Trump Card

“Isabella, unless it is absolutely necessary, do not interfere,” Leopold said, stretching his limbs.

“Why?” Isabella looked up.

“My inherited magic. Trust me.” Leopold tossed an elven potion to Isabella and gestured toward Blake with his eyes.

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You can do this, Leopold, he constantly urged himself.

Leopold opened his eyes and kicked off the ground, launching himself forward like an arrow released from a bow. Shadows coiled up his right arm, condensing into a black blade that clung tightly to the skin over his knuckles.

Ophelia tilted her head slightly. The wind from his punch grazed her ear, shearing off a few strands of her cascading golden hair.

“Oh? Taking the initiative to attack?”

Leopold did not answer. He followed up immediately with a left hook, but Ophelia leaned back, easily dodging the attack.

“Your movements are so clumsy!”

Leopold's fist grazed past Ophelia's ear once more, his center of gravity shifting half a step too far forward from overextending.

Ophelia did not retreat. She simply sidestepped, her toes lightly tapping the ground as she spun around to Leopold's flank.

“You lean your center of gravity too far forward,” her voice drifted from the side, sounding almost sincere. “When you punch, you aren't engaging your core. You're only using the strength of your upper body.”

“Look, look, you have to punch like this...” Ophelia pulled back her right fist, sank her waist slightly, and unleashed a punch!

Leopold was instantly sent flying, slamming into a broken wall amidst the ruins.

“See? Doesn't it hurt when you punch like that?”

Leopold slid down from the rubble of the shattered wall and knelt on one knee, loose stones tumbling off his body. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand. No hesitation, no pause.

He kicked off with his right foot and lunged at Ophelia again, throwing a left punch from his hip while his right hand guarded above—this was a routine he had just improvised in his mind.

He had never seen anyone fight like this, nor had anyone taught him; he just felt it looked like it might work.

Ophelia merely smiled at this, easily seeing through his strategy without the slightest effort. Leopold was sent flying once more, adding several more bleeding wounds to his body.

Leopold pushed himself up from the rubble again. The wound on his right ribs was oozing blood, and golden dragon blood dripped from his fingertips. He gasped, propping himself up with a knee before standing once more.

Ophelia stood ten paces away, her four wings folded slightly as she tilted her head to look at him. She had not even moved from her spot.

“...You stood up again.” Her tone was hard to read, somewhere between admiration and exasperation. “The weak should just stay down obediently and never climb back up!”

Leopold did not answer. He stood in the ruins, his chest heaving as golden blood dripped from his chin onto the rubble.

He charged again, only to be violently repelled once more. Dragging his battered body, he stubbornly lunged forward again, only to crash heavily back into the same spot...

“Just what are you persisting for?” Ophelia's voice finally carried a hint of impatience. She raised her hand, and a blade of light slashed across Leopold's shoulder, causing a torrent of golden blood to spray out.

Yet, instead of retreating, Leopold endured the agonizing pain and swung his fist at Ophelia.

“I really don't understand. What is the point of a punch like this!” Ophelia neither dodged nor deflected, letting Leopold's fist strike her body directly.

“...That's it?” Ophelia looked at Leopold with disdain. “Take a look at yourself!”

Leopold's fist was still pressed against Ophelia's shoulder, but not even one of her feathers had rustled.

As for his own arm—the scales on his forearm had cracked in several places, and golden blood was sliding down his fingertips. His right ribs were bleeding, and the spot on his left shoulder that had just been slashed by the light blade was still oozing blood.

“Your punches are meaningless, Leopold.” Her voice had lost its theatrical tone, leaving only a condescending statement of fact. “Look, you hit me once, and I didn't even budge. Yet you have another wound on your body. Do you think that was worth it?”

Ophelia was right. These were merely external injuries, and Leopold knew the state of his internal organs was no better. But... this was exactly what Leopold wanted!

Pushed into a corner, Leopold smiled!

“...Just what are you expecting?” Ophelia felt a faint sense of unease.

“...Ophelia.”

“Hmm?”

Leopold suddenly grabbed Ophelia's arm in a death grip, but his body could no longer support him, and he collapsed to his knees.

