Qian Jing shook his head, trying hard not to dwell on the thought. Rumor had it that the Demonesses of the Demon Race possessed the ability to toy with men's souls, and this Lucifer Liushui seemed to possess just such a power.

The third moon slowly ascended into the sky. Qian Jing could no longer lie still; he got up and nervously scanned his surroundings.

The black horizon—suddenly! A graceful silhouette reappeared!

A slender, long figure. So fragile it seemed in the fierce night wind, as if the next gust would blow the delicate vision into nothingness.

“Hai Qing’er…” Qian Jing instinctively took a step forward, only to feel a hand grip his shoulder from behind. “Buer. I know what I’m doing.”

Duanfeng Bu’er exchanged a silent look with Lucifer Liushui before slowly releasing the hand that was tightly gripping Qian Jing’s shoulder.

Qian Jing gazed at the silhouette under the night sky. Nearly three years had passed since they last met. The image etched into his mind had not faded with time; instead, the relentless wash of years had only sharpened its clarity.

Qian Jing moved step by step toward the figure. The black shape under the moonlight trembled faintly, as if contemplating retreating from Qian Jing’s advance, yet it ultimately remained rooted to the spot.

The short distance felt like centuries of walking through the river of time before Qian Jing finally reached the woman before him.

Hai Qing’er! Qian Jing looked at the girl before him. Three years had brought almost no change to her appearance. A cold gust of wind swept by, whipping up Hai Qing’er’s long black hair. Her thin clothing snapped audibly in the wind, making one wonder if she wouldn't catch a chill in such biting cold.

Three years ago, under a similar moonlit night on the empty street, the proud maiden had stood at the far end of the long road, bidding him silent farewell with her eyes.

Meeting again after three years… Qian Jing’s body trembled slightly. He wanted to raise his hand to stroke her long hair, but the cold, emotionless gaze stopped him.

Qian Jing had never seen eyes so chillingly devoid of feeling. Even the typically aloof eyes of Cheke Fulit held flickers of emotion beneath their coldness. But in Hai Qing’er’s pupils, there was not a trace of feeling—she resembled a exquisitely crafted doll rather than a living person.

“Qing’er…” Qian Jing whispered her name softly. “Did you come looking for me?”

Hai Qing’er’s face, sculpted like that of a delicate wooden puppet, showed no expression. She merely nodded faintly in response.

Qian Jing took a small step forward, intending to pull the girl into an embrace. She was even thinner than three years prior; surviving in this Ancient Desolate Sea of Sand was clearly a brutal task.

Suddenly, Hai Qing’er drifted backward with surprising speed. Qian Jing froze for a moment—the movement looked less like stepping back and more like floating, utterly untethered by gravity, concealing a special, indescribable Battle Skill movement technique within it.

A Battle Skill movement technique? Astonishment washed over Qian Jing’s face. “Qing’er, when did you start practicing Warrior combat methods? And how did you manage in this Ancient Desolate Sea of Sand…”

Hai Qing’er lightly raised her right hand. Qian Jing blinked, then smiled and raised his own right hand. This was a game they used to play often, needing no words—just palm meeting palm, feeling the other’s warmth. As long as their palms touched, it felt as if their very hearts had embraced.

Warmth? Qian Jing suddenly realized that Hai Qing’er was emitting absolutely no heat whatsoever.

She truly seemed like a beautifully fired porcelain doll that offered no expression.

The two palms moved slowly toward each other… closer… Suddenly! Hai Qing’er’s long hair shot upright behind her, and a vast, icy, oppressive fighting aura burst forth from her body! A faint gray light blossomed on her delicate forehead, rapidly coalescing into a magic array—an array Qian Jing didn't recognize by name, yet one he would never forget.

Lucifer Nihon! The same type of magic array had appeared on the skull of the once-mighty Fallen Angel bloodline Battle-Mage, Lucifer Nihon, whose remains had lain as nothing but a skeleton in the metal mines for centuries!

An almost identical magic array! There might be subtle differences, but the bone-chilling, inhuman fighting aura radiating from it was undeniably the same!

If there was any difference between the two, it was that the power Hai Qing’er unleashed now surpassed that of Lucifer Nihon’s remains.

What is this? Qian Jing was momentarily stunned. As Hai Qing’er’s fighting aura exploded, the sand beneath her feet remained undisturbed. She slipped her palm past Qian Jing’s, aiming for his chest.

It was instantaneous! Qian Jing flipped his wrist, his elbow striking like a spear. The forty-five thousand revolutions of his inner fighting energy erupted, unleashing the Earth-Shattering Slash to intercept Hai Qing’er’s elusive, unpredictable strike.

Palm and elbow clashed. Fighting energy scattered like wind-borne blades, hissing in the air as if dozens of knives were slashing through empty space simultaneously.

What kind of fighting energy is this? Qian Jing frowned deeply. The more formidable the fighting energy, the more it should possess the breath of life—a universal truth for Demons, Humans, and Barbarians alike. Yet, within this immensely powerful aura, he could barely find any trace of vitality; instead, it exuded a cold, deathly chill akin to a corpse.

