"Ant! You seek death!" Matos's frantic will roared within the phantom.
Facing this terrifying torrent capable of instantly freezing all things and annihilating souls, a hint of… satisfaction finally flickered in Lin Mo's lazy dragon eyes?
This was exactly what he was waiting for!
There was no earth-shattering roar, no dazzling burst of divine light.
Lin Mo simply raised his other front claw, too, gently.
The long spiritual light pattern flowing along his side from his dragon neck to his tail suddenly brightened!
"Disperse."
A single, utterly simple syllable, emerged from Lin Mo's mouth.
There was no confrontation, no negation.
The world-destroying torrent of extreme cold annihilation, while still a hundred meters away from Lin Mo, was as if it had struck an invisible, incomprehensible "wall."
From its very front, the breath silently and rapidly disintegrated, dissipating!
It wasn't defeated, but rather as if its very foundation of existence had been denied!
"No… impossible!!!" The will within Matos's phantom let out a desperate, distorted shriek, filled with unbelievable terror.
His origin-burning strike had been so effortlessly… erased?!
However, Lin Mo's movements did not stop.
In the brilliant light of the long spiritual pattern, Lin Mo extended his claw and gently plucked.
His movements were elegant, fluid, without a hint of effort.
As if he wasn't engaged in a life-and-death struggle, but rather picking a ripe fruit in his own garden.
"Buzz…"
A strange, soft hum sounded.
Matos's enormous projection twisted and fluctuated violently.
The divine power, will, and faith that constituted the projection were forcibly stripped and extracted by an irresistible, higher-level power!
"Ah—! My… origin!!!" Matos let out a mournful wail from the depths of his soul.
That was no longer anger, but the purest fear of complete annihilation.
A tiny, yet incredibly pure, emerald green light, containing the essence of life, was forcibly stripped away!
The light was as small as a speck of dust, only the size of a grain of rice, yet it exuded the pure aura of primal life force.
It struggled, as if it had sentience and wanted to escape.
This was precisely Matos's most essential power source as a loa—the weakest member in the domain of life.
It was also because of it that he could reform his body in the Shadowlands after falling in the mortal realm, waiting for an opportunity to return.
This fragment was pitifully small, but it was indeed a fragment of primal life force, even if it was only 0.0001% of its authority.
Lin Mo nodded with satisfaction.
With a flick of his claw, he sent this fragment back to Serakhen.
In the sky, Matos's divine power projection let out a desperate shriek, finally disintegrating into a sky full of ice crystals, vanishing with the wind.
The divine war was over.
Lin Mo remained suspended in the air, his posture elegant, as if he had only done something trivial.
He looked down calmly at the battlefield below, which had fallen into a deathly silence, as if petrified.
Whether Ital'ruk's or Frost Howl's soldiers, all had their mouths agape, their eyes hollow, their minds blank, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Hamur remained sitting blankly.
His facial expression was frozen in extreme fear and the stupor of collapsing faith, like a puppet from which the soul had been drawn.
Lin Mo's gaze lingered on Shadow Wing for a moment.
The blue-scaled Proto-Dragon Paladin immediately lowered his head, his dragon body trembling slightly from excitement and reverence.
Without another word, Lin Mo's slender black dragon body gracefully swayed in the air, like a stroke blending into an ink wash painting, silently fading and disappearing.
The sense of stagnation covering the battlefield also dissipated.
The wind howled again. The snow continued to fall.
"Thud!"
A Frost Howl warrior's battle axe slipped from his hand and dropped, the heavy metal striking the frozen ground with a dull thud.
This sudden sound was particularly jarring in the deathly silence, yet it failed to rouse any of his comrades nearby.
However, at the other end of the battlefield, Ital'ruk's remaining soldiers were startled awake by the sound.
They looked around blankly, their gazes sweeping over the fallen Frost Howl enemies and the messy traces of the battlefield.
A vast, almost illusory sense of emptiness, of having survived a catastrophe, seized them.
There were no cheers, no shouts, not even the strength to confirm the life or death of their companions.
Many simply instinctively clutched their weapons, their knuckles white from the excessive grip, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
This was a natural physiological reaction after nerves strained to the limit suddenly relaxed.
Initially, a few suppressed whimpers and incoherent sobs scattered on the wind, mixed with sporadic, choked calls: "Emberglow Dragon…" "flame keeper…"
These voices were weak, chaotic, and unorganized.
Immediately after, a hoarse but exceptionally firm voice suddenly rose, overriding the whimpers—
It was a heavily wounded priest, barely managing to kneel.
His blood-stained hands pressed tightly against his chest, as he roared with all his might: "flame keeper, Emberglow Dragon!"
This voice was like a spark, instantly igniting the fuse!
"We have witnessed the power of the Divine today, and received the grace of the Divine!"
These weren't the usual words used in prayers, but there were no words more fitting for the occasion.
More hoarse, trembling voices began to echo, still uneven.
"We, with devout hearts, offer our vows!" Siye's voice joined in, carrying an undeniable guiding force.
This time, the echoing voices noticeably increased and strengthened, as belief began to converge.
"May we be a shield for the weak, breaking darkness with light!" The chorus became clear and powerful, like trickling streams merging into a river.
"With order as our bones, and battle intent as our blades!" The voices grew even louder, each word like a heavy hammer, striking the blood-stained frozen earth.
"Thirsty for knowledge, ceaseless in spreading the Way!" At this moment, almost all surviving Ital'ruk people, whether warriors or wounded, struggled to kneel, roaring this vow with all their might, their voices completely merging into one!
"May your will walk the earth, like an unquenchable flame, like a constant shadow—!"
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