The Choice of Mortals

All the illusions vanished.

The battlefield returned to the platform in the abyss, but everything around them seemed to have fallen silent. Little by little, time stopped flowing. Veronica still maintained the motion of flying beneath the platform; Grey Sword Saint Mephisto stood proudly with his greatsword in hand; the sparks of magic in Charles's hand had blossomed and frozen in that instant; on the surrounding cliffs, the falling chunks of ice seemed eternally suspended, while inside the ice cavern, the four Black Knights remained frozen in the act of drawing their bows.

Only on the platform did Brando and Dark Kouhua each occupy half the space, one still and one moving, like two utterly opposite paintings. Brando was slowly rising from the ground, bare-chested. Blood slid down his forehead, along his neck, over his shoulder, upper arm, forearm, and wrist, as if tracing a scarlet tattoo.

Rose-colored drops of blood slid slowly down the dark blade of the Sword of Earth, dripping onto the ground and stirring up layer after layer of thin dust.

Brando calmly watched Dark Kouhua kneeling directly before him.

She was giggling wildly.

It was as if she had gone mad. Her entire body trembled with laughter before she began coughing violently, curling up into a ball. Strands of blood covered the girl's forehead and face—not her own, but Brando's. The bright, searing lightning had faded from her body, and the color of her pupils had returned to that gentle pale red. Her long black hair resembled sandalwood, while her skin was pale, as if she had just emerged from milk. Her black robe was like a ghost orchid quietly blooming across the platform.

"Ha ha ha ha... cough, cough, cough... ha ha ha..."

Dark Kouhua laughed with unrestrained delight as she coughed. Her shoulders