Crack… A sharp sound came from the woman’s wrist. Pain shot through Qian Jing’s heart. His warrior instinct had made him strike with full force to counter the danger, but he had just injured his woman’s wrist. He tried to retract some of his energy, only to see that Hai Qing’er’s face showed no sign of pain.

It was as if the broken arm didn't belong to her. Her fractured wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, and the light on the magic array on her forehead flared even brighter. The power of her fighting aura instantly doubled as she unleashed another swift, phantom-like palm strike.

How can this be? Qian Jing stared at Hai Qing’er’s wrist in astonishment. Even more perplexing was that the inscrutable trajectory of her attack seemed vaguely familiar. About thirty percent of it resembled the method of the first strike of the Eighteen Peaks Hammers.

However, compared to the fierce, dominant might of the Eighteen Peaks Hammers, this palm strike was infused with far more bizarre and bewildering lines, making the final landing point of the blow incredibly hard to predict.

Difficult! Qian Jing had never found combat this challenging. If the opponent were anyone else, he would have immediately drawn his blades and fought to the death. But the person before him was Hai Qing’er. There was no room for throwing knives or firing arrows.

The methods of slaying—the blade, the cut—were utterly unusable.

In a flash of lightning and stone, Qian Jing couldn't afford to overthink. His palm met Hai Qing’er’s. The collision of their formidable fighting auras at the point of contact created a thunderous boom. Qian Jing felt as if he had been violently rammed by a rhinoceros. He fiercely clamped his five fingers around Hai Qing’er’s hand, his chest churning as if a massive tide was overturning within him.

“Qing’er, it’s me!” Qian Jing raised his left palm and grasped the hand she was striking with again, their fingers tightly locked. He allowed the fighting energies to collide without yielding, hoping the warmth between their palms could awaken the suddenly aggressive Hai Qing’er.

Buzz… buzz… buzz… The magic array on Hai Qing’er’s forehead grew brighter, and the icy fighting aura surged rapidly in an instant, shifting from being inferior to Qian Jing’s power to overwhelming it. Black wisps of energy swirled around her fair palm, emitting a monstrous impact.

Pfft!

The battle meridians and acupoints Qian Jing had recently healed within his body were struck again by the overwhelming fighting energy. In a short span, they were injured anew, and a mouthful of blood erupted from his throat, hot and scalding as it splashed onto Hai Qing’er’s face.

The expressionless Hai Qing’er—the moment the hot blood stained her face—her eyes, previously devoid of emotion, flickered with a strange light.

Her calm, doll-like features suddenly registered a fleeting shadow of confusion. Simultaneously, the magic array glowing gray on her forehead flashed with even brighter light. The look of doubt on Hai Qing’er’s face was instantly smoothed over. A look of pain appeared in her eyes—not physical agony, but something resembling mental torment.

“Aargh!”

Hai Qing’er suddenly let out a hoarse roar. The deathly gray fighting aura covering her body surged repeatedly. Her head slammed violently against Qian Jing’s forehead.

Bang! A sound like a war drum echoed through the Ancient Desolate Sea of Sand. Hai Qing’er’s fair forehead immediately bruised, yet she could not break free from Qian Jing’s grip. Piercing, grating shrieks issued from her mouth, but she spoke no coherent human words.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Hai Qing’er struck again and again. Even with his Wind-Cloud Golden Body providing protection, Qian Jing felt his head growing dizzy with each impact. Her forehead went from being bruised purple to completely crimson, bleeding profusely, yet she showed no sign of stopping the assault.

Why? Why is this happening? Qian Jing suddenly spread his fingers, releasing the hand he was determined not to let go of even if it cost him his life. If she continued to strike like this, her head might shatter!

Hai Qing’er’s hands were suddenly free. Another shrill, harsh cry tore from her throat, and without sparing Qian Jing another glance, she turned and sped away across the Ancient Desolate Sea of Sand.

“Qing’er…” Qian Jing started to give chase, but a colossal bolt of lightning suddenly descended from the sky, blasting huge plumes of yellow sand aloft. Even the golden grains were scorched black by the lightning strike.

A gigantic Golden-Winged Thunder Roc circled overhead. It gave Qian Jing a fierce glare, its gaze then sweeping past him to glance at Pan Hongji, hidden in the distant sand dunes behind him, before it, too, wheeled around and departed at high speed.

Qian Jing stood stunned, watching Hai Qing’er fly away atop the Golden-Winged Thunder Roc. He had a faint feeling that she would not return here tomorrow.

Was that truly Hai Qing’er? Qian Jing stared blankly at the spot where the roc vanished in the sky. The features were unmistakable! But the aura was completely different—that was not Qing’er’s temperament, nor her terrifying strength.

In just three short years, how could Hai Qing’er—who was never a bloodline warrior and had received no foundational combat training since childhood—become this powerful?

If it wasn't Hai Qing’er, then who was the person just now? Qian Jing felt his mind reeling, and he smacked his forehead hard. That strange magic array again! He had been so overwhelmed with recent events that he completely forgot to consult his Inscription Teacher about it.