The wind howled across the land, sweeping up a thick layer of dust and sand. Gravel and dirt scattered everywhere. The air was heavy with moisture, yet it could not conceal the choking stench permeating the atmosphere.
"Mas... Master?"
Leng stared blankly at the person standing in front of her. Her slightly parted lips gave her an adorably dazed look, with none of the ruthless resolve she had shown when she was ready to risk everything.
That familiar back, that icy presence—she had not forgotten a single bit of it even after thousands of years. Leng could not be mistaken. Although this person's clothes were vastly different from what she remembered, she was absolutely certain that this was her master—the former Holy Left Wing Archangel, Ruo Ning.
Why was Master here?
The drifting smoke and dust made the surroundings appear hazy, illusory, and unreal.
Was this a hallucination brought on by her impending death?
Leng threw away the Flame Sword and raised her arm, wanting to touch the figure before her. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, and her little face was deathly pale. As she moved forward, her legs felt as heavy as lead.
Her breathing grew increasingly rapid, and double images began to appear before her eyes. Her master was clearly only a stone's throw away, yet that tiny distance felt like an insurmountable chasm. Even after exhausting all her strength, Leng failed to reach her.
"Master~"
The energy within her had been severely depleted, and an overwhelming fatigue surged over her like a tide. Leng gasped several times, but in the end, she could no longer hold on and lost consciousness.
"Pfft!"
She did not fall to the ground. Someone caught her in their arms.
Ruo Ning showed no expression as she lowered her head to look