CHAPTER 377: ETHAN’S COUNTERATTACK (1)

Third Person’s POV

On the sidelines, Alrin’s sultry female companion and the brutish man who followed him watched with naked admiration due to the fact that these two had finally shown that boy the phrase of not knowing what was good for himself.

Their faces softened with reverence as though already bowing to the inevitable victors.

It was clear in their eyes that they had already convinced themselves the fruits were as good as harvested.

Yet two figures did not move, did not smile, and did not share in the arrogance of the moment.

The petite werewolf girl stood utterly still, with her small frame rooted like iron to the earth, and her gray tail swishing faintly in the air behind her.

Her expression remained unchanged like a calm, porcelain doll in an unreadable manner, but her sharp eyes reflected the storm above with a clarity that none of the others possessed.

And beside her, Alrin lingered with his skeletal figure and long arms hanging loosely at his sides.

Not once did his gaze flicker toward the blond pair or their yellow glow; instead, his attention was wholly devoured by the dust storm roiling above.

The faint tightening of his lips and the subtle narrowing of his eyes—these tiny shifts revealed what others missed, and unlike the rest, these two did not believe the fight had ended.

Just as such thoughts were running through their minds, a pair of figures, the tall blond demon and his equally radiant lady demon companion, stepped forward and reached the same distance from the tree as the others.

Their faces wore smug expressions of triumph, yet beneath that self-satisfaction lingered an unmistakable wariness.

Their eyes were sharp and calculating, and had never fully left the petite werewolf girl standing silently like a doll of ice, nor the bamboo-thin Alrin whose hollow gaze seemed to pierce deeper than appearances allowed.

The blond woman’s hands suddenly clenched together, and her fingers curled with practiced grace in the shape of a closed knot.

At the same time, the swirling dust storm that raged around the treetop convulsed as though strangled by invisible chains as its furious currents abruptly shrank into a compressed vortex.

As the storm was compressed, the demon at her side began chanting obscure words that seemed to be laced with a strange power in a low, guttural voice.

From the thick haze of yellow light gathering in his palms, sharp, conical spears of condensed, turbid earthy energy erupted outward and hurtled into the storm from every direction.

The air shrieked as the cones punctured the cyclone, and a muffled grunt of pain escaped from within.

The sound was faint, but sensing the rawness behind it sent a shiver of satisfaction rippling across the blonds’ faces.

Their lips curved into broad, triumphant grins, and with cool confidence, the tall demon murmured,

"Let’s finish—"

His suave declaration was cut short mid-breath and his words were choked in his throat as a flicker—a streak of blue-black lightning split through the air like a serpent from the storm towards his direction.

His instincts screamed before his mind even grasped it, and his head snapped to the side.

A strangled hiccup, sharp and unnatural, burst from his woman companion’s lips.

His eyes widened, and what he saw rooted him to the spot.

It was a knife—no, a nightmare forged into steel that was buried deep within her chest.

Its blade shimmered with a wicked gleam and flashed with an inner glow of eerie, intermittent blue light that looked like ghostly embers breathing within darkness.

Her beautiful face contorted as the pain twisted her expression before the numb chill of death began to hollow her features.

His breath caught as his gaze locked on the blade. Seeing it, the world seemed to blur in front of his eyes, while the thought of the magical fruits and the prize evaporated in an instant.

He reached out with his trembling fingers and brushed the hilt to gauge the injury and to find a way to save her, but the moment his skin touched the weapon, a bone-deep cold surged up his arm and pierced through his flesh, marrow, and soul.

It was not mere cold, but it seemed to be filled with a strange intent of chill that had its own thoughts of malice, and without a doubt, he could feel its intent deep in his soul.

His aura flared instinctively in self-preservation alarm, and a deep, turbid yellow glow erupted across his palm, trying to shield him.

For a heartbeat, it worked as he could finally grasp the hilt, but it was then that he saw them.

From the blade’s core, he saw thin, writhing tendrils of darkness slithering outward.

As he watched in shock, they crawled across the woman’s chest like living shadows, sank beneath her skin, and started spreading their corruption with every pulse of her heart.

She had already gone unconscious, and the sight of her pained face, her fluttering eyelids, and those dark lines made his heart clench with horror, especially due to the fact that he had never seen or heard anything like this.

He pulled harder and tried to tear the knife free, but the weapon clung to her flesh like a parasite.

And before he could summon even more strength, a voice drifted from the tree.

It was soft, mellow, yet also dripped with a sinister glee.

It was the kind of voice that slithered into the ears and coiled around the spine.

"Don’t even try, or you will only cause her organs to waste away to nothing but black sludge. She will not die, but she can forget to continue on the path of a mage."

The three of them turned towards the voice at the same time, and what they saw shocked them.

(A few moments ago...)

The sudden and silent strike towards the blond woman of his had caught even the ever-watchful petite werewolf girl and the skeletal Alrin off-guard and had led their gazes to flicker toward the scene in rare distraction.