I Got Reincarnated As The Ntr Protagonist In An Online Game-Chapter 48: Merlin

Zyrith’s grin widened, her excitement palpable. "Good. I’d be disappointed if you did."

Zyrith rushes towards Helen and attacks her with her flaming sword, her strikes coming faster and harder. Helen struggled to keep up, her parries becoming slower and less precise as the battle wore on. Zyrith’s blade grazed her again, this time across her thigh, and Helen cried out as she fell to one knee.

"You’re slipping," Zyrith said, her tone almost pitying. "Is this really all you’ve got?"

Helen gripped her sword tightly, using it to push herself back to her feet. Blood trickled from her wounds, and her uniform was torn and scorched in multiple places. Her breaths were shallow, her body screaming in protest, but she refused to fall.

With a determined cry, Helen charged again, her movements fueled by sheer willpower. She aimed for Zyrith’s heart, her blade cutting through the air with deadly intent. But Zyrith sidestepped with ease, her fiery sword slashing across Helen’s side in retaliation.

Helen stumbled, her hand instinctively going to the fresh wound. The burn was agonizing, but she refused to let it slow her down. She turned to face Zyrith, her vision blurring slightly as exhaustion began to take hold.

"You’re persistent," Zyrith said, a hint of respect in her voice. "But persistence alone won’t save you."

Helen didn’t reply. She steadied her breathing, tightening her grip on her sword. She knew she was running out of strength, but she couldn’t afford to stop now.

Both helen and zyrith clashed again, their blades meeting in a shower of sparks. Zyrith’s attacks were faster, more aggressive, forcing Helen to retreat with every strike. The fire mage’s grin grew wider, her confidence surging as she took control of the fight.

"You’re done," Zyrith said, her voice cold and final.

Helen gritted her teeth, channeling every ounce of her remaining strength into one final attack. She swung her blade in a wide arc, aiming to end the fight in one decisive blow. But Zyrith was ready.

With a burst of flame, Zyrith’s sword intercepted Helen’s strike, shattering the steel and sending Helen flying backward. She hit the ground hard, her body skidding across the floor until she came to a stop near the far wall.

Helen lay there, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Her body was battered and broken, her burns and wounds throbbing with pain. She tried to move, but her limbs refused to obey.

Zyrith approached slowly, her fiery sword glowing menacingly in her hand. She stopped a few feet away, looking down at Helen with a mix of admiration and disappointment.

"You’re something else," Zyrith said, her voice softer now. "It’s been a long time since anyone pushed me this far. You should be proud."

Helen managed a weak glare, her fingers twitching as she tried to reach for her broken sword.

Zyrith chuckled, shaking her head. "Still fighting, even now? I admire your spirit. It’s almost a shame to kill you."

She raised her sword, the flames dancing along its edge. "But this is the end."

Helen closed her eyes, bracing herself for the final blow.

But before Zyrith could strike, a sudden gust of wind tore through the room. The front door exploded inward with a deafening crash, and the force of the wind sent Zyrith flying, her body slamming into the wall with a loud thud.

Helen’s eyes fluttered open, her blurred vision focusing on the swirling winds that now filled the room. A figure stood in the doorway, their silhouette framed by the chaos, and Helen felt a flicker of hope as the battle was interrupted by the unexpected arrival.

When the figure stepped through the shattered doorway, the dim light revealed their features. It was Helen’s master, Eira . frёewebnoѵēl.com

She wore a battle-worn but sturdy set of armor, her crimson cape swaying slightly in the wind that still lingered in the room. Her sword, sleek and glowing faintly with a magical aura, rested casually on her shoulder as though it were weightless.

Helen’s chest swelled with relief as tears welled in her eyes. "Master..." she whispered, her voice weak from exhaustion and pain. Despite the overwhelming relief of seeing her mentor, her thoughts were consumed by Junior. She tried to push herself up, her body trembling with the effort, but it was futile—her injuries left her immobile. Desperation clawed at her as she looked up at her master.

"Master," Helen pleaded, her voice cracking, "please... go and help the prince in the other room! He’s facing another demon."

Before her master could respond, a violent explosion of rock and debris erupted from the corner of the room. Zyrith emerged from the rubble, her fiery aura blazing brighter than ever. She dusted off her tattered cloak with an air of nonchalance, though her eyes burned with fury.

"Pretty uncivilized," Zyrith sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Interrupting a one-on-one duel like that. Where’s your honor?"

Eira didn’t flinch at the accusation. Instead, she fixed Zyrith with an icy glare, lowering her sword to point directly at the fire mage. "You’re the last person to speak of honor," she said coldly. "A traitor who betrayed her own kind has no right to such words."

Zyrith’s lips curled into a sadistic grin. "Traitor? I prefer the term ’liberator.’ And since you’re so keen on meddling, I’m going to enjoy slicing that sanctimonious neck of yours."

Helen’s master returned the grin, though hers was far more restrained, a cold smirk that promised retribution. "I’d love to see you try," she said, taking a step forward.

"Master, please!" Helen cried out, her voice filled with anguish. "The prince... you have to save him!"

Both Eira and zyrith locked eyes, their tension building as if the room itself was holding its breath. Zyrith’s grin widened, and Helen’s master tilted her head slightly, ready to strike. But before they could clash, another voice echoed through the room, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Why don’t I handle this?"

The voice was calm yet commanding, carrying an unmistakable weight of authority. A figure stepped through the broken doorway, his entrance marked by an otherworldly stillness. As he entered, it became apparent he wasn’t walking—he was levitating a few inches off the ground, his movements smooth and almost ethereal.