Pillar of Yita

In the pervasive dust, Fang Hong slowly walked forward. He was heading toward the center of the square, a place already shattered and unrecognizable from the previous combat, where the wanderer had fallen, leaving only a deep pit, the dust within obscuring everyone’s vision.

Fang Hong passed by Atira, the young man glanced fearfully at him, moving slightly aside—he indeed looked terrifying, his upper body’s clothing completely shattered, exposing skin covered in layers of black scales, gleaming under the night sky.

A pair of hands had fully transformed into a reptilian shape, the five slightly spread fingers were five slender, sharp claws. The thick scales extended up his neck, covering half of his face, and above that, a pair of pale golden eyes with elongated pupils like swirling golden sparks.

”Ade...” Atira lifted his head laboriously from the ground, his emerald green eyes filled with deeply worried glances directed at him.

Fang Hong glanced at Elf Miss, responding in a hoarse, low voice: ”I’m fine... Miss Atira...”

He dared not speak further, silently passing between the two. Fearing that uttering another half sentence would unleash the desire for slaughter within him, he had already stopped the wanderer, yet the inner flame of anger had not been suppressed.

Instead, it burned even more intensely—

He took a light breath, feeling an unquenched dissatisfaction deep inside, a repressed mood not yet fully vented. Fang Hong subconsciously clenched his fists, the joints emitting a ’cracking’ sound, the dark thoughts dominating him, guiding him step by step down into the pit.

But a gentle voice from behind called out to him:

”Mr. Ade.”

Fang Hong turned around.

The girl kneeled on the ground, her pale body almost translucent, tears still trailing on her face as she looked up at him, worry lining her brow.

Fang Hong bared his sharp white teeth, giving her a gentle smile—then the young man quickly turned away, closed his eyes, his eyelids flickering—he tightly gripped his fists, and only after a while did he open his eyes again, a hint of black flashing in the golden pupils.

He dared not look back again, hastily continuing downward.

Deep within the pit, the wanderer was tremblingly crawling out from below.

Fang Hong’s eyes showed a trace of surprise. His own two attacks alone shouldn’t have injured the opponent this badly—in front of him, ’Count Westwood Sibika’ seemed to be under great strain, propping with his hands on the ground, struggling several times, only to fall back each time.

Fang Hong looked at the other person with surprise, the dark thoughts within filling him with mockery. Although unclear as to why the other became like this, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity. Step by step, he moved forward, his claws on the ground, rolling pebbles echoing lightly.

Some stones bounced to the wanderer’s front, landing on his hand, only then did he raise his head to look at Fang Hong. A hint of unwillingness flashed in the other’s eyes, and he coldly responded: ”If it wasn’t for those traps left by Yoshude and Kalatu...”

Fang Hong had anticipated his strike being so effective wasn’t entirely his own doing. Although he wasn’t clear about Yoshude and Kalatu’s setups here, undoubtedly, they had made his crucial attack effective at the last moment.

Though unaware of how those two Dragon Slaying Heroes foresaw today’s scene, seeing the opponent like this, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of delight.

One who prided himself as a hunter someday becomes another’s prey.

The mastermind planning everything behind the scenes ultimately fell into others’ schemes.

Fang Hong sneered: ”It seems you’re not omniscient, time after time of failure, is that your so-called eternal? Have you thought of why you’ve ended up like this; the reason is simple. Unrighteous acts can only reap temporary gains.”

”Justice?”

Even in such a situation, the wanderer sneered.

”Look at yourself, you killed me, yet you’ve become the very image you once loathed. The cycle of hatred will never end,” the wanderer’s pale, gaunt face seemed to cast deep shadows, he gave a self-mocking smile: ”Is it worth it?”

”I’m not a person of this world.”

Hearing this, the wanderer didn’t answer for a long while. He remained silent, as though savoring the taste of failure, or perhaps mulling over the nuances in that response.

It wasn’t until quite a while later that the wanderer looked at Fang Hong again—on his face, the originally pale blue eyes of Count Westwood Sibika had turned gray-white, as if veiled in a layer of haze. His thin lips slightly curved, forming an indescribable expression, neither crying nor laughing:

”In that case, I’ll tell you a secret...”

Fang Hong looked at this person in surprise.

But the wanderer had no intention of seeking his opinion, speaking lowly:

”You can never escape this nightmare.”

”The other world is not your refuge. Eternal, do you understand its weight?”

Fang Hong erupted in fury.

He grabbed the other’s collar, without asking reason, the overwhelming rage within him finally uncontrolled—the wanderer’s gray pupils, however, carried a hint of calmness as he watched him: ”You did not defeat me; next time, you won’t have such luck.”