Chris’s face contorted with rage as he snarled, “Yes, I’ve gone mad! You want me dead? Then before I go, I’ll make sure to drag you down with me!”
As he finished speaking, Chris’s face turned as pale as snow, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead in heavy drops. His earlier use of the Icefire Flame had already drained the strength within him. Now, summoning it again meant pushing his body beyond its limits.
Releasing the Icefire Flame would undoubtedly result in his death, but Chris had no choice. The power he was trying to fuse was volatile and dangerous, leaving no room for error.
Faced with Chris’s desperation, Soren Iron hesitated. Taking several steps back, he glared at Chris with venom in his eyes. “Chris, you win this time! I’ll spare your life for now, but mark my words, next time, I’ll kill you,” he spat before turning and retreating.
With Soren Iron’s departure, the other Solstice cultivators of the Iron Fist faction quickly followed.
Though Soren Iron burned with the desire to avenge his son and brother, he wasn’t willing to die alongside Chris. Survival was more important to him.
Lindsay Windson stepped forward, smiling warmly. “Mr. Shelby, you’re incredible. Even an Elysium-level cultivator backed away in fear.”
Chris gave a faint smile but suddenly collapsed to the ground. Lindsay’s face changed as she rushed to catch him.
Elias Dorneles knelt to examine Chris’s condition, his brows furrowing. “He’s completely drained. His body needs time to recover before he’ll wake up.”
Elias was astonished. He knew the strength of Soren Iron and his men. From his own perspective, there was no way Chris should’ve been able to stand against an Elysium-level cultivator. Yet, here Chris had not only survived but driven them away.
What had Chris gone through over the past year? How could his strength have grown so terrifyingly in such a short time?
Time passed, though how much was unclear. Eventually, Chris slowly opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings, realizing he was now in the royal palace of Amerosia.
“Mr. Shelby, you’re awake!”
A cheerful voice broke through his grogginess. Chris turned his head to see Seraphina standing nearby.
“Seraphina?” he asked, puzzled. “Why are you here? Where’s Lindsay?”
Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Lindsay’s in the kitchen preparing medicine for you. After you passed out, she brought you here to the palace. She believed this was the safest place for you.”
Her tone softened as she continued, “Do you know you’ve been unconscious for three days and nights? If my father hadn’t assured me you’d be fine, I would’ve already summoned the royal physician!”
Chris was momentarily stunned. “Your father? Seraphina, are you saying my master is in the palace?”
She nodded. “Yes, he returned a month ago.”
A wave of joy washed over Chris. It had been nearly two years since he last saw Archer Wintersong.
That evening, Chris finally met his master. Though two years had passed, Archer Wintersong looked unchanged, as if time had no effect on him.
In a quiet study, Archer glanced at Chris’s empty sleeve. “Your arms… they’ve been crippled?”
Chris sighed deeply. “Yes. To defeat the Iron Fist vice hall master, I had no choice but to use a forbidden technique. I killed him, but the explosion destroyed my arms.”
Archer Wintersong paused, his expression grave. Then he sighed. “Chris, I never imagined you’d grow this much in such a short time.”
A year ago, Chris had been little more than an insect in the eyes of Aetherbinding cultivators. Now, he could scare off Elysium-level opponents and kill Solstice cultivators with ease.
Archer examined Chris’s body closely. “Your strength comes from the fusion of ice and fire within you,” he said. “Mastering this fusion won’t be easy, but if you succeed, your power could rival that of an Elysium beginner.”
Chris gave a bitter smile. “Master, I’ve lost my arms. How can I hope to fight Elysium cultivators?”
Archer snorted. “So what if you’ve lost your arms? Are you giving up just because of that?”
Chris was dumbfounded. “What else can I do? My arms won’t grow back.”
Archer’s eyes glinted. “Chris, you underestimate your Aragosti bloodline.”
Chris frowned. “Master, isn’t Aragosti considered useless?”
Archer scoffed. “Nonsense! If your Aragosti bloodline were useless, you wouldn’t have come this far. Today, I’ll teach you how to harness soul power. You won’t need arms to fight!”
Chris’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Soul power? What is that?”
Archer explained, “Soul power is the strength of the spirit. In Aethelgard, beyond spirit power, there is another force-soul power. Few know how to wield it, but I’m one of them.”
As he spoke, a powerful aura of soul power erupted from Archer Wintersong. In an instant, the Dragon Slayer sword flew out of Chris’s storage ring.
“See?” Archer said. “Even without hands, you can control your weapon using soul power.”
With a loud crash, Archer guided the Dragon Slayer to strike a table, shattering it into splinters. Chris stared, wide-eyed.
“Master, are you saying I can control Dragon Slayer the same way?”
“Exactly,” Archer replied. “As an Aragosti, your soul is exceptionally strong. With time and training, you’ll wield soul power as easily as I do.”
Though Chris was intrigued, he knew mastering soul power wouldn’t be easy. He resolved to follow Archer’s instructions, taking it step by step.
Archer fixed him with a serious look. “Until your arms heal, you’ll train in soul power as I’ve taught you. If your soul power grows strong enough, you can live just as anyone else.”
Chris nodded firmly. “Master, I’ve been curious-what lies beyond the Elysium realm?”
Archer hesitated before answering. “At your current level, it’s not something you need to know. But since you’ve asked, I’ll tell you. In ancient times, the pinnacle was not Elysium but the Wraithbloom Realm. However, after a great war, nearly all Wraithbloom cultivators perished. Today, none remain.”