Chapter 106

Love and kill each other.

"Do you need help?" Chan Yi asked Fu Guang, her tone fluctuating.

Fu Guang blinked her eyes; with an S-rank Guide simply purifying the Sentinel for her, why wouldn't she be willing?

"Sure." The girl's voice was sweet and playful, as if she didn't care at all—no, she truly didn't care.

Chan Yi watched the girl's expression and understood what Fu Guang was thinking; it occurred to her that perhaps the Sentinel was just a handy blade to Fu Guang, so naturally she wouldn't care who repaired it—quite a good idea.

She recalled that the appearance of the guardian Sentinel was a piece of flesh bitten from the military, nourishing countless White Tower Guides with their lives.

Military Sentinels must obey military orders, but a guardian Sentinel's primary duty is to obey his Guide's commands, and the Guide listens to the White Tower—this is clearly contradictory.

The White Tower of the past was not like today's political center sparring with the military; it was a prison in the name of protection, actually imprisoning Guides.

And the Guides of old? Though they held a lofty title in name, when spoken of they were said to be cherished and protected, yet they were like exquisite gifts displayed in a shop window, waiting only for the Sentinel to pick, use, and imprison.

Just like a fragrant piece of meat, everyone wants to take a bite, and you cannot stop them.

As a Guide, isn't purifying the Sentinel a duty? The teachings within the White Tower are the same: dedication, without regret.

Equal personhood, freedom—what is that? You just believe whatever you're told; you're the perfect victim.

Chan Yi's mind suddenly recalled a phrase that made her lips press flat; her violet eyes became like a terrifying abyss eager to devour, and though long ago, she has never forgotten even a trace of it.

Just like a pig waiting to be bred, with no right to choose its master; when the time comes it must be matched, and even if the matched Sentinel dies, the Guide will be taken back to the White Tower to continue matching until death or until she loses her Guide abilities.

Chan Yi couldn't help but think of the distant past; her gaze fell on Fu Guang, just as Leng Ying had said—truly a fine method.

If every Guide had such a method, how wonderful that would be.

Hearing the girl's assent, the illusory spiritual power suddenly gained substance, rapidly condensing into a purple mist that enveloped the little Light Sprite; in an instant it burst forth with intense killing intent, as if facing a mortal enemy.

"No need to worry, it's the normal procedure." Yu Ran glanced at the girl's fingertip twitching, then offhandedly asked, "If he died, would you be sad?"

Fu Guang was startled by the sudden question, but quickly replied firmly, "He cannot die."

At least, he must not die within a year, or she would break her oath.

"Oh."

The purple cloud mass struck violently; the black clumps on the little sprite's body shattered under such violent impact, scattered by the purple cloud.

Under this violent method, the little sprite's true form released golden spiritual power from its body; it staggered unsteadily, seeming on the verge of dissipating.

Xi Guang's unfolded wings trembled, along with his body, a low hoarse sound rolled from his throat.

Before, even when myriad swords assailed his body, he never cried out in pain like this; Fu Guang had thought he felt no pain.

Xi Guang suddenly knelt, yet one hand still guarded the girl sitting on his forearm; Fu Guang felt no jolt.

She looked past his silver hair at his face; his entire self clenched his eyes shut, only able to hear the grating sound of his teeth clenched tight.

"He's quite a tough bone." Fu Guang heard Yu Ran say; the words sounded less like praise, coldness almost surfacing, unlike the gentle Yu Ran senior who used to call her little sun.

Fu Guang glanced back. Yu Ran noticed the girl looking at her, smiling gently at the little Guide, lips curved, cheeks showing two small dimples—nothing like the person who had just spoken those words.

Xi Guang's wings were taut; pain seeped from his bone gaps, like a rope fastened tightly around his neck, binding him immovably, inescapable; all harm done to his spiritual form was transmitted to his body.

Every nerve felt as if being picked by a silver needle, pierced; the pain was finer than that of myriad swords piercing the body, his temples throbbed incessantly, and beneath his jade-colored mask a winding blood trace slid down his neck.

Purifying under these circumstances is no less than torture.

Fu Guang flicked her tail, wanting to leave; with nerve pain, any skin untouched still hurts, and sitting on Xi Guang's arm felt like a branding iron—only deepening the pain, serving no other purpose.

Just as she moved, Xi Guang suddenly lifted his head; his pale gold eyes were bloodshot, staring fixedly at her.

All-encompassing pain had submerged his limbs, rendering him immobile, yet he still did not want the girl to leave, even if it hurt more.

Chan Yi gazed coldly at the temporary guardian Sentinel of the little sun.

Through the relentless efforts of high-ranking Guides, the Guides finally broke through layer after layer of blockade, not only retaking the White Tower but also gaining the upper hand, forcing the military to sign the White Tower Statute to protect low-ranking Guides.

The guardian Sentinel was also signed at that time; nominally guardianship, actually sacrifice—giving all he possessed to the Guide.

Naturally, most Guides also regard it as their own property; Guides are extremely sensitive to spiritual power, and like Sentinels they have their own sense of territory, disliking when another Guide touches their guardian Sentinel, let alone purifies it.

Thus in such a situation, they would rather the Sentinel die.

Of course, even if his Guide is soft-hearted, other Guides will give him an unforgettable experience he will never forget.

In this way they tell the Sentinel: all the sweetness you can obtain comes solely from your own Guide.

And letting aberrant Sentinels die in a crisis is also a decent option, for high-ranking Guides need only beckon and countless Sentinels will swarm; if one dies, another will take its place.

In this era of interstellar war, the living hold all power; the dead have no rights whatsoever, so naturally no one speaks for the deceased.

Just as some high-ranking Sentinels sacrifice low-ranking Guides to preserve themselves, among high-ranking Guides there is also a custom of letting Sentinels die to safeguard the Guide's own strength.

Because once a Guide loses combat ability, those Sentinels that usually sheath their claws will, just as she did when low-ranked, extend their claws against her and retaliate; that humiliating, sorrowful experience is something no Guide wishes to endure again.

Chan Yi's violet eyes blurred; this was the brand of her era.

This is a curse: low-ranking Guides are ignored by high-ranking Sentinels, and once a low-ranking Guide becomes high-ranking, she will likewise disregard the Sentinel's life.

Hatred is etched deep into their genes, yet because Guides and Sentinels naturally attract each other physiologically, in this dangerous age they must jointly resist the enemy.

Yet hatred persists; the experiences of jointly resisting the enemy are real, the gratitude felt when protected is real, the love felt in companionship is real, but so is the hatred.

Even though love and hatred are endless, in real life Guides and Sentinels still have to get along.

The Sentinel itself evolved as a 'weapon,' while the Guide's weakness in past ages was depicted in full detail; no Guide wishes to return to being imprisoned, humiliated, exhausted, flesh and blood alike devoured.

Both sides must gain the upper hand in this twisted relationship, thus they must...... love and kill each other.

The victor takes all; the loser sacrifices all.

Like two head-to-tail linked rattlesnakes entwined, only when one dies can the hatred burning in their blood be extinguished.

Chan Yi gazed at the uncanny girl; Fu Guang was different—her eyes were bright and dazzling, looking only toward the distance.

Her blood no longer carried the grudges of past ages; it was as if she had never accepted a Guide's unwillingness to die, leaving residual spiritual power in the air.

Even the weakest fireflies, when gathered, shine bright; the dead and the living, the Guides' spiritual power intertwines, permeating the spiritual realm, etching eternal hatred.

She is different; perhaps she can bring some good changes to a world on the brink of collapse.

Even if it's bad, it's no problem; it's just, let's die together.