"You filthy old bastard! You tricked me!"
Anna's fury erupted. All hesitation vanished, and with it, any trace of respect in her voice.
She squeezed out the last strand of spiritual power from her blood core, pouring it entirely into her sickle.
The blade trembled and hummed. Its dim edge flared violently, tinged with a deep, unfamiliar darkness—something beyond her original cultivation method.
With absolute resolve, she thrust forward.
But—
She was half a step too late.
The panic and pleading on the Black Baron's face vanished instantly, replaced by a calm, knowing smile.
"Too late!"
He spoke softly.
At that very moment—
The ground behind him exploded.
Four jet-black thorned vines burst forth like creatures from the abyss, twisting and intertwining like venomous serpents.
They sealed every path of Anna.
Then lunged to her.
Anna's attack had already committed everything.
Her spiritual power was exhausted—poured entirely into that final strike.
There was nothing left.
Death closed in, cold and absolute.
Is this… the end?
Unwillingness coiled around her heart like poisoned vines, tightening until she could barely breathe.
The Black Baron's murky, triumphant eyes were right before her.
Just one step away.
Just a little faster—
No.
A wild flame ignited in Anna's eyes.
If there was no way back—
Then she wouldn't retreat.
Even if those thorns pierced her through—
She would still tear a piece of flesh from this old bastard.
Then…
Let's die together.
The moment that bloody resolve took shape—
Warmth stirred in her right thumb.
Something dormant had awakened.
"That's more like it."
Van Helsing's voice echoed with a low, approving chuckle.
"Leave the rest to me."
No time to think.
Her thumb trembled slightly.
—
A silent wave spread outward.
Time slowed.
The black thorns froze the instant they touched her clothes.
Then—
As if erased by an unseen hand, they began to change.
Twisting.
Breaking apart.
Hard wood softened.
Barbs fell away.
Their lifeless black shifted into a deep, blood-red hue.
In an instant—
The deadly cage of thorns dissolved into a drifting storm of black petals.
At the center of that eerie, falling rain—
A graceful phantom emerged.
Formed of light and spiritual energy, like a rose blooming from the depths of hell.
Its face was unseen.
But in its hand—
A single, condensed blade of cold light.
Sharp enough to make the soul tremble.
It moved.
Gently.
No thunder.
No explosion.
Only a soft—
Rip.
Like silk being cut.
The Black Baron's grin froze.
He lowered his head.
A thin red line appeared across his waist.
Then—
His upper body slid cleanly apart.
No blood burst forth.
Instead, it was absorbed by the drifting black petals, deepening their color into something rich… and haunting.
He collapsed—
Severed in two—
Within the funeral of black roses prepared just for him.
"Beautiful… so beautiful…"
His fading eyes reflected the falling petals.
A twisted mix of obsession and regret surfaced in his final expression.
"If only… I could whip you… in a sea of flowers like this…"
His voice faded.
And then—
Silence.
—
"Ha… ha…"
Anna dropped to one knee, using her sickle to support herself, gasping for breath.
Each inhale tasted of blood.
She stared at the corpse—
Her mind blank.
Then—
She spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at his lifeless head.
After a long moment—
Understanding crashed in.
She had killed him.
The man who enslaved her.
Crushed her.
Haunted her for twenty years.
No matter how close she came to death—
The one still standing—
Was her.
"…Ha…"
A short laugh escaped her throat—
Then broke loose like a flood.
"Hahaha… HAHAHAHAHA!!"
She laughed uncontrollably.
Head thrown back.
Tears streaming.
Wounds reopening—but she didn't feel a thing.
"Do you know why… hahaha…"
She gasped between laughs, speaking to the air—perhaps to Van Helsing, perhaps to herself.
"Why I cut him… right there?"
She pointed at his severed waist.
"Because he always… always wrapped that disgusting whip there!"
"Now… hahaha… it's gone!"
"The whip… and his waist… both gone! HAHAHAHA!!"
Van Helsing chuckled lowly, clearly satisfied.
His consciousness stirred.
Unnoticed by Anna, the entire hand shifted slightly—as if flexing.
Power beyond the laws of this world…
Never came without a price.
But for now—
That price was neither needed—
Nor his to pay.
In the game, using divine relics consumed health.
But here…
What was the fuel?
—
"Haha… cough—!"
Anna suddenly coughed, streaks of blood spilling from her lips.
Her frenzy slowly faded.
She didn't suspect Van Helsing—only assumed her injuries were from the battle.
Then—
Her eyes lit up.
"Right… the blood core!"
She lunged toward the corpse.
Her thumb pressed against it.
Once.
Nothing.
Twice.
Still nothing.
"Van Helsing!"
Her voice sharpened with urgency.
"What's going on?!"
His voice came slowly, laced with amusement.
"Earlier, at death's edge, you called me by name. I'll overlook that."
"But now…"
"…what should you call me?"
Anna froze.
Then understood.
Power had shifted.
She lowered her gaze.
Licked blood from her lips.
And spoke, softly but clearly:
"…Lord Van Helsing."
A satisfied chuckle followed.
"Smart girl."
Her thumb pressed down a third time.
This time—
It worked.
Golden light flowed from the corpse.
Warm.
Pure.
Filled with vitality and cultivation.
It streamed into her thumb—
Then into her shattered blood core.
Into the ruined foundation within.
Warmth returned.
Spreading through her limbs.
She could feel it—
The fractures knitting together.
Rebuilding.
Restoring.
Power.
Returning power.
Stronger than before.
Her pale face bloomed with a radiant, almost unnatural brilliance.
—
When the light faded—
It was over.
Everything settled.
—
Outside the courtyard, Anna dug a pit in a secluded corner.
She buried the Black Baron's body—both halves.
Along with the withering black petals.
Before covering him, she took his storage pouch and storage ring.
As for the black whip—
She looked at it once.
Expressionless.
Then tossed it into the grave.
Let it rot with its master.
Forever.