When the girl transformed into a golden orb of light, becoming pure energy, Xuefei reached out and collected that golden power into her storage pouch. But she didn’t consume it right away. Instead, she turned her full attention to the letter in her hand.
It was a golden object resembling a card, though its texture was like soft, resilient white paper—ideal for scribbling on with a marker. Yet ancient script flared to life beneath the white glow: a single, exceedingly brief line that cast doubt on both its purpose and the card’s very authenticity.
“Please save me.”
Xuefei knew it well.
This was undoubtedly a letter forged from the War God’s power. Only she herself could have inscribed those simple characters upon it. But a closer look revealed that the Gods’ script was far from straightforward. Xuefei couldn’t tell if it was a fake or if the War God was using some special method to deliver this message to a specific recipient.
…The answer was almost certainly the latter.
No one capable of forging a God’s message would make such a elementary blunder.
In most cases, then, one had to judge actions by the sender’s strength.
Xuefei pinched the edge of the letter and murmured softly:
“War God, Dolores.”
“Aren’t you, as a Main God, the one who arbitrarily bestowed power on others, colluded with mortals to defy the Evil Dragon, and rallied everyone to attack? You didn’t even sign your name. Or do you trust that whoever receives it will recognize your power?”
Or perhaps Dolores was certain that anyone unaware of her power wouldn’t dare attempt a rescue.
Following that line of thinking, had the War God not given up her power willingly? A Main God—especially one as ancient as the War God, with her forces and faiths spanning the Divine Realm and countless human worlds—shouldn’t have been so desperate as to implore the Dark Filth.
Of course, it wasn’t impossible. The conditions were simply too exacting, dwarfed even by the enemy’s wildest pipe dreams.
It was still too soon to say who the letter was meant for.
The one calling herself Lydia—who had produced the letter—was it intended for someone specific? Or had she already received word from the War God, or perhaps this was proof of the War God’s betrayal of the Gods?
The intelligence was insufficient, so a trap could not be ruled out.
A full plan, pieced together from fragments of history, was taking shape in Xuefei’s mind.
If only more clues could be found, something truly valuable might emerge. And if the War God genuinely needed her help, this affair—which Xuefei had meant to ignore—could prove immensely important.
In short, it was worth a shot.
At the very least, shouldn’t Xuefei look into those Gods? Especially the one who bore such a striking resemblance to Leia. Xuefei could never rest easy with her eyes closed.
With a sense of relief, Xuefei stretched lazily. Her tail and wings unfurled fully as she shook her head happily—a charming gesture she reserved for the palace.
“Gods really are a bunch of troublemakers, always caught up in their internal squabbles. No matter how you slice it, the Demon Race suits me far better!”
She turned around and froze in embarrassment.
Demon Racesmen of every size had claimed the entire barren expanse, their faces alight with joy and curiosity. They stood in perfect square formations. Spotting the Dragon Consort’s gaze, they dropped to one knee in unison to pledge their loyalty. The rippling wave of motion left Xuefei dumbfounded. When had she ever commanded an army this vast?
“This battle belongs to the Evil Dragon! Long live the Dragon Consort!”
A heady thrill coursed through her—the tangible perks of supreme authority made real. Even when reason held emotion in check, Xuefei’s craving for power burned undimmed.
But what came next?
Should she adopt a majestic, commanding air and order a retreat? If she didn’t, would she squander her chance to shine?
“Y-You… hello?”
It was her first time under so many eyes. Xuefei felt profoundly awkward.
Her whisper, faint as it was, went unheard by all but a few, who craned their necks in confusion.
Xuefei rubbed her chin.
Why not seize the moment and unleash the Evil Dragon’s full majesty right here? She could forget about being the Maid Corps’ favorite, getting misunderstood by the new maids, or earning cute compliments from the Fallen Wing Queen.
As long as she could show off her power in front of this crowd, she would absolutely establish her prestige. Word would spread from one to ten, ten to a hundred, and in the end, it wasn’t impossible for Dragon Consort Xuefei to become a household name as the renowned Queen. This would lay indispensable groundwork for getting Leia pregnant with her baby—and even for opportunistically seizing the throne!
Why not go for it?
Xuefei cleared her throat with a fake cough and straightened her posture. Still not quite satisfied, she even puffed out her chest. Her proud little breasts strained proudly against her Lolita dress, full and round. Nearing the end of her pregnancy, she might need to loosen the chest even more…
What should she say?
“People of the Camiran Continent!!! I hope you’re all well!”
No, no, that wouldn’t do…
Seeing the soldiers furtively lifting their heads to stare at her, Xuefei’s heart pounded like an engine. The nervous Dragon Baby turned it into a trampoline, bouncing wildly inside her—acting just as rambunctious as ever.
No matter what, she had to say something domineering, right?
After racking her brains, with a mighty whoosh, her wings unfurled. Xuefei’s delicate voice echoed across the endless wilderness:
“I will bring destruction to the world!”
Crimson-purple energy surged like a tidal wave from beneath her feet. In mere seconds, it blanketed the scorched land—this former forest turned wasteland—in an eerie, ghostly hue.
If any ordinary person had stood there, they would have despaired at the sight, deeming it more apocalyptic than the descent of a Heavenly God.
But then, a tender sprout burst from the darkened earth. Many Demon Race soldiers wiped the blood from their bodies. Even the wounded being carted off on stretchers suddenly opened their eyes, sensing that faint spark of life.
More sprouts followed, pushing from the soil and unfurling fresh green leaves. They grew taller and taller until they stood as proud bushes and flowers. In less than a minute, this war-torn wasteland—trampled to nothing but charred black and ashen gray—transformed into a lush, verdant grassland. A few drops of sweet dew fell onto the soldiers’ foreheads. Their bloody wounds and severed limbs knit back together in the darkness, regenerating like new sprouts.
“Is this rain? I… I don’t hurt anymore!”
“My wounds—they’re healing!”
“Oh, dear Annie, I’ll be home soon. Wait for me…”
This was no kingly display of pressure. Instead, it was a nurturing spring rain, brimming with vitality and hope. The battle-scarred soldiers felt warmth from the sky above. They lifted their heads, their eyes regaining their spark as they turned toward the Dragon Consort with wild joy.
There, amid the night rain, a sacred and adorable girl soared through the air, her body gracefully unfurled.
Could that be… the Saintess?
The Saintess belonging only to the Demon Race.
As the last traces of pain faded along with the glow on the horizon, the Blood Moon rose.
~~~
