Chapter 118: New Divine Technique

“I want both the new Divine Art and the evolved skill.”

Phield agonized over the choice for a long time.

A qualitative evolution was incredibly tempting. Endless Severance was already a terrifying ability.

He was eager to see what Endless Severance would become after transformation. Yet Rosalia’s methods were still too limited. If she encountered a specifically countered enemy, she would have no answer.

In the end, Phield gritted his teeth. “I want both… but fine. I’ll choose the new Divine Art first and make up for the lack of versatility. Next time, we’ll see how powerful the evolved Endless Severance can be.”

The moment he made his decision, he felt a mysterious force flow from him and merge into Rosalia.

At the same time, information about the new Divine Art surfaced in his mind.

Divine Art: Crimson Ascendancy (Passive. As damage taken increases, all physical attributes stack alongside injury, rising exponentially at rapid speed. After leaving combat for a period of time and healing, attributes return to normal.)

After reading it carefully, Phield exclaimed, “Perfect. This suits you completely. No more getting weaker the longer the fight drags on.”

He let out a long breath. Thankfully, it wasn’t some useless skill.

Rosalia’s fighting style had always been reckless, injuries a common occurrence. As her life energy drained, she would eventually shrink into her loli form, her combat power drastically reduced.

But now it was the exact opposite— the heavier the wounds, the stronger she became. A pure, positive amplification.

After all, this was a woman who had once been blasted to pieces by the Black Wolf and still recovered. Phield didn’t even dare imagine how many attributes such catastrophic injuries would now translate into.

For any normal Divine Chosen, this ability would be mediocre at best—no one wanted to gamble with their life for power.

“Hmph. From today on, I’m a man with a second-tier Divine Chosen. Might as well find a chance to show off the new Divine Art.”

Phield puffed up proudly, hands on hips, looking invincible.

“Stop grinning like an idiot. Those damned rebels released Death Miasma. We need to get out of here,” Arlya snapped after sweeping aside another wave of rebels. Seeing Phield standing there in a daze with a foolish smile, she grabbed him urgently. “This place is about to become a land of death. If you don’t want to die, run.”

“You’re right. We’re withdrawing.”

Phield snapped back to reality and immediately issued the order. He glanced once more at the fortress, now transformed into a corpse-ridden wasteland. Large numbers of rebels had been corrupted, rising again to attack indiscriminately.

The fortress would be unusable for a period of time. It would require purification potions to cleanse.

Fortunately, it wasn’t as catastrophic as the Northern Province. The Death Miasma here was limited in scale. With gradual purification, it was estimated the fortress could be reclaimed within three months, and the land restored to normal within two years.

Seeing the inner city destroyed and all logistics paralyzed, the rebels’ morale instantly collapsed.

“Damn it! This fortress could have held for at least half a month. Those cursed nobles used such despicable means!” the rebel High Priest howled, his nose practically twisted in rage. He assumed the Death Miasma was the Allies’ doing. “Damn it! They’re even crazier than we are. All the sacrifices turned into corrupted corpses—damn it!”

Regin, believing the rebels responsible, was equally furious. “Such vile tactics! Kill them all!”

Realizing the defense was meaningless, the rebel Divine Chosen fled without hesitation, taking several High Priests with them.

The remaining high-tier combatants also abandoned their comrades and retreated toward the Viscount’s territory.

“Cavalry, with me! Pursue!”

Regin personally led the cavalry in pursuit. As for the remaining rebels inside the city, they became prizes in a “head-count competition,” all turning into merit for the nobles.

The slaughter continued until deep into the night before the battle for the fortress finally ended. Wails and sobs echoed everywhere.

Phield’s camp was set up on a hillside some distance from the fortress.

Arlya was sleeping inside the tent. She had contributed greatly in this battle and was utterly exhausted. Phield had just finished visiting the wounded and returned to sit by the campfire. The warm, flickering flames had a way of calming the mind.

He casually picked up a piece of firewood and tossed it into the flames. The greedy fire leapt higher, making the wheat porridge in the hanging pot bubble loudly.

Phield pondered to himself: now that he possessed second-tier combat power, it was time to confront his younger brother head-on—hang his Divine Chosen out to dry, then hang the brother himself out to dry. All he needed was the right opportunity.

The threat had to be eliminated. As long as it remained, he would never feel at ease.

“Quite a few of your soldiers were injured, weren’t they? Take this.”

A gentle voice sounded.

Phield looked up and saw Livina Roda, the Divine Chosen capable of healing wounds. She looked haggard, faint tear tracks still visible on her cheeks. But she had clearly freshened up and changed into a black mourning robe. As the saying went, a woman in mourning attire had a particular grace—she carried a cold, fragile beauty that stirred pity.

From the basket hooked over her arm, the Divine Chosen took out a bottle of golden potion and handed it to him. She had been distributing healing potions throughout the camp.

“This is a special potion I made. It’s very effective for treating external injuries. Dilute it with water, and you can use it on the soldiers.”

Phield froze briefly, then stood quickly. “Thank you very much… and, about Lady Milani… please accept my condolences.”

Though Milani had spoken sharply, Phield could see the deep bond of comradeship between them.

“We will find the culprit.” Livina Roda lowered her head in silence for a moment, then clenched her fist. “Only by completely defeating the rebels can more people survive. Thank you for your bravery. You were among the first to scale the wall—everyone saw it. You were very brave. A true knight.”

“I was only doing my duty.”

Phield scratched his head awkwardly. He had simply been chasing benefits, though objectively he had indeed helped.

A griffin’s roar suddenly echoed across the sky.

Looking up, he saw more than a dozen majestic griffins spread their enormous wings across the starry sky, descending toward Regin’s command camp.

“Excuse me. I believe the Empire’s Griffin Knights have arrived.” Livina Roda nodded to Phield and departed swiftly.

Phield watched her leave.

“Regin’s in trouble. He’s actually a decent man.”

Though the man certainly had his share of scheming, most of it was for the sake of his family’s interests. By noble standards, he was already remarkably upright. Phield truly didn’t want to see that resolute middle-aged commander severely punished.

He handed the potion to Sam to distribute among the wounded. Then he sat back down by the fire and ladled himself a bowl of porridge. Just as he was about to drink, a pale hand reached in from beside him and snatched the bowl away.

Arlya held the bowl in one hand, her fair arm exposed, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You’re eating alone? I’m your Divine Chosen. You didn’t even call me when there’s food. How excessive.”

“Weren’t you sleeping?” Phield said, dark lines practically forming across his face. “If I woke a certain mother dragon, I’d probably get beaten.”

“Hmph. Good that you know. The griffins were so loud they gave me a headache, so I woke up.”

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