Chapter 7: Who Are You, Really?

Under the pitch-black curtain of rain, the streetlights glowed faintly like fireflies, while only the car’s headlights cast a beam of pure white light, piercing the distant sky like a sword.

It was like the sole lighthouse in the darkness, guiding those lost astray.

And there she was, sitting atop the car roof, still clad in the Bohemian-style long dress she had worn that afternoon. The hem fluttered, revealing her snow-white ankles swaying at the edge of the light.

No wind or rain dared approach her. Her eyes shimmered with a faint golden hue—majestic and beautiful, as if an angel had descended to earth.

She looked down from her lofty perch at the boy before her, drenched and disheveled, as if a god surveying a desperate prisoner with no escape.

“Senior Brother, aren’t you going to say something?” Xia Mi tilted her head slightly, her gaze scanning Chu Zihang from head to toe, finally resting on the Kun Gunil tightly gripped in his hand.

“For example, what is that you’re holding?”

Chu Zihang clenched his grip on Kun Gunil, his body tense and alert. He didn’t know this girl’s origins, but he keenly sensed danger.

Tang Xi, however, understood the vast disparity between them. The boy was like a young beast trapped in a snare with no way out—struggling was futile.

Tang Xi herself felt a tremendous crisis. She hadn’t expected Yomngarde to appear so openly, without any pretense.

But this also proved that the Dragon King had been observing Chu Zihang closely, able to detect anomalies in such a short time. She must have sensed something.

“Why remain silent? Haven’t thought up an excuse yet?”

The girl leapt down from the car roof, standing before the headlights with her back to the light. No storm could touch her, her presence sacred and imposing.

Chu Zihang felt an overwhelming pressure rise from within—a fear born of bloodline and soul. At this moment, this girl’s presence rivaled even Odin astride his heavenly steed.

His face drained of color, injuries and blood loss weakening him, yet he stubbornly clenched his teeth and straightened his back.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” His voice was low and hoarse from weakness but resolute. “Who exactly are you? Why are you following me?”

Xia Mi was unruffled by his words, wearing a nonchalant expression as she said simply:

“Give me what you’re holding.”

Chu Zihang remained silent, gripping Kun Gunil so tightly his hand veins bulged. His posture said it all.

This was his only hope of finding his father; he would never let go. Never.

“Tch, stubborn as ever.” The girl’s annoyance grew as she strode toward him, a terrifying aura pressing down like a crushing wave.

Chu Zihang stifled a groan as bright blood trickled from his nostrils and mouth. He could no longer hold back and collapsed to his knees, his eyes bloodshot, veins throbbing on his forehead as if enduring unimaginable torment.

“I don’t want to hurt you, and you won’t remember tonight’s events, but what you carry must die.”

The girl looked down at him imperiously, speaking each word with weight: “Stop struggling. You’ve lost your way. I’m here to set things right.”

“Set things right? What does that mean?” Chu Zihang lifted his head, blood spilling from his mouth. Still, he gritted his teeth stubbornly. “Who gave you the right to decide for me?”

His face was the epitome of unyielding resolve.

The girl ignored him and reached for Kun Gunil.

“He said not to interfere. Didn’t you hear that?”

Suddenly, a faint voice sounded, coming from Chu Zihang himself, though it was no longer hoarse. It was as if another presence spoke through him.

Xia Mi’s eyes narrowed slightly, unsurprised. Her movements quickened as she lunged directly for Kun Gunil.

But at that very moment, though completely immobilized by her overwhelming aura, Chu Zihang suddenly raised his hand, thrusting Kun Gunil at a sharp angle straight into the girl’s chest.

Xia Mi was swift—perhaps already anticipating this—and dodged in an instant, creating distance.

“So there is something strange after all.” Her expression turned cold, eyes sharp as ice. “What are you to dare touch the one I’ve chosen?”

Chu Zihang slowly rose, wiping the blood from his face indifferently, meeting the girl’s cold gaze.

“Yomngarde, you’re quite formidable.”

At the utterance of that name, Xia Mi’s pupils contracted sharply. Her vigilance heightened.

“Who exactly are you?”

Without wasting words, Tang Xi raised her weapon and struck. Kun Gunil rained down like a meteor shower toward Xia Mi.

Tang Xi had no time to waste; Kun Gunil’s durability was limited—it could only last four minutes of continuous combat. If she couldn’t escape within that time, both she and Chu Zihang would be finished.

More precisely, she would be finished. Yomngarde might not harm Chu Zihang much—perhaps just erase some memories—but for her, the one who tried to pry him away, there would be no mercy.

Her fierce assault caused Yomngarde to frown, but as the queen of close combat, Yomngarde was undaunted and confronted her directly.

Kun Gunil’s inherent accuracy worked even against the Dragon King, but Yomngarde’s slender palms transformed into clawed blades, parrying countless strikes. Her body was covered in dense scales, muscles rippling underneath.

Perhaps wary of harming Chu Zihang’s mortal form, or unsure of Tang Xi’s full capabilities, Yomngarde fought cautiously—defensive only, no attacks.

She recognized this as Odin’s Kun Gunil, but clearly the weapon had undergone transformations even she could not comprehend. It had left Odin’s control and now acted autonomously.

She wanted to further test Tang Xi’s strength, but the more she probed, the more alarmed she became. The weapon seemed to be absorbing her power, matching her close-combat prowess blow for blow—and growing stronger with each strike.

Tang Xi didn’t know what Yomngarde was thinking, only counting down the time anxiously.

Only one minute remained, yet escape was impossible. Yomngarde clung tightly, and besides, where else could she run?

Unless she abandoned Chu Zihang as her host—but where could she find another so soon?

Another violent clash sent them both staggering back several meters. Yomngarde’s disdain vanished completely; she now watched “Chu Zihang” with wary eyes, her voice serious.

“Who are you, really?!”

Seeing the guarded stance, Tang Xi’s mind raced, and suddenly an idea sparked. She said coldly:

“Yomngarde, you don’t even recognize me?”

Yomngarde froze, her elegant brows furrowing deeply. Her watchful eyes flickered with a hint of hesitation.