Ophelia glanced down at his hand gripping her, then raised her eyes. A trace of genuine vigilance finally surfaced in her emerald eyes.

“...Why are you holding onto me?”

“Cough, cough... This should be... enough...”

Ophelia frowned, and just as she was about to speak, her pupils suddenly dilated.

The dozens of wounds on Leopold's body lit up simultaneously. The golden bloodstains transformed into dark blood curses, rising from the surface of his skin, flowing, connecting, and converging toward the hand gripping Ophelia.

“No... This is bad!” Ophelia's emerald pupils contracted sharply. She saw it clearly—the golden dragon blood was flowing backward. This was an inherited magic!

She abruptly raised her other hand, golden light exploding in her palm as a blade of light slashed directly toward Leopold's wrist.

Leopold did not let go. The light blade cut into his forearm, shattering scales and sending a spray of golden blood into the air, yet he still held her wrist in a vice grip.

“Let go!”

Leopold smiled. His fingers had dug deep into her flesh, though he could no longer feel them...

“You—” For the first time, Ophelia panicked. She pressed her fingers together like a knife, aiming straight for his heart to forcefully interrupt the spell!

“Don't even think about it!”

At this critical juncture, Isabella finally rushed forward and grabbed Ophelia's arm tightly, white dragon scales even manifesting on her face.

“I won't let you hurt him anymore!” Tears welled up in Isabella's eyes, streaming down her cheeks.

“What!” For a moment, Ophelia actually could not break free from Isabella's grasp.

“Umbra Reditus.”

The blood curses on Leopold's body emerged from his skin, flowing and connecting as they spread along his arm and onto Ophelia's wrist.

“This—!”

The magic power inside her was triggered. Ophelia's first instinct was to pull back the hand gripped by Isabella—but Isabella had already exerted every ounce of her strength, more white dragon scales surfacing on the back of her hands.

“I said,” Isabella's voice trembled, but she refused to let go, “I won't let you hurt him anymore.”

Ophelia was stunned. She had never witnessed such a scene. War and slaughter were commonplace to her; if you couldn't defeat an enemy, wouldn't you just run? Why hold on so desperately? Why do these meaningless things?

She didn't understand. Why? She clearly had no intention of killing them; they only needed to obediently go to the surface...

The blood curses emerged, flowed, and connected across Ophelia's skin like a dark red mirror using her body as a canvas, reflecting a gruesome map of injuries—every single wound on Leopold's body was now precisely replicated on Ophelia.

Countless bursts of blood instantly erupted across Ophelia's body. Red angelic blood seeped from the roots of her wings, staining her pure white feathers red.

She froze in place, her emerald eyes finally displaying something Leopold had never seen in them before—genuine pain and utter bewilderment.

“Is this... shared damage?”

“This isn't sharing,” Leopold said as he knelt on the ground, letting go of his tight grip. He could no longer feel his arm. “It's... repayment.”

“Black dragon, you are very clever,” Ophelia said, blood constantly trickling from the corner of her mouth as she lifted her chin. “If my mana were full, I would indeed have plenty of ways to counter your magic.”

“Hahaha... You two have indeed surprised me.” Then she raised her head, the smile in her emerald eyes completely vanished, replaced by an endless rage.

“But you didn't actually think you won like this, did you?”

“I am an angel, a Four-Winged Archangel! Wounds like these are fatal to you, but they are not to me...”

“Among you, one is unconscious, one is poisoned, and one is completely drained of mana—tell me, who will collapse first?”

As Ophelia finished speaking, the wounds on her body began to slowly heal, while Leopold knelt on the ground, his right arm completely devoid of sensation.

“Bella, do you still trust me?” Leopold whispered to Isabella.

Isabella stood by his side, the white dragon scales on her face slowly receding. Her breathing was ragged, and golden dragon blood seeped from between her fingers.

“I do.”

“Then step back, because I'm not sure what will happen next!” Leopold took a deep breath, his gaze turning deep and solemn. Behind him, shadows began to writhe restlessly, like a pack of long-dormant beasts slowly waking up!