Read Novel Full Chapter 1312 Meeting Her Hero
Chapter 1312 Meeting Her Hero
Her knees still felt weak, but her eyes stayed fixed on the figure in front of her.
The rift behind him rippled again.
Another silhouette stepped through.
A short woman with a dark ponytail, blade at her hip, posture straight as a drawn line.
No theatrics. No wasted movement.
Just a quiet, lethal certainty in the way she walked.
Ria's breath caught.
"B-Blade… the samurai " she whispered, voice trembling with awe. The infamous second-in-command. The rising prodigy. The sword that the Primordial Villain trusted enough not only to keep at his side but to lead all that was his.
Ayame didn't even stop to inspect the room. She sent one small glance toward the man before her. Her eyes were sharp and knowing, then broke into a sprint, sword already clearing its sheath as she joined the soul soldiers carving through the undead.
Before Ria could recover, the rift pulsed again.
This time, the air settled into something strangely calm, almost still, before the next figure emerged.
Long ears. Long, flowing blonde hair.
Armor that shone with clean lines.
The elf stepped out with steady steps.
"Solace," Ria breathed, stunned. She had expected robes, charms, healer markers, anything but this. Instead, she looked like someone sent to break front lines, not mend them. But that was when something clicked in Ria's mind. There were rumors saying that… "She's not just a healer."
Solace's eyes drifted over Quinlan only for a second. A soft, almost teasing curve touched her lips just before she moved on, drawing her bow while walking, and a magical arrow appeared.
She fired.
Before the next ripple even settled, a streak of motion burst through it with reckless speed.
A blonde woman slid into the room with such velocity that even Ria's eyes almost missed her.
Her tail swayed with restless energy.
Ghost.
The famous dogkin assassin and lover of Quinlan Elysiar.
The woman Ria had once compared herself to, as both of them were blonde assassin women with blue eyes, sporting big racks and a great sense for sneaking as well as killing unnoticed.
Ria recognized the bouncy steps, the confident tilt of her chin, and… yes… the chest size that had launched a hundred fan drawings in taverns across the continent.
As Blossom liked to wear BDSM style gear to war, cutely protesting with frantic pouts and limp ears whenever Quinlan brought her a new and more modest set of armor, quoting what she overheard from the young girl vendor in the armor shop in Braedon back when he, Ayame, and she went to gear up for the first time. The girl, when accused of trying to sell him a piece of gear no one was dumb enough to buy, told Quinlan that beastkin liked to wear gear that gave them as much freedom of movement as possible, making them feel more natural and at ease.
This was what the curvy dogkin had told her lover and master many, many times, with a hopefully wagging tail, hoping he would relent. Of course, if he were adamant, Blossom would accept.
She was a good girl.
"She's even bigger in person…" Ria muttered before she could stop herself.
Ghost grinned widely, flashing sharp canine teeth while leaping onto the closest undead.
And the rift didn't stop.
More footsteps. More figures.
Each one armed. Each one carrying a presence thick enough to warp the air.
Some Ria recognized immediately, others she only knew from whispers or rumors.
But every one of them shared a single behavior:
Each stepped through.
Each glanced at Quinlan.
Each smirked, quiet, confident, like they found something about him endlessly familiar.
And then each vanished into the growing battle without hesitation, letting him do his thing.
Ria felt her pulse pounding in her throat.
This wasn't an elite strike team.
This wasn't even a raid party.
This was his entourage.
His inner circle.
The strongest followers of the man she'd obsessed over for months, now spilling into the cell block as if answering her prayer for help.
Ria swallowed hard, eyes wide, voice barely escaping her throat.
"T-This… this is really happening…"
But Quinlan did not spare the excited girl before him a single glance.
His focus stayed locked on the two men choking in his hands.
The undead and soul soldiers clashed all around him. His party surged through the cell block with swift, practiced movements, joining the fray. Steel bludgeoned bone as the large and well-equipped carriage began blaring with its many artifacts, alarming all that an invasion was going on.
None of it registered for him.
His gauntlets tightened.
The older guard let out a strangled rasp, spit running down his chin.
The younger one's heels scraped against Quinlan's greaves as he kicked in blind panic.
He looked at the older man and growled in a far too hostile tone to sound anything but horribly monstrous, "Gagging women..."
He looked at the younger man, "Assaulting girls..."
He lifted them higher.
"My women."
"My girls."
The men saw a corrosive glow in his eyes, carrying something the pair understood too late.
The older guard's fingers thrashed harder against the metal. His voice broke into sharp, desperate coughs as he tried to force words out.
"W-We didn't-! W-We weren't-!"
He couldn't form a full sentence. His throat compressed too tightly under Quinlan's hand.
The younger one tried as well, with his mouth trembling and voice stuck somewhere between a gasp and a girly squeal.
"S-Sir! S-Sir, we didn't touch! We didn't- we would never!"
His grip only tightened even further until no coherent words could be formed at all.
The man was not interested in anything they had to say.
With a deep, guttural growl that reverberated through the metal room, Quinlan's eyes suddenly shone an earthly color as, in the next moment, rock materialized from thin air with zero spell incantation.
The material solidified instantly into a long, sturdy rod of blackened rock, sharp as a spear.
With zero mercy, he willed his creation against the older man's face, shattering his teeth before forcing the point deep down the guard's throat, the one who wanted to violate the mouths of the five ladies. The man instantly began to gag with his eyes bulging in agony as black blood and pink froth poured from his mouth.
A second spear of rock erupted, just as long, just as sharp. Without hesitation, he drove it up the rear of the younger man, the one who wanted to violate someone as young as Felicity.
His armor resisted, protesting the invader's will. But it only took a few attempts to break through. His undead overlords were not known for being excellent keepers of gear, often forgetting or letting them rot.
And considering that they were dark mages, combined with the fact that the mortals under them were treated as lesser existences... Well, armor maintenance wasn't high on their list of priorities.
The younger minion of the undead understood this fact better than anyone ever did in the history of the organization, as he let out a silent, horrific scream when the projectile punched through his organs. His body seized and went rigid, then sagged like a broken doll, blood trailing down the spear and dripping onto the floor.
Quinlan held both impaled, gurgling men suspended for a long moment, watching the light fade from their eyes. But he did not allow them to die just yet.
Instead, he tossed them into the swirling portal behind him, leaving them for future, just as fruitful, 'discussions.'
Throughout it all, Ria was a first-row spectator to the sheer, uncompromising brutality of the man she idolized from an entire duchy away, vividly listening to the news whenever she returned from her adventurer quests.
By all rights, she should have been terrified. She should have been repulsed by the visceral, vindictive violence displayed before her very eyes. He did not have to do this to them. As soon as he stepped through, he could've ended it all and joined his summons and partners in the battle against the undead.
But he did not do that.
He elongated the torture, showing the pair the true meaning of agony. And by the look of it, he wasn't even done with them just yet, merely momentarily pausing their suffering.
However…
*Throb!* *Throb!*
Instead of feeling anything negative, the blonde assassin's eyes turned into fervent hearts, reflecting the bright glow of his furious eyes. Her chest heaved, with her pulse now becoming that of a hammering drum of sheer, ecstatic joy and excitement.
They say meeting your heroes is a recipe for disappointment... But the girl begged to differ.
Her sky-high expectations, her unrealistic dreamy imagination of the man…
She realized that they did not do him justice.
He was so much more than she ever dared to hope.