufficed to slay a mortal.
In her vision, the spear would pierce Truman's chest, hurling him into the thunderclouds to be cleansed in divine wrath.
But the unexpected happened. The spear didn't kill him—it shattered against his body, dissolving into specks of elemental fire.
"How?"
In mere days, this mortal had shocked her more than anyone ever had.
Truman was flung high, tumbling into the golden lightning-sea. Yet the bolts passed through him harmlessly. Watching him plummet through the clouds, Elaviel's expression wavered, torn.
Vengeance clashed with the hope of restoring her glory, two contradictory impulses locking her in hesitation.
One second, two, three…
Elaviel lowered her gaze, sighing softly, reciting from the Gospel: "The Lord is merciful, offering every sinner a path to paradise."
As Truman fell nearly out of sight, she finally spread her wings.
"Ha… whew… I thought I'd never see you again, Your Highness."
Truman gasped for air, his legs trembling. Though he knew divine lightning couldn't harm him, the terror of plummeting from thousands of meters wasn't easily ignored.
"You've gone to great lengths to save your skin."
Even after sparing him, Elaviel's tone remained icy.
She'd sentenced him to death, and he'd only survived by chance… or so she told herself, a touch helplessly.
"Save my skin? Not entirely. Your Highness, since committing that act, I haven't expected to live. My life's worthless, not like the noble ones—nobody'd mourn me. My only reason for helping you is that I deeply love you. That's why I committed such a heinous sin when you were suffering."
Truman's voice was earnest, his expression unprecedentedly sincere, a stark contrast to his usual roguish demeanor, making it oddly convincing. He knew Elaviel's compromise was born of necessity, and once her situation stabilized, his fate would remain grim. His only shot at defying destiny lay in shifting her perception of him. He had to do everything to earn her forgiveness.
"Silver-tongued liars deserve their tongues torn out. I hope you can still deceive demons in hell."
Elaviel wasn't swayed, her aloof expression unchanged, her words cutting.
...
In the dim, bone-walled hall, anguished and furious wails echoed. Suddenly, cheerful anime music blared, jarringly out of place.
A girl in an opulent evening gown lounged on a brass throne, engrossed in a tablet.
It was her latest treasure, superior to computers because it didn't need constant plugging in—just charge it and play. She admired Old History's humans, clever enough to invent such things, surely with her future enjoyment in mind.
"Hahaha, humans are so fascinating! Way more fun than demons or vampires, who just scream and kill without a shred of brains."
"Senia, was there really a human-only era centuries ago? They made all these cool things! We should round up a bunch, lock 'em in a big walled city like in the anime, keep demons out. Maybe they'd whip up something new…" Lilith, brimming with youthful energy, gestured wildly, chomping a lollipop, chattering like a sparrow.
Abruptly, Senia sat upright, the bone hall and brass throne groaning in response.
"Eh? Senia, you see the brilliance of my idea too, right? I'm a genius!" Lilith chirped, oblivious to Senia's startled expression.
"Hm? My sin of lust… it's fading?"
Senia sensed her distant mark weakening, its connection to her severing.
"What? How? Did another mythical being intervene?" Lilith's mouth gaped, her lollipop falling. She was baffled—once applied, a sin curse was nearly impossible to lift. That's why they'd relaxed, certain the wounded, Eden-less angel would soon fade into nothingness.
Senia had only meant to capture Elaviel for amusement, never expecting her to break the curse.
"Kings don't meet kings. Mythical beings' encounters spiral into fate's vortex—a fight to the death. Who would help her?" Senia mused gravely, consulting the stars, but the future remained shrouded.
"Hmph! Even if she recovers, we'll ambush her again. Two against one, no other strong ones to save her prissy angelic ass this time," Lilith declared confidently after a moment's thought, then giggled and returned to her anime.
Senia rose, pacing the hall, her voluptuous form swaying, exuding a sultry aura. Despite their overwhelming advantage, a faint unease gnawed at her.
"Hey, Old Wang, why'd the Chief order us to monitor Harvest City's anomalies, but after we reported, nothing happened?" a young observer asked, scratching his head.
"No clue," the old Taoist replied, stroking his beard. "But the Chief's a once-in-five-centuries sage, like an exiled immortal. Every move has purpose—there's gotta be deeper meaning."
After mulling it over fruitlessly, Old Wang shifted topics. "Heard the Chief's planning to take a disciple at next month's Celestial Rite, picking someone to pass on the Dao!"
"What? The Chief never takes disciples, just compiles scriptures for teaching. Why the sudden change?" a middle-aged diviner gasped, stunned that the peerless, radiant Chief Su would break tradition.
"It's true," Old Wang said, reclining on his wicker chair, eyeing the massive armillary sphere whirring in the hall. "Capital City's big families are going nuts, recalling their prodigies from training, piling on treasures to boost 'em. Other city clans are doing the same, sending out mid- and high-level agents to secure resources, all to craft a top young talent."
"It's chaos out there," another added. "Factions are at each other's throats, even the Saint Seats' disciples are in the fray, clearing rivals. One word from the Chief's stirred a bloodbath."
Old Wang smirked. "I bet it's not that simple. If the Chief just wanted a disciple, they could've picked any genius over the years. Why now?" He glanced at the eager youngsters. "Maybe that seat's reserved for someone specific."
The group sighed, dropping the topic to chatter about other things. The Imperial Observatory's vibe was always laid-back—no demon-slaying fieldwork, just long stretches of quiet punctuated by rare, lucrative tasks.
...