Chapter 23: Strange Little Pink Chicken.

Between dignity and survival, Flo wanted both—but he knew you can’t have your cake and eat it too.
The fact that Ifrora had stolen over a dozen of his romantic prospects was reason enough for Flo to never let Aphrosia show up.
He knew Aphrosia’s allure all too well—her elegance (tuned by Astraea), her breathtaking beauty, her saintly purity.
Even he, uninterested in romance, felt a stir looking at her in the mirror.
That purity made one want to taint it, though that was just a figure of speech.
But someone like Ifrora? She’d actually act on it.
A genius girl, invincible, against a pitiful girl who barely grasped her family’s legacy—resistance would be a joke.

Me, fight Ifrora? Seriously?

There was no other way.
If he didn’t bring out Aphrosia, he’d lose his life.
Between being toyed with by Ifrora or dying, even greedy Flo knew which mattered more.

Yet, a cunning glint flickered in his eyes.

The black thorns had crept up to his waist, constricting his breath.
His fingers brushed his necklace, the chant’s syllables just beginning, when the thorns erupted in flames.
The fire licked at them, rapidly wilting them into crackling ashes.

Flo paused.
Aphrosia’s power hadn’t even arrived—yet Ifrora’s flames had already freed him.

Little Red Bird, circling above, bristled with indignation, cursing Flo a thousand times in her heart:
Acting all dramatic! When you beat me up, your wind-up wasn’t this slow!

The Cloudbird sisters hadn’t left—they just couldn’t join the ground fight.
Their combat ability was near zero; why get in the way just to get pummeled?
As for the hostages? Did anyone think they were useless?
They’d already quietly sent word.

Flo’s lips curved, a spark of amusement in his eyes.
As expected, knowing Pink Chick as he did, he could save both his life and his dignity.
He’d deliberately slowed his time magic, waiting for this moment.

His body went limp, and he half-knelt.
Flames surged around him, forming a barrier that shielded him from the battlefield, blocking all attacks.

Outside the fire wall, Ifrora’s eyes sharpened like blades.
The Confessors were stunned—her combat power had spiked, ten times trickier than before, her presence rivaling the Phoenix Earl’s.

“Is this… the boss’s second phase?” someone blurted.
Must be that silver-haired half-elf holding her back, forcing her to go all out!

In her “second phase,” Ifrora’s attacks grew ferocious, pushing the Confessors back, barely holding on by stalling.

Inside the fire circle, Flo exhaled, plotting his next move.
His wounds made assassination impossible.
He pulled Miss Elf’s Magic Secrets: Plants Edition by Ophelia from his ring, flipping through it rapidly.

Time magic was off-limits, so Daphne’s gift was his only hope.
Elves were often mages, many scholars—great scholars were great mages, and their notes were treasure troves.

He needed healing magic.
Clerics came from the Church or elves, but him, an assassin, learning to heal?
Flo rubbed his forehead.
Was he secretly cut out to be a healer?
The child of the Church’s “most bountiful” and an elven magic genius, yet he became an assassin.

“Found it! Healing spell!”
His silver hair trembled as he looked up.

Learn it now?
Last time with the Cloudbirds, his “instant learning” was actually countless private practice sessions, nearly botched.
Use it on himself now?
If he messed up, Ifrora would probably laugh at his funeral.

Flo wasn’t that ruthless with himself.
His eyes gleamed with an idea: test it on a Confessor!
If it worked, he’d heal himself then finish them off.
If it failed, the enemy suffered—not a loss.

“Don’t worry, the healer’s here~” he muttered, building the spell formula from the book in his mind.
He flung a “healing spell” at a Confessor near Ifrora.

The Cloudbirds above had seen it coming—the Confessor’s face turned sickly green, lips blackening purple, looking like he’d swallowed something foul.

The healing spell had become a poison spell in Flo’s hands.

The weakened Confessor, struggling, hurled dark magic at Ifrora.
A dark purple viper surged from his sleeve, fangs bared, but she sliced it into pieces with one swing, the fragments dissolving into black smoke.