Consciousness is in the circuit.

What Wen Cheng saw was a sword-wielding goddess of light and a black scythe dangling in the air.

Engulfed by a white light, he could only watch and endure some kind of torment.

It's not the burning sensation of the body, but the feeling of the heart being constantly cut.

Looking at the excited posture of the great magician, but he himself was useless in the slightest.

Seeing Wen Cheng frowning like a child who was so forbearing, Shi suddenly burst into a smile, and his hands were separated from the white sword, driving his mind to continue to hand over the sickle.

The stone slab in the circuit was trembling, and in the center of the circuit, the golden scepter was still bearing the impact of the black pillar.

Because he successfully tricked Asmo into diverting his attention and killing Xiang Jingshan, even if he evacuated the battle at this time, it could be regarded as a victory.

The poem follows the lines of the earth's surface in an arc. Her steps were light and relaxed, completely devoid of what she should be in battle. If a black pillar was slashed down from the sky, the probability of dying was very high.

Poetry, what do you care about?

Wen Cheng watched the goddess come at a loss.

"Child," Shishi turned around as she stood still in front of Wen Cheng and joined him in admiring the flying of weapons, "In the days when I became the source of the law, I usually dreamed of the days when your world was restored to peace. ”

As if in response to her words, the white sword stabbed forward and spun into a thin whirlwind.

"Really?" Wen Cheng smiled bitterly as if he was not interested.

The world is at peace again, and Meng'er and I can live peacefully.

Why can't you be happy?

The sword galloped, striking at the oncoming scythe. If the sword is a whirlwind, then the scythe is a storm.

The scythe swirls and pierces from the side, and the sword rotates at high speed like a pointer.

"When! Buzz buzz ......" heart-wrenching echoes.

The poem says unmoved, "My eyes can see through the fog of time and foresee the glory of the future." But I can't tell how long it will be later. ”

How long later?

"As magicians of light, our discipline is spiritual growth," the poem gently waved her hand to flick the air, causing the sword to travel back and forth with greater amplitude as if it were a remote control, "it is the invulnerability of the spirit that is sufficient to fight the fears of the future than the skill of fighting." ”

Spirit?

Wen Cheng nodded slowly as if he understood something.

The key to the criminal realm is self-love, perhaps a kind of spirit.

But Ning Ran's request to me seemed to be for victory.

No, no...... For the sake of victory I said it myself.

Ning Ran was not completely convinced, but chose to accept my logic and let me convince her with victory.

So, what exactly is Ning Ran's expectation of me?

Spirit...... What is it?

Sure enough, it's the thing called will, faith, and faith.

Victory for the sake of a loved one? Obviously, it is determined and matured a lot.

For the sake of Meng'er, for the sake of victory, I let Liu Zhen bear the front.

For the sake of Meng'er, for the sake of victory, I obeyed Liu Zhen's orders.

But why am I getting more and more confused and miserable?

Why do you restart again and again? Why is it stuck in an endless loop?

Yoo Jin and I are both using our own methods to break the game, but why is she becoming more and more indifferent to me?

This hesitation is awakened by poetry.

"You see," the poet pointed to the scythe, "though its owner was a man of our monastery, you need not be ashamed of defeating him. ”

"Was Asmo your comrade-in-arms?"

"It doesn't matter, Wen Cheng." Poetry Answer.

yes, so what's important?

"Because, he stood in my way to victory." Wen Cheng replied tentatively.

"Nope."

Isn't that right?

"Not victory, but your heart."

Wen Cheng shook his head incredulously at this answer.

The goddess of light told me that victory is not as important as one's own heart.

The spirit is my heart.

"Child," the poem smiled back, "beware of the temptations of power, I have seen too many brave hearts that have lost themselves in this way. ”

In the distance, the black scythe suddenly stopped.

Wen Cheng froze when he saw this scene.

Asmo...... It would stop because of a sentence in the poem!

Poetry smiled and withdrew the sword back into her hand......

The holy blue eye suddenly bloomed with murderous intent, and rushed towards the scythe with great speed.

There is only a tenth of the Templar source left, and this act is tantamount to suicide.

It's easier to accept death than to fight back.

But she didn't care about that, just as she had let the black pillar smash at her in the first place.

"Wen Cheng," the voice of the poem seemed to come from the sky, "it is the duty of the Great Magician to constantly sacrifice his body for the safety of the planet. ”

It is also the criterion for the planet to choose people.

The seat of the ten Great Magicians is also ten sacrifices.

It's also her heart.

It is precisely because of the realm of nothingness that we can face death so calmly.

Do you understand?

Poetry looked back and smiled. Like a girl in the midst of a fire.

Wen Cheng suddenly trembled unacceptably.

Faced with the scythe of hesitation, the poem shortens the distance one blow after another, not knowing how to stop.

Sonorous. The air was engulfed in bursts of dazzling white light.

The scythe was no longer merciless, and suddenly it was reduced to a dozen pieces in layers, and swept in an even fan.

The throat, heart, forehead, and waist, the goddess of light was constantly torn apart by blades in all directions, and the incisions did not bloom with blood, but were withdrawn into scattered particles of light by the void.

She was not prepared to return.

Even the remnant was desperately lunging forward, each blow being bounced off by the scythe, forcing it to retreat.

This is not suicide, but the sacrifice of one part in exchange for another, an extraordinary enemy, must use extraordinary techniques.

Whew——

The longsword stabbed precisely into the core of the hilt.

The scythe began to sweep across a wide area with a violent tremor, and if it weren't for the circuit, I am afraid that the surrounding buildings would have tore apart.

Poetry suddenly stood, letting the sickle cut through his body.

"Poetry!"

Wen Cheng really couldn't accept this scene.

Why so desperate?

Under Wen Cheng's own eyes, the scythe's stormy combo was nothing more than a futile repetition. Even if it's a god-level skill.

A large black arc of light continued to attack the poetry from all directions.

The severed white particles of light flowed down like a waterfall, and were once again gathered by the lines of the earth's surface, gathering under the skirt of poetry.

The scythe's attack slowed down, and Poetry swung a white light with an expressionless face.

With a bang, the scythe turned into a mass of black chips and shattered in the air, and the black pillars that continued to rush down from the top also disappeared.

At the same time, the black mana flow in the square was annihilated, and only a few other small strands were left to retract back into the sky.

Immediately following in sight is a white vacuum that continues to unfold.

Poetry defeated Asmo.

Victory is at hand.

Wen Cheng in the circuit was dumbfounded.

This is the battle against Asmo. That's how the Great Mage fights.

Ancient magic, the goddess of light, who existed like a god, was no longer out of reach.

Without her, the Templar would have been just a church, and the Light Source would not have been given such a lofty meaning.

As the heat in the body dissipates, the white light gradually dims, and the vision gradually narrows.

Wen Cheng's body and consciousness are gradually pulled back to reality.

High-rise buildings, squares, night sky, everything is slowly taking shape in front of your eyes.

From the perspective of the void, the world under perspective is quite vast.

I could see people's skeletons, and I could see the subway shuttling through the layers of cement.

"Wen Cheng," the blonde goddess who gradually turned into transparency walked over, "This is the world of the Great Magician." ”

Why can I see it? Do you mean that I have ......

Of course not.

"At this time, I will connect with your circuit, and I will slowly experience her feelings in the last time." Poetry laughs.

"You know her?"

Poetry put the palm up without hesitation, and the slender fingers felt Wen Cheng's heartbeat. Warm to the touch.

"There are only two of us here," the poem says, "and you can talk to me about your heart." ”