Chapter 88 - - 88 - Dream On

Chapter 88: Chapter - 88 - Dream On

Isalyn entered the battlefield, her eyes immediately finding Celbeth in the distance. The sight before her made her heart clench—Celbeth was fighting with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, her movements a blur of deadly grace as she held her ground against overwhelming odds. Alone.

She’s fighting on her own, Isalyn thought, her chest tightening. I need to reach her.

She began moving toward Celbeth, determination burning in her chest, when suddenly the air around her shifted. Three figures emerged from the chaos, their presence suffocating, their astral energy pressing down on her like a physical weight.

Not ordinary Realm Masters.

The leaders of the United Army.

"If you think you can help Celbeth," said Phelan, the Blackstone City leader, his voice dripping with cold amusement, "then you are gravely mistaken. My retainers will kill her."

Isalyn’s jaw tightened, but before she could respond, another voice cut through the air—silken, poisonous.

"Why don’t you support us, Miss Isalyn?" said Rhys, the leader of Ironwood City, his eyes crawling over her with a look that made her skin prickle with disgust. "You’ll be in a much more beneficial position if you come to our side. We will even let go of all the malice we hold against you."

"Indeed," added Ulric, his tone carrying the weight of finality. "This will be our final offer, Miss Isalyn. I don’t think the Vale family will be beneficial for you—especially when your life is in danger now, and the man you are fighting for is literally in deep slumber. There is no help coming, Miss Isalyn."

Rhys’s disgusting gaze intensified, roaming over her form with blatant hunger. "And if you beg for forgiveness on your knees in front of us, we will forget everything you have done. I’ll give you a much better position in my Ironwood City."

The words hung in the air like filth, and Isalyn felt her blood boil. But when she spoke, her voice was steady—cold and unwavering as steel.

"Comparing yourself to Lord Lucien is like comparing ants to the heavens." She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with conviction. "True, he is sleeping now. But I believe in him. I believe there is a plan. I believe whatever he is doing, even disgusting pigs like you are necessary for his plans." A smile touched her lips—not one of amusement, but of absolute faith. "Lord Lucien is someone you can never comprehend. Even if I die protecting him, I will never feel a single regret."

Silence.

Then Rhys’s face twisted with rage. "You bitch! You’ve said too much!" His voice cracked with fury, spittle flying from his lips. "I’ll remove your tongue and make you suffer! Solar Crimson! "

Massive fireballs materialized in both his hands, the heat warping the air around them, and he hurled them toward Isalyn with murderous intent.

Isalyn didn’t dodge.

She wasn’t planning to.

Her hands moved in a sacred seal, divine light gathering at her fingertips. "Celestial Emperor’s Palm. "

The sky split open.

A giant divine palm descended from above, wreathed in golden radiance, and crushed the fireballs instantly, extinguishing them like candles in a storm. The shockwave sent dust and debris flying in all directions.

But Isalyn didn’t stop.

She surged forward, her staff blazing with power. "Divine Thunder. "

The heavens answered.

Yellow lightning cascaded from the sky like a waterfall of divine judgment. Rhys and Phelan barely managed to leap away, their faces twisted with alarm—but Ulric wasn’t fast enough.

The lightning caught him mid-step.

His scream was brief, swallowed by the roar of the thunder. His body ignited, flesh burning, bones cracking under the divine voltage. When the light finally faded, nothing remained but ashes scattered on the wind—and the sickening smell of charred flesh.

There was a smell of a burned pig.

"What should we do, Phelan?" Rhys’s voice wavered, his earlier bravado crumbling. "Ulric is dead. Should we call for our backup? We were already prepared for this, right? Let’s call them!"

Phelan smiled—a thin, cruel curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Yes, we are prepared. We already knew something like this would happen."

He threw his head back and screamed, "Come out, everyone! "

The air itself seemed to tear apart.

Hundreds of Realm Masters emerged from the void, from behind rubble, from shadows that hadn’t existed moments before. They had been hiding, waiting—the trump card Phelan had kept in reserve.

But these weren’t ordinary Realm Masters.

These were demonic Realm Masters.

Warriors who followed no rules, no code, no honor. Humans who had abandoned their humanity to wield demonic techniques, their astral energy twisted and corrupted into something vile. Their eyes gleamed with unholy light, and their very presence seemed to poison the air around them.

Phelan had hired them knowing something like this might happen. He understood that Isalyn, a wielder of divine techniques, might be weakened by demonic arts—like oil thrown into sacred flame.

They were mercenaries who had banded together, forming a fearsome company. And at their head stood their leader.

Xylon.

His hair was dark red, like dried blood, and his skin was dark—so dark that if one saw him in a forest at night, they might mistake him for a demon. His build was muscular, powerful, every inch of him radiating menace and savage strength.

For Phelan, the cathedral was everything. It could produce divine potions—an infinite source of something incredibly valuable. If he could get his hands on it, he would be unrivaled. So he had spent money like water to hiring this mercenary company, sparing no expense.

