Xiao Hongchen cautiously glanced at Meng Hongchen beside him. Seeing worry clouding her face and her fair little hands clenched tight, he couldn’t help groaning inwardly.

If Lu Jingming really got himself hurt, his love-brain little sister might just grab a knife and chop him.

“You bastard, don’t you dare die on me!” Xiao Hongchen prayed silently, unable to stop muttering under his breath.

His gaze kept flicking between Meng Hongchen and the battlefield, his chest knotted with anxiety and unease.

“You too. It’d be a real waste if you died.”

Lu Jingming answered. He still wanted to see Childe and Skirk go at it; if Childe died to him here, where would the fun be in that?

At the same time, he pushed the power of the Black Abyss to its limit, a breath of death erupting from him.

A phantom of a gray-winged angel flashed behind him—like death incarnate.

“Hear me, Angel of Death!” With Lu Jingming’s low shout, the power of death seemed to take on form.

The angel that signified death slowly raised the Endbringer, a sword that shed a ghostly glow. Dead silence flowed along the blade, as if whispering of the end of all things.

“This is bad!” Durandal and Miyabi’s faces changed in unison.

They understood all too well that both Lu Jingming and Childe were unleashing blows with nothing held back.

If power this overwhelming clashed, the result could well be one dead and one wounded—or both killed on the spot.

What had been a friendly spar had, without anyone noticing, turned into a mindless brawl. Reason fell away, and in the end they cared only about unleashing their strongest arts.

Men in a fight are so easily carried away; once the emotions catch fire, it’s hard to rein it in—unlike her and Miyabi, who always pulled their strikes in a spar.

Durandal and Miyabi exchanged a look and nodded.

Without another word, they vaulted from the viewing platform and streaked toward the field like twin meteors, hoping to stop a battle that could have dire consequences.

But they were still a step too late; it seemed there was no longer time!

“Stop them, Istaroth!”

At that knife-edge instant, a clear, anxious voice rang out.

Everyone turned to see Gu Yue standing on the stands.

Beside her stood a white-haired girl.

The girl wore a delicate side braid that added a touch of grace to her melancholy aura.

She was dressed in a white gown patterned with golden lines, the hem light and cloudlike.

Above her head, a great golden ring shed a soft, mysterious radiance, as if it linked to some rule that bound heaven and earth.

Her eyes were deep and distant, tinged with quiet sorrow, yet faintly limned with a transcendent divinity.

Istaroth tilted her head slightly, and a subtle light flickered in those dreamlike golden eyes.

In that instant, it felt as though invisible hands had gently nudged the hands of a clock.

With a clear, pleasant chime, the golden time-disc above Istaroth’s head glowed softly.

As that light blossomed, the entire world seemed to have its pause button pressed; a profound silence fell.

The figures of Miyabi and Durandal, who had been diving down at full speed, froze as if in a still image, bodies pitched forward and motionless.

The onlookers who had been clamoring fell still as well, faces frozen in shock and worry and a jumble of other expressions—but no sound came from them.

Lu Jingming and Childe, on the verge of colliding, also hung suspended in midair. The lances in their hands, laden with the chill of death and destruction, congealed at that moment, as if time’s flow no longer touched them.

Time, in that heartbeat, stopped completely.

Istaroth’s steps were light as she moved, bare feet treading as if on invisible stairs, steady upon the void as she walked toward the center of the arena.

Her posture was elegant and unhurried, as though untouched by any dust of the mortal world.

Reaching the space between Lu Jingming and Childe, she lifted a hand. A slight motion of her slender fingertip, and the two lances—each steeped in the breath of death and ruin—were drawn gently apart by an unseen force.

“It’s very much like Ronava’s power,” Istaroth said, regarding Lu Jingming with curious eyes, a glint of inquiry in them.

The force she sensed—the one that bestowed death on all things—made her think of Ronava, and yet, upon closer feeling, there was a subtle difference.

“The Ruler of Death? Her authority is indeed similar to mine.” Within this forbidden stillness of time, Lu Jingming’s voice suddenly sounded, breaking the silence.

His voice was calm and low, clearly ringing in Istaroth’s ears.

“As I thought, you possess other authorities. The level of the Electro Archon and the Dendro Archon is not enough to resist my authority over time.”

Istaroth showed no surprise that Lu Jingming could shrug off the effects of her authority field.

She kept that same melancholy cast to her face, languor radiating from her whole being, as if nothing in this world could stir her too deeply.

The instant she saw Lu Jingming, she had keenly sensed Raiden Makoto and the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata within him.

After all, the shards of archon authority, if traced back far enough, come from the Heavenly Principles. And she—Istaroth, Ruler of Time, one of the Four Shades of the Primordial—was, in a sense, the avatar of the Heavenly Principles; she naturally had a special sensitivity to those shards.

Under normal circumstances, shards of the Electro and Dendro Archons’ authority could not mount any resistance to the Ruler of Time’s power.

Yet Lu Jingming could speak within the field where time was halted—this fact alone spoke volumes.

Meeting Istaroth’s questioning gaze, Lu Jingming did not answer directly; he only smiled faintly.

Of course he knew why. The True Authority he held outranked Istaroth’s authority over time; even under her time stop, he would not be wholly stilled.

But he also knew there was a gap in raw power between them. To forcibly break time’s shackles would mean spending precious Reality Power.

There was no need, though: Istaroth was no enemy. Summoned by Gu Yue, she was, in a sense, one of his own.

“You are interesting. What a pity,” Istaroth sighed lightly, a trace of regret in her tone.

She was only a memory-body now, incomplete in both memory and power; otherwise, she might indeed have invited Lu Jingming to Teyvat as a guest.

A being who wielded an authority above hers—if such a one descended to Teyvat—could well become a new Descender, bringing new hope and change to that world.

“I’m flattered.”

Listening to a voice identical to Mondstadt’s famous drunkard, Lu Jingming felt a strange sensation ripple through him.

It was hard to imagine that this melancholy girl, suffused with divine radiance, had some subtle, unknown tie to that “Ehe te nandayo” fellow.

Istaroth brushed the hair by her ear with a soft, graceful motion that seemed dreamlike.

At some point, her figure had slipped quietly back to Gu Yue’s side.

And the moment she returned, the still world restarted like a machine springing back to life.

As time began to move again, Lu Jingming immediately pulled back his attack.

Childe, by inertia, still let his final strike fly.

But the direction of his blow had already been quietly altered when Istaroth stopped time.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep