Vol2 Chapter 45: Reclaim

A soothing song echoed through the cave, like someone whispering softly in their ears. Jörmungandr froze, searching for the singer, but found no one.

It was Lu Mingze singing, invisible to all but Lu Mingfei. He circled the sibling Kings of Earth and Mountains, tossing white petals from a flower basket, letting them drift onto them as if bidding them farewell.

Praise the awakening of my king; destruction is rebirth.

The hymn, sung once more, pierced thousands of years of silence, resounding in the Nibelungen. The Black Emperor’s anthem, which once subdued dragons and shook the world.

Jörmungandr knew this feeling. She shrank back, instinctively fearful. They had all been humble servants of that Majesty, but even as they bowed, the seeds of betrayal were sown. He was supposed to be dead, toppled from his throne, buried in the deep sea.

But now, he was back.

Fenrir knew it too. He wanted to flee, but his legs wouldn’t obey. Unable to face that terrifying gaze, he wrapped his wings around his head, trembling, tears streaming.

“What should I call you?” Jörmungandr forced a smile. “Senior Brother Lu, or… Majesty?”

“I’m not him.” Lu Mingfei beckoned lightly, like an immortal summoning a sword. The blade case Chu Zihang brought flew to him, trembling wildly, the swords inside roaring like seven awakened dragons. The case sprang open, mechanisms sliding, fanning out like a peacock’s tail. Wrath vibrated with a deep roar, as if ready to leap into the sky.

“I still think Senior Brother Lu sounds better, Junior Sister,” Lu Mingfei said with an inexplicable smile.

“Don’t come closer, or I’ll kill your little lover,” Jörmungandr threatened, her claws tightening, making Bai Ci wince in pain. But she fought to stay conscious—this time, she had to see how strong Lu Mingfei really was.

Xia Mi’s ruthless…

But as Jörmungandr moved to act, she realized Bai Ci and Chu Zihang were no longer beside her. Her golden pupils, like a cat’s in bright light, locked onto the two behind Lu Mingfei.

He’d even taken a moment to drape his jacket over Bai Ci.

Jörmungandr gritted her teeth, leaping onto Fenrir’s head.

“Fenrir, use that move, or we’re both dead!”

Fenrir understood. The Dragon King reared, wings spreading, his roar vast, wild, and mournful, as he danced into the sky!

The Dragon King was truly dancing.

The massive creature flapped its wings, spinning and soaring, embers swirling upward with his movements. The dance was breathtaking, grand, and solemn. With his enormous body, the dragon performed intricate, ancient movements, like dancers on ancient Indian murals.

Word Spirit: Shiva’s Dance of Destruction.

Lu Mingfei extended his right hand, fingers spread, as if all power and authority rested in his palm, grasping the world itself, standing atop the peak, gazing over mountains, breathing the heavens, crushing all who defied him. The dancing Dragon King seemed pinned in his grip.

“Cancel.”

The Dragon King’s majestic dance faltered slightly.

“Cancel!”

“Cancel!”

Each command grew sterner—not a Word Spirit, not so simple, but a mere order. Yet an increasingly crushing gravity bore down on the Dragon King. At the second “Cancel,” his massive wings could no longer support him, and he crashed onto the platform. By the third, the majestic creature was bound by an invisible net, writhing and roaring in fury.

The unstoppable Shiva’s Dance of Destruction was forcibly halted!

Then, Lu Mingfei’s hand clenched into a fist, pulling downward.

“Come down!”

Xia Mi’s pupils contracted into slits, molten heat surging in her dragon eyes, her tailbone cracking loudly.

Fenrir’s massive body trembled uncontrollably. He let out a mournful wail, as if an invisible hand gripped his throat. His dark-scaled wings beat fiercely, the wind tearing up the platform’s metal railings, steel shards raining down. But no matter how he struggled, his body was pinned in the void, dragged to the ground by that force.

The Seven Deadly Sins shot skyward, like meteors falling from the heavens, so fast Bai Ci could barely see them.

Six blades pinned Fenrir—wings, legs, neck, tail—each locking his bones with a chilling crunch. The dragon spasmed, roaring, trembling, unable to lift his head. A traitor had no right to face the emperor, who forbade it.

Lust, the smallest of the Seven Deadly Sins. Lu Mingfei said nothing, walking slowly toward Jörmungandr, blade in hand.

She wanted to run but couldn’t.

“Now tell me, are you Xia Mi or Jörmungandr?” Lu Mingfei pointed Lust at her.

“You’re all so boring, asking me this every time,” Jörmungandr said, almost exasperated. She was defeated, but her dignity remained inviolable. She was the King of Earth and Mountains, born to rule. “I’m Jörmungandr! Dragon King Jörmungandr! Say it a thousand times, I’m Jörmungandr, not Xia Mi!”

Lu Mingfei sighed. Such a stubborn girl—wincing over a scald from hot water when cooking, yet now risking her life to face him, trading her soul with the little devil. But what did it matter? A stubborn girl deserved a stubborn boy.

“Bai Ci, come here.”

Lu Mingfei turned, startling Bai Ci, who thought, Me? What’s this got to do with me? You Dragon Kings are fighting—what am I, cannon fodder to show off your power?

But she obediently walked over.

“What’s up?”

“Go slap her twice so she learns her lesson,” Lu Mingfei whispered.

Bai Ci nodded, touching her stomach. Xia Mi’s earlier words had cut deep, and it still hurt, but somehow, she’d healed. Chu Zihang was nearly recovered too—a medical miracle. What was Lu Mingfei’s Word Spirit?

Jörmungandr saw Bai Ci approach and let out a mocking scoff.

“What? Senior Sister, holding a grudge, here to humiliate me…?”

Slap!

A red handprint bloomed on her pale cheek. Jörmungandr reeled, dazed, taking a moment to recover.

“You!”

Slap!

Now symmetrical.

She was furious, ready to curse her senior sister, but seeing Bai Ci’s tearful eyes, she fell silent.

Enough…

“Kill me,” she said, her eyes dim.

“I’ll kill Jörmungandr and Fenrir,” Lu Mingfei said, feeling two gazes on him from behind and beside.

Footsteps approached. Lu Mingfei turned to see Chu Zihang, somehow standing. He’d told him, “Don’t die,” and his wounds had mostly healed, though he looked exhausted.

“Lu Mingfei… don’t kill her, okay?”

He walked over, glanced at Lu Mingfei, then collapsed onto Xia Mi.

Lu Mingfei sighed, patting Bai Ci’s head, then placing a hand on Xia Mi’s.

“From now on, you’re no longer Jörmungandr. Call yourself Xia Mi or whatever you like—I’m just happy, Junior Sister.”

He closed his eyes, his demeanor shifting. One moment, a carefree emperor; the next, a cold monarch wielding absolute power.

For some reason, Xia Mi felt no fear—only peace, and a touch of drowsiness. The last of her strength ebbed away.

“Fenrir and Jörmungandr will die, leaving only Xia Mi and her brother.”

Throughout history, only two could forcibly alter another’s bloodline: the Black Emperor and the White Emperor. Now, Xia Mi and Fenrir’s bloodlines were changed—someone had reclaimed their authority.

“Actually… calling myself Xia Mi… doesn’t sound bad…” She hugged the sleeping boy in her arms, leaning down to softly kiss his forehead.