Xylon was a peak Spirit Forge Realm Master. Gathered hundreds of demonic Realm Masters wasn’t easy—you needed to be strong enough that they would obey. And Xylon was more than strong enough.

"So this is the woman you want me to fight, Phelan?" Xylon’s voice was a low growl, his eyes tracing over Isalyn’s form with predatory interest. "She looks quite good... even tasty. I’ll beat you enough that you’ll beg for mercy. Ha ha ha!"

His thinking was normal for this world—that was how female Realm Masters were treated here. And since he was a demonic Realm Master, there was no shame in his words, no filter on his desires.

Isalyn’s expression didn’t change. But her voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Righteous or demonic, you are all made of the same flesh." She looked at them—at all of them—with eyes that held neither fear nor disgust, only a cold, clinical assessment. "Pigs. Just a while ago, these righteous pigs were giving me the same offer. And now it’s you." She tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely curious. "Sometimes I wonder what even makes you two so different. For me, you both belong to the pig faction. Maybe it would be an insult to call you pigs."

She moved her hand forward.

"Divine Starfall. "

Millions of blue, fiery pointed rocks began raining from the sky, each one trailing divine light, each one aimed at the demonic army. The Realm Masters scattered, moving in coordinated patterns, but Phelan and Rhys stayed far back—they weren’t participating in the fight. They knew the outcome.

After all, they had spent a fortune to buy Xylon.

Xylon smiled and launched himself from the sky, descending toward Isalyn with terrifying speed. His hand morphed into a claw wreathed in demonic energy. "Demon’s Claw! "

Isalyn dodged, the attack tearing through the air where she had been standing. A soldier tried to grab her from behind—she blasted him with a finger, divine energy piercing through his chest. Another came from above, astral energy coating his fist—she moved aside and swung her staff, bashing his face with a sickening crack.

Hundreds of Realm Masters attacked at once.

She handled them like children.

Anyone who got hit by Isalyn didn’t survive. They simply died.

Xylon used his bandits to buy time, aware of Isalyn’s overwhelming strength—he had witnessed her kill Ulric. He needed to slow her down, to wound her in ways that would linger. He gathered most of his astral energy, the air around him growing heavy and foul.

"Abyssal Dragon Descent! "

An enormous demonic dragon formed from pure astral energy, its scales black as void, its eyes burning with hellfire. It roared—a sound that shook the earth—and lunged toward Isalyn.

She sensed it coming.

Her staff rose to meet the attack, divine energy clashing against demonic might. She held the dragon at bay, her arms straining, her feet digging into the ground—and then she spoke.

"God Slayer Thunder. "

At point-blank range, the divine lightning erupted.

The dragon was consumed instantly, its form dissolving under the onslaught of heavenly judgment. The area was so massive that people around it were temporarily blinded, their vision filled with nothing but white-gold light.

Isalyn smiled as the dragon vanished.

But then—

Xylon had been hiding behind his own attack.

He appeared behind her, demonic claws extended, and stabbed her from behind.

"This is how demonic Realm Masters fight," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

"...Cowards," Isalyn spat.

But she didn’t stop.

"Heaven’s Golden Spear. "

A spear of pure divine light materialized and shot toward Xylon, stabbing him in the stomach. He immediately retreated, bleeding, while Isalyn continued fighting his goons—but something had changed.

She was slower now.

She didn’t have time to breathe, let alone heal herself.

"You can’t do anything, Isalyn!" Phelan’s voice rang out, loud and mocking. "I told you—we gave you a chance, but you rejected it! Now die a miserable death! The same death your Celbeth will get in a few moments! Look at her—she’s on her knees! Ha ha ha!"

Isalyn’s gaze flickered toward Celbeth.

Her heart clenched.

But she couldn’t afford to look away.

Xylon healed himself, the wound in his stomach closing with a hiss of dark energy. He ordered his mercenaries, his voice sharp with command: "Take your positions! This will be the final attack!"

They surrounded Isalyn completely, forming a dome-shaped formation. They drank potions, replenishing their astral energy, their eyes fixed on her with murderous intent.

"This is your final warning, Isalyn," Xylon called out, laughing. "Become my concubine, and I’ll spare you!"

Isalyn heard him.

She smiled.

"Dream on."

The demonic Realm Masters unleashed their ultimate attacks.

"Hellfire Burial! "

Some used lightning, some used fire, some used darkness—but the goal was the same: erase her existence completely.

The attacks converged, a maelstrom of destruction that would annihilate anything in its path. The ground beneath them cracked and shattered, the air itself screaming under the pressure.

And then—silence.

They stopped.

They looked at where Isalyn was supposed to be.

There was nothing.

No body. No ashes. No trace.

Doubt crept into their minds. Were they successful? But no matter what you used to erase someone, there was always something left—a fragment, a stain, a trace of existence.

But there was nothing.

As if no one had been there at all.

And then—

They looked to the side of the battlefield.

Isalyn was there.

On her knees. Still alive.

And beside her stood a figure.