Steam drifted lazily through the air, and the atmosphere grew heavy with heat.
Water from the mountain spring ran down his head and shoulders, washing away days of fatigue, leaving Orson so tense he barely dared move.
"How about… I just do it myself?"
He turned, face burning, to glance behind him. There, through the mist, stood a breathtaking silhouette.
Her cheeks were bright red, but her eyes were firm as she placed a hand on his crown and turned his head forward again.
Having someone bathe him for the first time—sure, it felt good, but it was also unbelievably awkward.
Orson swallowed hard. When Emma turned away to scoop more water, he couldn't help sneaking glances, heart racing, so nervous he could barely speak.
As for resisting? Please. What mage would ever dare act tough before a rogue?
Hard not to let his thoughts wander, wanting to do something entirely improper.
His instincts took over. Orson reached with his right arm to pull her close, to properly interrogate why she was torturing him —
Only to freeze, reminded all over again that his right arm was gone. Emma raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
Frustration flared. His eyes burned into her as he said, eager, "I could just kill myself right now—five seconds tops with Rootless Water and I'd be back. How about it?"
Emma's lips twitched into dimples, then she actually laughed. "So the great Megacaster is into that kind of kink? Sorry, self-harm just doesn't do it for me. That's… pretty twisted."
"Do you think I'm a freak?"
Orson tipped his head back to look at her, eyes blazing.
Her skin was pale as snow, tall, beautifully shaped, shoulders delicate, waist slender, curves that screamed temptation.
Emma's face flushed deeper, but her gaze lingered on his scars. Her chest tightened painfully, eyes shimmering.
The way he'd described it all, it was like he'd just come back from a casual vacation in the #1 tomb, complaining mostly that Aeloria kept stealing his instant noodles and hotdogs.
And how disgusting the Heaven Demons were—how one even transformed to look like her to try to seduce him, only to get booted across the battlefield without so much as a twitch.
He spoke so offhandedly, but the wounds told the truth.
He'd clearly been pushed right to the edge.
Stubborn bastard—he'd rather downplay it all than let her or Sienna worry.
"Just give me a few seconds, I'll be right back!"
Orson couldn't hold it anymore. He stood to run outside and suicide-revive on the spot.
But the moment he moved, Emma wrapped her arms around him from behind. Smooth skin pressed against his back, and Orson's eyes glazed over.
Such a sloppy ambush, yet it hit him straight in the heart.
Even if he were fully armored in his Artifact set, it wouldn't have helped one bit.
"I got this from Flame Fosset. A Fire Ward Seal. This morning I went into the Endless Flame Domain and found something perfect for you," she whispered at his ear.
"Fire Ward Seal? Ninety-nine percent burn reduction for fire damage?"
Orson gaped. That was a rare relic—no wonder that old bastard Fosset could waltz into the Flame Domain.
Dammit. As his disciple and the Chaos Sect Leader, why hadn't he ever been given something ?
Pure favoritism! Next time he saw the old geezer, he was definitely stringing him up on the city wall to sun-dry for three days.
He reached over, pinching her cheek with a grin, trying to coax it out of her.
Emma's face went bright crimson as she pulled an item from her inventory.
"WTF! And you say I'm the freak? You—"
Orson was struck dumb. Emma had somehow produced an entire arm.
It glowed faint gold, looked almost exactly like real flesh and blood—except it was nearly two meters long, the fingers flexing and clenching fluidly as she turned it.
His heart skipped. He scanned it with Ancient Sage's Eye.
[Right Hand of the Primordial Titans]
[Quality: Ancient Divine Item]
[Effects: Integrates with flesh. Increases spellcasting efficiency by 50%, attack speed by 100%. Drops on death.]
[Description: Once owned by Romius, one of the Twelve Primordial High Priests.]
"How the hell did you get this? Don't tell me you just happened to find a spare prosthetic lying around."
Emma smiled lightly. "A few days ago I was clearing high-tier zones on the edge of the Flame Domain. Ran into Usher and his crew. Heard he was hunting a Divine Item."
"So since it was an arm, and I'm missing one, you went and cut him off? You legend!"
Orson burst out laughing, already picturing Usher's face twisting with fury.
Cold steel flashed. Orson froze as Emma traced the dagger along his remaining left arm.
"What… what the hell are you doing?" he stammered, backing up.
Emma frowned like it was obvious. "You're going prosthetic anyway. Might as well match. I'll go get you the left one he took."
"Have you no sense of decency?!"
He was dumbfounded. This lunatic actually wanted to chop off his other arm just for symmetry?
Did she not realize how much that hurt?
Emma rolled her eyes. Seeing him flustered made her strangely satisfied.
Orson exhaled hard in relief when she put away the knife. He looked down at the Divine Item on the ground, heart swelling with warmth.
She always played the fierce bully, but at her core she was unbelievably gentle.
An Ancient Divine Item that boosted spellcasting and doubled attack speed without taking up any equipment slots?
No amount of gold could really buy something .
She handed it over so casually. Even talked about going to steal the matching left arm.
Even if he were dense as a brick, he could see the raw sincerity.
His eyes stung. He kept his face hidden in the steam so she wouldn't notice, then picked up the Divine Item and fitted it to his stump.
Light blossomed. The Titan arm shrank to match his size and perfectly melded with his shoulder.
"Your attack speed has greatly increased!"
"Your spellcasting efficiency has greatly increased!"
The notifications rang out. Orson flexed, amazed how naturally it moved—like it had always been his. Hеlp us соntinuе by rеаding аt thе sоurсе: МV2LЕМРYR.
Faint runes swam beneath the skin, glowing subtly.
"Any regrets? This thing… it's priceless."
He turned to her, a bit ashamed.
A tiny bit of remaining conscience gnawed at him. He'd once been so cruel to her, after all.
"I know you can't give me anything back. But that doesn't stop me from giving you something. Got it?"
Emma's gaze never wavered, eyes deep enough to swallow him whole.
Words caught in his throat, emotions raw and tangled—
But she cut him off with a kiss.
Leaning against his chest, she whispered, soft as water, "I know what you want to say. Don't trouble yourself over my feelings. Your battlefield is at the peak of the world."
"I don't need your love."
"But I want you to remember… I, Emma, love you very much."
Somehow, without him realizing, his eyes filled with tears. He clenched his fists, swearing silently that even if he died in the skies, his soul would always watch over her.
He pulled her close, kissed her deeply, pouring every drop of love into it.
Just everything he could give, desperately felt, over and over again.
It didn't stop until the first sliver of dawn shone through the window.