Shadowmire Wraith wouldn’t have surfaced this time if not for Ethan Stone’s mysterious disappearance.
“Chris, die!” Shadowmire Wraith roared, his fist hurtling toward Chris with terrifying force.
Chris could feel the overwhelming power in the blow-it was impossible to resist.
Boom!
With a thunderous crash, Chris was sent flying backward.
Blood sprayed from his mouth as he hung mid-air, the sheer impact ravaging his body.
With just one punch, Shadowmire Wraith had gravely injured Chris.
“Mr. Shelby!” Lindsay Windson cried out, rushing to his side.
Shadowmire Wraith’s strength truly lived up to that of an Elysium-level cultivator. A single strike like that could have killed even a mid-stage Solstice practitioner. If not for Chris’s unusually resilient physique, he would’ve been obliterated.
Shadowmire Wraith’s face flickered with surprise. He had expected Chris to die from that punch. Even a late-stage Solstice cultivator shouldn’t have survived it, yet Chris, who was only at mid-stage Solstice, had endured.
“Chris, today is your death day!” Shadowmire Wraith snarled, clenching his fist once more.
A terrifying energy began to gather in his hand, radiating waves of destruction.
Chris’s expression grew pale. He knew-if this punch landed, he would be dead without question.
There was no escape. Shadowmire Wraith was too fast, too powerful.
“Die!” Shadowmire Wraith bellowed, his fist hurtling toward Chris’s head with lethal precision.
Despair flooded Chris’s face. He had no way to resist. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the inevitable.
But the fatal blow never came.
Chris cautiously opened his eyes to find Shadowmire Wraith’s fist halted, mere inches from his head.
A slender hand had caught the strike.
Shadowmire Wraith froze in disbelief and exclaimed, “Faeryheart!”
Chris looked up and saw her-a stunningly beautiful woman, her presence commanding and serene.
Shadowmire Wraith’s expression darkened. “Faeryheart! Our Bloodspire Sect and your Artisans’ Guild have always kept to our own paths. Why are you interfering today?”
With a calm glance at Chris, Faeryheart replied softly, “This man is connected to the Artisans’ Guild. You cannot kill him.”
“You-” Shadowmire Wraith’s anger flared.
He was an Elysium-level cultivator, used to dominance. Rarely had anyone dared to stand in his way.
“And if I insist on killing him?”
“Then you’ll be declaring war on the Artisans’ Guild,” Faeryheart said, her voice steady.
Shadowmire Wraith’s face twisted.
Though he was a powerful Elysium cultivator, the Artisans’ Guild was no weakling. Faeryheart herself was an Elysium-level practitioner, and a confrontation would not end in his favor.
After a tense moment, Shadowmire Wraith sneered. “Fine. I’ll let you have this one.”
His eyes locked onto Chris. “You’re lucky today, boy. But the next time we meet, I’ll end you.”
With a blur, Shadowmire Wraith disappeared into the air.
As soon as he was gone, Lindsay rushed to Chris’s side. “Mr. Shelby, are you alright?”
Chris shook his head weakly. “I’m fine.”
Turning to Faeryheart, he bowed deeply. “Thank you for saving my life, Senior.”
Faeryheart studied him briefly before answering, “I was merely fulfilling someone’s request.”
With that, she vanished, leaving Chris frozen in place.
The Artisans’ Guild-Chris had heard of them before.
They were one of the four great Aetherbinding sects in Aethelgard, renowned for their immense power. It was no wonder even Shadowmire Wraith had hesitated to cross them.
But why had Faeryheart saved him? Who had asked her to intervene?
Chris’s mind wandered back to the note left by Oriana in Flameforge.
The note had mentioned that Oriana had discovered the whereabouts of her sister, Emily. It said Emily had been taken by someone from the Artisans’ Guild, prompting Oriana to seek her out there.
Could Faeryheart’s intervention be tied to Oriana and Emily?
As Chris pondered, snow began to fall, thick and heavy.
“This Great Lyria truly is a bitterly cold land,” he muttered.
Lindsay nodded. “Indeed. That’s why Great Lyria has always sought to invade Amerosia and claim its fertile lands.”
In contrast to Great Lyria’s harsh climate, Amerosia was located in the heartland of Aethelgard, blessed with mild seasons and abundant resources.
This disparity was the root of Great Lyria’s repeated attempts to conquer Amerosia through war.
With Faeryheart’s appearance, Shadowmire Wraith had withdrawn. Though he burned with a desire to kill Chris, he dared not provoke the Artisans’ Guild.
Returning to Silver Crown, Shadowmire Wraith received news that brightened his mood-Ethan Stone was alive.
Though severely injured, Ethan had survived the fall.
Ethan Stone and Stripes had been found by Great Lyria’s Aetherbinding cultivators and brought back for treatment.
Now, Ethan lay bedridden, his face contorted with rage. His injuries were severe, and it would take months for him to recover.
And the cause of all his suffering? Chris.
Shadowmire Wraith soon visited his pupil.
“How are you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Ethan Stone was startled to see his master. “Master! What are you doing here?”
“I heard you’d gone missing,” Shadowmire Wraith replied. “I came to find you. Let me examine your condition.”
Shadowmire Wraith conducted a thorough assessment of Ethan’s injuries. When he finished, his expression was grim.
“Master, how bad is it?” Ethan asked anxiously.
Shadowmire Wraith’s tone was somber. “You survived the fall, but your Solstice core has been irreparably damaged. I’m afraid… you’ll be crippled for life.”