When the divine grace faded, all the exhaustion and injuries in Serilef's body came rushing back at once. As had been said before, the cost of a deity transmitting power across such a distance was enormous. On top of that, Serilef had not used that power wisely. Rather than healing her injuries, she had poured all of it into slaughtering those monsters.
Once everything returned to the state it had been in before Serilef summoned the divine grace, she could barely remain standing. The Bloodhulks, their minds consumed by bloodlust, had no intention of retreating. They would only keep launching desperate attacks at their enemy.
With Serilef in such terrible condition, they were even less likely to give up. The remaining three Bloodhulks immediately let out piercing shrieks and charged at Serilef once more. Serilef had already exhausted both her spell-like abilities and divine spells, and her battle with the Bloodhulks had left her covered in wounds. She now seemed utterly incapable of resisting their attacks. Even Serilef herself was starting to despair.
Only now did she realize how highly she had overestimated herself.
Serilef's talent was naturally beyond question, but compared to a true warrior, this young woman—was twenty-four still considered young? Sure, why not?—still lacked the tempering that came from the boundary between life and death. Take the Trism brothers, for example. Their class levels were not actually higher than Serilef's, and in terms of raw strength, they might not even have matched her. But combat had never been simple addition and subtraction. It was not as though the stronger person would inevitably win. There were many other factors involved: tactics, mentality, how one used one's own power, and much more.
At the very least, if it truly came down to a fight to the death, Serilef would