Chapter 98: with translation of chapter title

Give it all we've got.

Consciousness was returning; a tingling sensation spread through her previously numb hand. Fu Guang barely twitched her fingertips.

"Little Yu." Fu Guang's fingertip touched a small warm palm; she opened her eyes and met the gaze of a worried little Light Sprite, the tiny sprite curled in her embrace radiating a warm glow.

Fu Guang noticed her tail was still there; had her unconsciousness been brief? Had the time for the transformation potion to wear off not yet come?

What was that bead? What had she experienced with the guide in her dream? Why did her mental landscape bear her mark?

Fu Guang pressed her lips together and sat up; concocting pills was urgent, for when her spiritual power ran out, her situation would only grow more perilous.

She wanted to sit cross-legged in the water bubble, but halted, looking at her gleaming golden tail; the tail was still unaccustomed to legs, yet now time was life, and what she lacked most was time.

Tail be tail, she wanted to coil it up.

A pale hand reached out before her; Lan'an's hoarse voice said, "Tail, not like that."

Lan'an's eyes were pure blood-red, like a beast that had torn off its disguise, his gaze icy and piercing.

He narrowed his eyes, as if knowing his appearance was unsightly, not wanting to frighten the girl, easing his hostility as much as possible.

But judging from the image reflected in the girl's pupils, the effect was minimal, even making him look more ferocious.

"You've done well, don't worry." Fu Guang smiled calmly at the Sentinel, soothing his tense emotions.

She glanced at the silent Xiguang beside her; his condition was worse than red-eyed Lan'an's, likely needing an S-rank guide's help upon return to dispel his slight anomaly.

Xiguang's lashes had turned gold, a tuft of golden feathers sprouted beside his ears, his blink was slow, his eyes like inorganic matter, always fixed on Fu Guang yet he remained silent.

Fu Guang seemed to hear her mental landscape whistling as it leaked, her spiritual form sobbing softly; she could sense her surroundings filled with her dissipated spiritual power.

Her mental landscape was like a torn cloth sack that couldn't hold anything; Fu Guang couldn't help but feel irritated by this state.

What a sorry sight, Fu Guang.

Even with two streams of spiritual power supporting her current state, it was only enough to fill Little Lan.

There was no surplus spiritual power for pill refinement; refining pills also requires much spiritual power, and she now had not a trace she could command.

Fu Guang clenched her teeth; beastly nature suddenly surfaced on her, truly troublesome, but not only waiting for death.

"Now we can only give it our all." Fu Guang took out the potential potion she had prepared; the blue liquid swayed, merging with the sea's undulations.

Isn't it just a gamble? Then let's stake big.

With good luck, one might approach S-rank; with bad luck, at most become a cripple.

After becoming a cripple, I'll find a way to cultivate immortality in the stars; of course, it's highly likely I'll instead cultivate demonic arts in the stars, the first step being to become humanity's public enemy.

Fu Guang thought wryly, tilted her head back, throat working, and swallowed the entire potential potion.

Just as the puppet strings released their hold on Lan'an, the merfolk's wrist was drenched in fresh blood, which mixed with the seawater and drifted far away.

"Just leave everything to me." The girl arched her brows, smiling broadly; it seemed all disasters were trivial in her eyes, and she readily accepted her frailty and death.

The shattering of the mental landscape has only one result: death.

It is common knowledge among all starfarers, yet why can the girl shrouded in death's shadow still smile?

Lan'an watched the girl, then suddenly mimicked her recent action, gritting his teeth to express his dissatisfaction and helplessness.

He had never felt the road leaving the abyss so long; the girl's breath in his arms waned, as if her soul had left her body in an instant, her chest no longer rising, her breath barely audible.

If a gust had blown then, he thought the girl would drift away with it; he poured his blood into her mouth, but she couldn't swallow, and the blood obscured his view of her.

Only the Sentinel's keen senses could detect the faintly beating heart that told him the little fish still lived.

At the exit stood a silent silver-haired Sentinel, sword in hand, saying nothing; his gold eyes, indifferent toward him, filled with killing intent the moment they met his gaze.

Indeed, an unremarkable S-rank Sentinel holding an almost-dead guide—how strange.

Anyone seeing this scene would suspect the Sentinel harbored ill intent, either harming the guide or letting him come to harm.

Moreover, a few days prior he had a record of wanting the guide dead.

The tip of the bright sword turned slightly, killing intent spreading; the next instant the silver-haired Sentinel brandished his blade, riding wind and waves straight at his face.

Slash, chop, hew—hard to snatch the person from his embrace.

Xiguang had gone all out, yet feared hurting the girl in his arms, thus restraining himself at every turn.

The tyrant's killing intent surged as Wang fell asleep; the Sentinel attacking him before him was undoubtedly an excellent outlet, yet no, cannot.

Lan'an had to suppress his killing intent, barely maintaining rationality, conversing with Xiguang whose sanity was likewise on the brink of collapse; if they became killing machines, what would become of Wang?

"I am her puppet; how could I harm her?" Lan'an suddenly cracked his mouth into a near-mad grin, his voice sharp and grating, almost piercing one's eardrums.

He reached out to block the blade with his hand, offering no resistance, letting the sword slash his arm; with a splintering sound, the arm was nearly severed, revealing the stark white bone and vessels beneath, mingled with a red thread.

The merfolk seemed oblivious to pain, drawing from his own flesh the red thread wrapped warmly within his tissue.

He murmured, as if speaking to himself, 'How could I still hurt her?'

The Sentinel is synonymous with carnage, and knowledge of human bone structure is basic federal curriculum; almost the instant the red thread surfaced, Xiguang, relying on the Sentinel's eyesight and knowledge, knew the merfolk spoke true.

Yet his sword did not stop, driving straight down, nearly severing Lan'an's arm; in truth, even if it were cut, the Sentinel's recuperative power would render it trivial—an S-rank healing agent would restore it in less than a week.

But Xiguang gazed gently at the unaware, unconscious girl; this combat potential could not be lost, and even if he exhausted all his spiritual power, he would send Fu Guang out of Yummengze or hand her to an S-rank guide.

Xiguang looked coldly at Lan'an, his eyes dark; normally he would deem puppeteering a heinous crime, he had guessed Fu Guang possessed a means to control Lan'an, but never imagined it was puppet technique.

The military also had punishments akin to puppet arts, yet every 'undead' was undoubtedly no great villain.

At this moment, his sole thought was: he is a puppet, and that is truly wonderful.