Chapter : 997
The air at the edge of the lake grew unnaturally, bitingly cold. Rosa knelt on the black, volcanic shore, her hands outstretched over the crystal-clear water, her face a mask of intense, absolute concentration. The pale, blue light of her Void power, which had been a quiet, deep reservoir within her, now flowed from her in a steady, focused stream. The water at her fingertips did not just frost over; it solidified, the molecules rearranging themselves under her will, forming a solid, opaque, and impossibly dense sheet of ice.
It was a slow, painstaking process. She was not just freezing the water; she was sculpting it, compressing it, layering it, forging a vessel with a strength and integrity that defied the natural properties of ice. Lloyd watched, his own senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the placid surface of the lake. The serpents were still there, their emerald heads just visible above the mist, their golden eyes watching the strange, cold magic with a calm, reptilian curiosity. They did not seem to perceive the creation of the ice raft as a threat. Not yet.
After what felt like an eternity, it was done. A circular raft of solid, milky-white ice, ten feet in diameter and at least three feet thick, floated gently at the shore. It was a beautiful, strange, and utterly temporary creation, a testament to the power of her will.
"It is done," she said, her voice a strained, breathless whisper. Sweat beaded on her pale brow. The creation of the raft had been a significant expenditure of her already depleted power. "But I cannot hold it indefinitely. The mountain’s ambient heat… it will begin to melt the moment I release the stasis."
"You won't have to hold it for long," Lloyd replied, his voice a low, dangerous hum. He stepped onto the ice raft, its surface surprisingly solid, if treacherously slick, under his boots. He held a newly manifested weapon in his hands. His Steel Blood had answered his call, not as a blade or a chain, but as a twenty-foot-long pole of dark, solid steel, one end sharpened to a wicked, spear-like point.
He looked at her, and in that single, shared glance, a universe of unspoken tactical understanding passed between them. "Ready?" he asked.
She gave a single, sharp nod, her own hands now glowing with a different, more aggressive, and colder light. The time for creation was over. The time for war had come.
With a powerful shove of his pole against the rocky shore, Lloyd sent the ice raft gliding out into the still, mist-shrouded waters of the lake.
The moment the raft crossed the invisible boundary into their territory, the serene, beautiful scene shattered into a maelstrom of violent, chaotic motion. The dozen serpents, which had been a silent, patrolling perimeter, exploded into action. The water churned into a frenzy as they converged on the small, solitary raft, their sleek, powerful bodies cutting through the water with the speed and grace of torpedoes.
The battle for the Serpent’s Garden had begun.
The first serpent to reach him was a massive brute, its head as large as a shield. It rose from the water, its jaws gaping wide, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth, and lunged.
Lloyd did not retreat. He was a whirlwind of motion on the slippery, unstable surface of the raft. He planted the base of his steel pole, his body a perfect, coiled spring of potential energy, and met the serpent’s charge head-on. The sharpened tip of the pole, empowered by his Void power, slammed into the roof of the creature’s mouth with the force of a battering ram.
There was a sickening, wet crunch of bone. The serpent’s lunge was stopped cold, its head thrown back, its golden eyes wide with a look of pained, reptilian surprise. Before it could recover, Lloyd used his pole as a lever, and with a powerful, desperate shove, he threw the stunned, wounded beast aside.
But he was already under attack from two others. One from the left, one from the right, a perfect pincer movement designed to overwhelm him.
He was a solitary warrior in the heart of a hurricane, his steel pole a blur of motion as he desperately parried, blocked, and shoved, his every muscle screaming with the strain. He was holding them off, but he was losing. He was being systematically herded, pushed back, his every move a reaction, his every action a desperate defense.
It was then that the first piece of supporting fire arrived from the shore.
Chapter : 998
Rosa, her face a mask of cold, focused fury, had become the battlefield commander, the artillery, the goddess of the lake. She slammed her palms onto the ground, and a wave of her Void power shot out across the water. The surface of the lake in front of the two flanking serpents instantly flash-froze into a thick, solid sheet of ice.
