Chapter 19: Give me back my little female ghost!
But as Flo moved forward, he suddenly collapsed, clutching his chest in agony.
His face twisted, sweat dripping uncontrollably, splashing onto the ground with soft pats.
He didn’t know what was happening, nor did he have the strength to think.
The searing pain threatened to rip his consciousness away.
Flo crawled weakly, low groans escaping his throat.
He didn’t know how long this torment would last, only praying it wouldn’t delay his mission.
Biting his teeth, Flo’s strength gave out, unable to lift himself from the ground.
His hands gave up their final struggle, and with a thud, he fell face-first, powerless, enduring endless suffering.
[I told you, if you didn’t deal with that beast quick, it’d hurt.]
Indeed, mana circuits blocked for over a decade, suddenly forced open—how could it be easy?
No power came free; everything had its price, marked in the shadows.
Strictly speaking, as a half-elf, Flo’s impure bloodline gave him far less magical talent than pure elves, his magic weaker by comparison.
Even so, he was still stronger than most humans.
Half-elves who achieved greatness weren’t unheard of, but they were rare—not due to poor aptitude, but because they were denied resources.
The prejudice from pure elves and their other bloodline could crush even a genius.
And Flo’s other half, though not human, didn’t spare him from human discrimination as the “shame of Astraea.”
Add to that the Church’s suppression—why wouldn’t the “shame of Astraea” step down so they could prop up a new Saintess?
Honestly, Flo had never met the candidate Saintess.
Due to the Church, he held no fondness for her, but he bore no malice either.
Objectively, Sophia was dutiful, striving despite her limited ability.
Yet Sophia was pitiable, a tool for the Church to control hearts.
Flo could never endure such a stifling life.
His current freedom was thanks to his male identity.
Had he started as Aphrosia, the one “imprisoned” in the holy halls wouldn’t be Sophia—it’d be him.
Emerald resin enveloped the silently groaning boy, a cool breeze gently caressing his cheeks.
Amid the pain in his eyes, a flicker of worry lingered.
[It won’t take too long~ The evil array won’t be finished anytime soon with that brute out there causing chaos. For now, sleep. When you wake, you’ll see this filthy world might not be as bad as you think. Beneath the drowning darkness, a faint light still guides the lost.]
If Flo weren’t so drained, he’d have retorted: Come on, sis, you possessed or something? Where’s my abstract gremlin?
[Mist drifts over budding branches, clear dew nourishes the world. Even decayed, sunken boughs will greet long-lost light—not in golden helms or galloping steeds, but in patched, coarse armor. Morning dew kisses their palms, earth as their oath, plows as their spears, guarding the haze of hearth smoke. When war’s flames coil like vipers around rooftops, people flee like startled sparrows. Yet they stand, gazes heavy as ancient pools, their scarred swords piercing the gloom of a dying sun.]
With Daphne’s murmurs, ethereal music wafted through, soothing the wretched soul.
Flo felt the pain ease, no longer bone-shattering.
His eyelids grew heavy as a mountain, his chaotic mind finding calm.
[See? I’m pretty reliable when I’m serious~]
The emerald figure preened in Flo’s quieted mind, but a piercing gaze nearly skewered her.
[Since when did you pick up this narcissistic habit?]
The voice, unlike Daphne’s playful chirp, was gentle as spring water.
[You don’t trust me? 😓 Coming down here yourself? Hey, your junior’s on my side now~ 😏]
[She’ll face her due punishment.]
The gentle voice paused, then added, [So will you.]
The emerald figure panicked, sputtering indignantly, her words lacking divine gravitas—more like a child throwing a tantrum.
[Hey! I helped you big time! 😡 And… my butt still hurts from your last spanking! 😤]
[Who cares…]
*
Clear moonlight cast silver rays, yet the orphanage, meant to be cloaked in darkness, blazed red.
The Phoenix Earl’s relentless assault tore through the night, the battle growing fiercer.
And our miraculous Mr. Flo? Still napping?
Not quite.
Flo opened bleary eyes, snapping the emerald branches clinging to him.
He felt refreshed, as if unshackled, his movements lighter.
Tugging his cloak, he sped along the black mana trails, searching for something.
He sensed the powerful divine presence in his mind was gone.
The only difference? A strange mark on his hand—an elven sigil.
He, a half-elf, had been acknowledged… by the Goddess of Nature and Poetry, the elven deity.
If pure elves knew, they’d be livid.
A lowly half-elf, worthy of divine recognition?
Half-elves were born to be trodden underfoot, mere dust.
If dust ever trampled the noble, it’d be an eternal shame.
Jealousy could kill, but Flo wasn’t so easily crushed by the world.
As he ventured deeper, the black mana grew stronger, shifting from tiny specks to connected lines, thickening steadily.
The air grew heavy with danger.
Ahead, he saw figures clashing, a crimson glow standing out in the night.
With a phoenix’s cry, a shattered plank collapsed under pressure, flames greedily devouring the wood with crackling pops.
Even if Flo were dense, he knew who was fighting ahead…