Chapter 32: Holy Light Radiance

Turus could never have imagined that these humiliating droplets might actually drown him—there were more and more of them, denser and denser, colder and colder, and he couldn’t hit the target; this skeleton could fly!

A skeleton could fly? Who would believe it? Yet it happened right before Turus’s eyes: when the lava fireball hurtled toward him, a gust of wind swept Ang into the air, effortlessly dodging the fireball.

Turus, completely unprepared for this turn, couldn’t even lock his gaze—and helplessly watched the lava fireball slam into the ground, blasting a gaping crater spewing searing lava bubbles.

Ang’s magical signature grew stronger by the second; the droplets drenching Turus became denser, and their temperature dropped—this meant each drop carried away more heat from Turus.

While Turus was summoning a fireball followed by a lava explosion, Ang had already unleashed over a dozen waves of droplets; as white steam continuously rose, a hard crust began forming on Turus’s molten surface.

Turus gathered his second lava explosion, and fixed his gaze on Ang.

A spell, once cast, can be steered mid-flight—that’s called gaze locking.

The more an attack leans toward elemental damage, the easier it is to gaze lock; the more physical damage it relies on—like a lava explosion, which kills through speed and blast—the weaker the gaze lock effect.

You can only slightly alter its trajectory—you can’t make it curve midair like a fireball, let alone make it drift left or right at will, like Ang’s droplets.

Hard to lock? Too bad—Ang’s a skeleton, immune to elemental damage.

Bearing the relentless droplets, Turus summoned another lava fireball—but the moment it formed in his palm, droplets struck it, hissing and steaming, dimming the fireball’s glow.

“Ah!” Turus strained hard, reigniting the lava fireball.

Hiss-hiss-hiss—another wave of droplets doused it; the heat plummeted again. Under the droplets’ interference, the fireball’s temperature refused to rise. Finally, Turus hurled the half-formed fireball away, eyes locked tightly on Ang.

Predictably, the nearly-rock-like fireball skimmed past Ang’s side, hitting nothing.

Even as Ang dodged, his magical fluctuations never ceased—the droplets grew denser, colder, until they turned to ice needles, piercing into Turus’s molten skin.

Turus finally panicked, flapping his wings and lunging toward Ang—he couldn’t hit with fireballs, so he’d tear the skeleton apart by hand.

Ang turned and ran.

He realized the lava demon was incredibly strong—if he couldn’t cut it down, he immediately recalled the little zombie, who’d once taken out the gray-bone skeletons one by one with sheer speed.

Ang ran fast—but when he applied the pollination technique to himself, he took flight outright.

Even so, Ang’s droplets never stopped; their frequency halved, but every drop that struck Turus siphoned away more heat.

Bearing the icy deluge, Turus chased for a while, realizing he couldn’t catch up—parts of his skin had already hardened into crust. If this continued, he’d truly be drowned.

Good heavens, what kind of skeleton is this? Why does his magic never run out? He’s unleashed hundreds of waves—and still no sign of stopping.

This is too costly. I’m done. Turus made an instant decision, turning and fleeing in the opposite direction.

“Tsk tsk tsk—no wonder you’re a demon, so adaptable, running already?” Phelin jeered from afar.

He hated demons precisely for this: deceitful, slippery creatures. When safe, they strut arrogantly; when danger strikes, they vanish without a trace. The plague before? Definitely demons—yet not a shred of proof.

If Ang hadn’t caught up to him, we’d have nothing but a few footprints.

A few footprints can’t indict the Demon Valley—they’d just accuse us of framing them. “You dare claim it’s us? I pick up two bones—can I then say your skeletons attacked my succubus?”!

Maybe these footprints were left on purpose by Turus.

Think you can run? Ang turned and chased after him.

No matter how Turus fled, Ang kept pace—never too close, never too far—and the droplets never ceased.

Seeing this was hopeless, Turus roared and stomped the ground.

Cracks spiderwebbed outward from Turus’s foot, blazing with fire; molten lava surged upward, and two lava giants—bigger than Turus—rose, charging toward Ang.

Seizing the chance, Turus turned and fled, flapping his wings swiftly away.

“Aaah!” The little zombie sprinted over and slammed into a lava giant—with a heavy thud, the giant looked down, puzzled. It felt like something had bumped it.

The little zombie bounced back, sat on the ground, and touched his head—where he’d hit, his scalp was burned bald.

Under attack! Under attack! Flames erupted around the lava giant; it raised a leg and stomped toward the little zombie.

Holding his burnt scalp, the little zombie turned and ran, luring the lava giant away.

“My lord, leave it to me!” Aske, who’d been cheering from afar for ages, finally saw his chance—he fired a Death Arrow. The arrow, forged from death energy, struck the lava giant and extinguished a large patch of flame.

The attacked lava giant abandoned Ang and turned to charge Aske.

But this delay gave Turus enough distance. Ang glanced at the distant demon, then at the sky—he knew he couldn’t catch him. Nightfall was near; the Wind of Rest was about to rise.

Without the Wind of Rest, a skeleton’s endurance would’ve chased Turus to collapse.

Ang stopped, ready to give up—when the angelic skeleton darted before him, pointed at the demon, then at itself, then at Ang’s hand.

Holy light? Why? It wasn’t injured.

Ang didn’t understand, but followed the angelic skeleton’s gesture and cast a Purification spell. Holy light shimmered in his palm—the angelic skeleton seized it with both hands, scooping it up like sand.

Light… can’t be scooped up… right? Ang tilted his head, puzzled by the skeleton’s intent.

But he was wrong—the holy light had been scooped up. The angelic skeleton cupped Ang’s palm-light like sand, then shoved it into its mouth.

A massive question rose in Ang’s soul—he turned his palm over. What happened? How had the holy light changed?

As he puzzled, the angelic skeleton nudged him urgently, pointing at his palm.

More? Ang cast Purification again.

The angelic skeleton scooped up the holy light, shoved it into its mouth, then looked up at him again.

More? Ang kept casting Purification—the angelic skeleton kept scooping and swallowing. Sixty holy lights later, its wings slowly glowed brighter; each mouthful brightened them further, until they finally bore a faint aura of a holy angel.

Will it explode? Ang hesitated—should he keep feeding it holy light?

But the angelic skeleton seemed satisfied—it turned, facing the demon, spread its wings wide, and thrust both hands forward.

A colossal beam of light erupted from its body, flared once—and the entire sky blazed bright.

Turus, far away, was blinded by the flash—the beam swallowed his entire body. When the light vanished, Turus lay on the ground, smoking black.

Phelin and Aske’s jaws and eyeballs nearly dropped to the ground. Phelin stammered: “H-Holy Light Radiance… Holy Light Radiance? Is this even possible? Too… too monstrous!”

The angelic skeleton, having unleashed Holy Light Radiance, collapsed to its knees, its body crumbling into countless black ashes.