Chapter 171: The Headless Warrior
Abyss was certain he hadn’t used any necromancy on Givia, and he couldn’t access his magic within this dream.
Givia’s movements, her headless body walking, were baffling. Naturally occurring undead were rare, requiring specific conditions, like a stable source of mana and the absence of Church officials or devout followers of the Nine Gods. He didn’t think Givia met those criteria.
As he pondered this, Rebecca, sitting beside him, suddenly shouted, her voice echoing through the theater.
“Look! Princess Givia isn’t dead! She’s getting up! This is just an illusion! There’s nothing to fear!”
The nobles, startled by her words, turned their attention back to the stage. Rebecca was right. Givia had found her head and was now holding it, its expression still remarkably lifelike, her eyes open, as she walked towards the bishop, who was still under the Lord of Nightmares’ control.
The Lord of Nightmares fell silent, his taunts ceasing. He seemed surprised.
The bishop, noticing Givia approaching from behind, his expression still vacant, raised his rake.
But Givia didn’t give him a chance. Still holding her head, she charged, slamming her shoulder into his chest, knocking him off his feet before he could swing the rake. The rake, bound to his hand, remained clutched in his grip, but his attack had failed.
Givia placed her head on the ground, her gaze fixed on the bishop, then charged again.
She was a trained mid-level Dou Warrior, her strength and agility far surpassing the bishop’s, his movements now sluggish under the Outer God’s control. Her body erupted in Dou Qi flames as she lunged towards him, her fist connecting with his forearm, a sickening crack echoing through the theater.
Her blow, amplified by her Dou Qi, had broken his arm. She then spun, delivering a swift kick to his injured arm, severing it completely.
The bishop collapsed, his severed arm flying through the air. As it flew, the vacant expression on his face vanished.
“The princess has won! Let’s cheer for her!” Rebecca shouted, her voice ringing through the theater.
A hesitant cheer arose from the crowd, then another, and another, until the entire theater erupted in applause. It wasn’t just because Givia had miraculously survived and saved her father, but also because they needed to bolster their own courage.
“I understand!” Abyss exclaimed, his eyes widening in realization, a smile spreading across his face. “That’s it! Givia didn’t disappoint us!”
The Lord of Nightmares’ voice, now laced with panic, echoed through the theater. “You think this is over? My artifact will find a new host! Any of you could become my puppet!”
The bishop’s severed arm lay on the stage, the rake still clutched in its hand. As the Lord of Nightmares spoke, the rake detached itself from the hand, the black mud transforming into dozens of spindly legs, scurrying towards the audience like a grotesque centipede.
“Not so fast!” Givia’s severed head shouted, her body rushing towards the approaching rake.
But as she reached it, the rake’s legs turned, leaping towards her and latching onto her arm.
“Surprise! My target wasn’t them, but you!” the Lord of Nightmares roared with laughter.
But Givia didn’t panic. Without hesitation, she ripped her own arm off, the rake still attached.
If this scene had occurred before nobles from other nations, many would have fainted. But these were Ossi nobles. They were accustomed to violence and bloodshed. They weren’t fazed by Givia’s gruesome act. Instead, they roared their approval, their cries echoing through the theater, their fear replaced by a primal excitement. The Lord of Nightmares’ voice, initially triumphant, now faltered, then turned to panic. “What?! What are you?!”
“Even death can’t break my spirit!” Givia shouted, kicking her severed arm across the stage.
Pitter-patter…
A cool rain began to fall, blurring their vision. The stage, the darkened theater, everything faded, like a watercolor painting washed away by the rain, revealing the real world. The black mud on the discarded rake dissolved, vanishing without a trace.
A winged horse soared through the sky, its form barely visible.
It was Leona’s familiar, her swift and powerful steed, carrying Rebecca’s improved potion, the one that had destroyed the Shadowlings, its effects now more potent and longer-lasting.
As the crowd looked back at the stage, Givia, who should have been headless and one-armed, stood there, unharmed. The bishop, his severed arm restored, sat dazed. The former king was also unharmed.
The Lord of Nightmares’ attack had been repelled. And only Givia, Abyss, and Rebecca knew how it had been done.
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