The Angelic God Race, along with the Primordial Demon Race, the Titan God Race, and the Holy Spirit Tree Race, stood among the world's First Races. The dragon clan had once been one of them. Leopold stood in place, looking up at the two pairs of unfurled wings.
His inherited memories told him that wings were the source of power for the Angelic God Race, with each pair representing a different tier of strength.
Newly born angels, whose wings had not yet fully developed, were known as Proto-Winged Angels. By adolescence, the vast majority of angels would develop into Two-Winged Angels, possessing a single complete pair of wings, a level at which most of them would remain.
Above Two-Winged Angels were the Four-Winged Archangels, who already represented mid-level combat power within the Angelic God Race.
Further up, there were Six-Winged Holy Angels, Eight-Winged Dominions, and the legendary Ten-Winged Divine Envoys, which existed only in ancient texts—beings that were practically akin to gods.
The four wings 'Minnie' currently displayed, though her second pair was still slightly immature, meant that her status within the Angelic God Race was at least that of an officer, capable of leading her own forces.
Leopold took a deep breath, suppressing his rising panic. Now was not the time for fear.
“Let me introduce myself again. I am Liesel Ophelia. Call me by my surname; I don't like my given name.”
She smiled faintly, her lips a pale pink. Having shed her coarse goblin appearance, her skin was now translucent and delicate, and her features were exquisite and soft. She should have looked gentle and holy, but her emerald-green eyes were filled with the cold indifference of a predator looking down on its prey.
“I understand what you mean, Angel Ophelia,” Leopold said. He neither advanced nor retreated, calmly holding her gaze.
“You are far calmer than I expected,” she said. “Usually, when dragons see me in this form, they either scream, flee, or fall to their knees begging for mercy. But why are you so calm, hm?”
“I am not alone,” Leopold said.
“Ah, yes.” Ophelia tilted her head, her gaze shifting past Leopold to land on Isabella behind him, then on Blake at his side. “The last descendant of the White Dragon Royal Family, a Grayfrost Blue Dragon... and a poisoned half-elf.”
“Hahaha! What a fascinating combination!”
Leopold did not respond. He stood there, his eyes quickly scanning the entire hall. The goblins had descended into absolute chaos, scrambling toward the exit.
Blake gritted his teeth, magic condensing in his hand as he prepared to strike first.
“Blake, don't be reckless,” Leopold stopped him.
Standing in place, Ophelia slightly folded her two pairs of wings. She watched Leopold with great interest, as if waiting to see what amusing reaction he would have.
Frost still clung to Blake's palm, but he did not take another step forward. He gritted his teeth, his eyes locked onto those two pairs of wings, and refrained from arguing.
“What an obedient boy,” Ophelia said, tilting her head toward him with a smile. “But seriously, I didn't come here to chat.”
“Then why haven't you made a move yet?” Leopold asked.
Ophelia's smile faltered slightly.
“You lurked in the Bronzebeard Tribe for so long, got close to us, manipulated the struggles of the Council of Elders, and killed the Fifth Elder. With your strength, you had plenty of opportunities to kill us. Yet you never did. Why?”
Ophelia did not answer immediately. She lowered her gaze as if seriously considering the question, then tilted her head slightly.
“Oh, so that's what you've been thinking. Believe it or not, my mission was never to kill you...”
Leopold's pupils contracted slightly.
“My mission is... to ensure you leave the underground alive.” As she spoke, the smile on her face widened. “Surprised?”
“Don't believe her, Leo!” Isabella warned Leopold.
“Ensure we leave the underground alive?” Leopold smiled as well. “You're an angel, and dragons and angels are mortal enemies. Yet you're going to let us go? How bizarre.”
“It does sound strange,” Ophelia admitted. “But a mission is a mission. My superiors ordered me to ensure you leave the underground alive, so that is what I will do. As for what happens after you leave...”
She spread her hands slightly, her smile carrying a completely unabashed malice. “That is none of my concern.”
Leopold knew there was no room for negotiation, so he wasted no more words.
“Umbra Devorare!”
The moment Leopold's spell fell, the shadow beneath his feet surged violently, transforming into dozens of sharp shadow claws that closed in on her from all directions.
Ophelia stood where she was, merely raising her right hand and snapping her fingers.
The sharp, pitch-black shadows closed in from all sides, only to screech to a halt half a step away from Liesel.
The shadow claws pressed against an invisible barrier, twisting and struggling before slowly dissipating.
Ophelia lowered her hand, a look of near-disappointment in her emerald eyes. “...I heard you received the Shadow Blessing, so I specifically requested my superiors to let me see it for myself. And this is all you've got?”
“Nordus Glacies, Penetra!”
As Blake's spell was cast, three massive ice spikes, carrying endless frost, hurtled toward Ophelia! As they flew, new ice crystals continuously condensed upon them, layering over one another until they nearly filled the entire passage.
“Lumen Draconis, Perde Malum—”
At the exact same moment, Isabella's Holy Light spell was completed—several rotating magic circles instantly materialized above Ophelia's head.
Both spells struck in front of Ophelia simultaneously. Blake's ice spikes slammed hard against the light shield she had deployed, shattering into a storm of ice shards.
Unable to defend against Isabella's pillar of light in time, Ophelia took the Holy Light magic head-on!
This was a direct hit delivered with all of Isabella's might. The power of the white dragon bloodline erupted in the confined space, the blinding white glare illuminating the entire hall.
As the pillar of light dissipated, Ophelia's figure emerged once more.
She stood where she was, a small patch of her clothing on her chest burned away to reveal her fair skin beneath. There were no wounds, no blood. She simply stared at Isabella with a look of utter indifference.
“...How is this possible?” Isabella murmured.
Ophelia looked down at the burned fabric over her chest and casually tugged at it, exposing her collarbone.
“Ah, I forgot to tell you.” Ophelia looked up, a casual smile playing in her emerald eyes. “I am a light-attribute angel. Holy Light magic... only has about thirty percent of its usual effect on me.”
Whoosh!
Leopold suddenly lunged from behind Ophelia, his claws condensed from shadows. This was his first attempt to use the blessing without chanting a spell.
The wind from his strike tore through the air, aiming straight for the center of Ophelia's back. The scene before him flashed, and Leopold's pupils contracted sharply—he had only struck an afterimage.
Ophelia's voice drifted from behind him. Peering over Leopold's shoulder, she studied his profile with a hint of pleasant surprise:
“Oh? Now that was actually a bit interesting. No chanting, no channeling... Is this the pure power of a blessing?”
“Get away from Leopold, you damned angel!” Isabella cried out in rage. Seven white swords glowing with Holy Light instantly materialized before her. With a push of her hand, the seven white swords shot through the air, flying toward Ophelia from different angles.
“I told you, Holy Light is useless against me,” Ophelia said, her tone as casual as ever. “Phasma Lucis!”
In an instant, Isabella saw clearly—her light swords had only pierced the afterimage Ophelia left behind.
“My, where are you looking, little white dragon?” Ophelia appeared behind Isabella, reaching out to gently caress her cheek.
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