The serpents, moving at full speed, crashed into the unexpected barrier. Their momentum was broken, their coordinated attack shattered. They were trapped, their bodies half-in, half-out of the ice, thrashing in a state of confused, frustrated rage.
It was the opening Lloyd needed. He abandoned his defense and went on the attack. With a powerful, desperate series of shoves with his pole, he began to propel the ice raft forward again, towards the central rock, his path now cleared.
The battle devolved into a chaotic, desperate, and beautiful symphony of teamwork. Lloyd was the vanguard, the spearhead, a whirlwind of steel and will, fighting a desperate, close-quarters battle against any serpent that managed to break through their defenses. Rosa was the rearguard, the strategist, her power a constant, flowing river of control. She would freeze patches of water, creating barriers, trapping enemies. She would send sharp, massive shards of ice, like magical javelins, hissing through the air, not to kill, but to distract, to harry, to force a serpent to dodge, creating a fractional opening for Lloyd to exploit.
Several serpents were killed, their skulls crushed by the raw, brute force of Lloyd’s pole, their dark, emerald blood staining the crystal-clear water. Others were left trapped, frozen in place by Rosa’s power, their furious, impotent hisses echoing across the valley.
They were a perfect, unspoken, and brutally effective team. His raw, physical power and her precise, tactical control were two halves of a single, magnificent weapon.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of desperate, adrenaline-fueled battle, he reached it. The central, crystalline rock. The ice raft bumped against its smooth, white surface.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lloyd leaped from the raft onto the rock. He did not admire the beauty of the Heavenly Jade Lotuses. He did not pause to savor their victory. He snatched the entire, perfect cluster, roots and all, from the rock, the life-giving energy of the flowers a warm, vibrant pulse against his skin.
He turned, the prize held securely in one hand, and with a single, powerful leap, he was back on the raft.
“Get us out of here!” he roared, his voice a raw, desperate command.
He plunged his pole into the water and began to push, to pole, to paddle frantically back towards the shore, back towards safety, back towards the woman who was his partner, his artillery, and his only hope. They had the prize. They had succeeded. But the battle for the Serpent’s Garden was not yet over.
The return journey was a frantic, desperate race against time and a tide of renewed, reptilian fury. The remaining serpents, their initial shock and confusion now replaced by a cold, territorial rage at the theft of their sacred treasure, launched a new and far more desperate assault. They no longer attacked with coordinated, tactical precision. They attacked with a single, unified, and overwhelming wave of pure, savage violence.
The water around the small ice raft churned into a boiling, chaotic frenzy. Emerald heads, gaping jaws, and powerful, thrashing tails erupted from the depths on all sides. Lloyd was no longer a warrior; he was a man trying to hold back a tsunami of scaly death with a single, steel pole.
His every muscle screamed in protest. His breath came in ragged, burning gasps. The raft, slick with water and the dark, viscous blood of the fallen serpents, was a treacherous, unstable platform. He was a dizzying whirlwind of motion, his pole a blur, a desperate, last-ditch defense against an enemy that was everywhere at once. He crushed a skull here, deflected a lunge there, but for every serpent he managed to fend off, two more took its place.
From the shore, Rosa was a goddess of winter pushed to her absolute, breaking limit. Her face was as pale as her own ice, a fine sheen of sweat plastering her silver hair to her temples. The constant, dual focus of maintaining the raft’s integrity while simultaneously providing offensive support was a monumental, soul-crushing expenditure of her will.
Her attacks were no longer the precise, elegant shards of a fencer. They were the desperate, ragged, and powerful blows of a cornered brawler. She was ripping massive, jagged chunks of ice from the lake’s shore and hurling them with her Void power, not to distract, but to crush, to maim, to create any kind of chaos that would buy him another precious second.