Heading to Hell

Clang! Clang! The clash of blades rang out again and again. Across the sandy beach of Dragon Tomb Island, marks of fierce battle were everywhere. Wherever purple flames swept past, sand and stone were reduced to ash; wherever hellfire splattered, it burned perpetually, unable to be extinguished even by seawater. Gareth stood rooted in place, fending off Melina's attacks one after another. This asymmetrical clash had gone on for half an hour, yet Gareth's legs had not budged an inch. Melina, by contrast, charged forward time after time, only to end up with broken bones and snapped tendons from each collision. A Death Knight's body was remarkably tough, but even that could not withstand such suicidal charges. Fortunately, the Rose of Decay was present. Her greatest specialty was crafting undead bodies; back then, with a mere flick of a finger, she had restored Anbaixiu to a complete body when only his head remained. Melina's body had been crafted entirely by the Rose of Decay in the first place, so repairing it was hardly difficult. It was Gareth who had it rough—he had to exercise extreme control over his strength to avoid accidentally killing this little niece of his. Melina's strength was by no means negligible either. Gareth couldn't always judge his power perfectly, and every slight slip-up earned him a vicious glare from Canggu. I can't let this go on, or I'll be sleeping on the beach alone tonight. Gareth helplessly tossed aside the long saber in his hand and thrust out an open palm, halting Melina's charge. Melina paused, asking in confusion, "Mr. Gareth, what's wrong? Did I pass?" Gareth wagged a finger and said, "It's not that simple. But charging recklessly like this is completely pointless. Your strength isn't lacking, but your combat technique is utterly chaotic." "Chaotic?" Melina didn't understand what Gareth meant and could only stand there blankly. "Your combat techniques are all instinct. I imagine Rose deliberately left behind so-called 'muscle memory' from the raw materials when she created your body. This reckless style is typical of orcs. But orcs have the ability to go berserk; that self-destructive manner of attacking works to kindle their blood rage, whereas for you it's purely a drawback..." In just a few sentences, Gareth pinpointed the crux of Melina's problem. "The undead have an undead way of fighting. Mimicking an orc will only keep you from bringing out your true capabilities. Watch closely." Gareth hooked his toe, flipping the long saber upward and catching it in his grasp. Gareth swung the blade through the empty air. The trajectory of this strike twisted in a bizarre, skeletal manner, yet Melina recognized at a glance that it was the exact same technique she had just used. It looked similar, yet Melina noticed Gareth's slash was noticeably faster—a difference visible even to the naked eye. Melina asked in surprise, "Why? It looks like you used about the same amount of strength as I did." "An undead's body is very unique. The points where we generate force aren't just muscles and fascia. Feel your own arm. Do you really think you're built the same as a human? Even the shape of your bones is different! The power driving our bodies is dark magic. Your muscles and bones provide only a portion of your strength, but more often than not, they actually restrict your power. You need to master your own body completely and master the combat techniques meant for the undead." In other matters, Gareth might not have had much between his ears, but when it came to combat, he was undeniably the best teacher. Under Gareth's guidance, Melina went so far as to slice open the skin of her own arm, carefully observing the internal changes each time force was exerted. Though the undead felt no pain, such training was horrifying in its own right. Melina was treated like a cadaver awaiting dissection. Her limbs were disassembled and reassembled again and again; Gareth even had the Rose of Decay reconfigure them on the spot. After an entire night of this torment, Melina had, in the most literal sense, shed her old mortal coil and been reborn. When she picked up her longsword once more and launched an attack at Gareth, he could no longer fight while casually tossing out pointers as before. The Headless Horseman had to focus all his attention on dealing with her. For Melina had deployed her antimagic barrier. Gareth's dark magic was suppressed, narrowing the sheer gap in raw power between them, so that he no longer held an overwhelming advantage. From that point on, it became a contest of pure skill. Undead close-quarters combat was twisted beyond ordinary imagination. Gareth's arms could turn as supple as whips at will, slashing his saber at impossible angles. Every time he snapped the blade forward, it cracked like a whip, reversing into a whirling back-cut at speeds that broke the sound barrier. Under this onslaught, Melina could only learn as she fought, figuring out how to turn every part of her body into a weapon. Undead ignored pain and, in most cases, possessed no vital points; thus, they ought to fight with zero constraints. It looked as if two figures made of dough were madly undulating in battle. Many of their maneuvers could no longer be called proper martial moves—they were contortions beyond imagination. This time, Melina held out for a full twenty minutes before finally being whipped away by the far more supple Gareth. Wounds covered her body, and Melina once again experienced the sensation of ripped flesh and split skin. Yet it mattered not—it was merely the equivalent of death by a thousand cuts. Melina struggled to her feet, preparing to press the attack, but the completely unscathed Gareth wagged his finger once more. "That's enough for today. What you should do now is rest. Forget the specific moves, but engrave the feeling of the battle into your mind. In a fight against truly formidable opponents, you have no time to think. So trust your instincts, hone your instincts—that is the only way to become stronger." His instruction finished, Gareth sheathed his saber and hurried over to the grim-faced Canggu, hurriedly explaining, "Look, I'm teaching in earnest here! Melina is an exceptionally talented kid, and teaching properly takes a hard heart. I swear I'm not hurting her on purpose..." Melina hadn't expected Gareth, who had just seemed as mighty as a deity, to turn around and behave just like a bullied, henpecked husband. Melina didn't care about such adult affairs, however. She quickly had the Rose of Decay help repair her body, then began carefully recalling and reflecting on the battle just now. This brutal training lasted for nearly half a month. Only when the beach of Dragon Tomb Island was littered with Melina's shed flesh and blood did Gareth finally nod to the Rose of Decay. "That should do it. As long as she stays vigilant, entering Hell to deliver the message shouldn't be much of a problem." Wiping the blood from her face, Melina looked excitedly toward the Rose of Decay. "Mother, we had an agreement." The Rose of Decay sighed and said helplessly, "All right. Rest first. Once your wounds have healed, you can head to Hell." "Wonderful!" A bright smile spread across Melina's face. Finally, she could venture into Hell to find her father. The Rose of Decay sighed as she meticulously repaired Melina's damaged body. Fortunately, Canggu had not been stingy with all sorts of precious materials either, even bringing out a pile of dragon bones to reinforce Melina's frame. Dragon bones were the finest of materials, which was also one of the reasons Melina had grown so much stronger in such a short time—not because Gareth had intentionally gone easy on her out of fear of his wife. Once Melina's wounds were healed, she donned a full set of equipment under the watchful eye of the Rose of Decay. She was equipped with magic armor reforged by the finest craftsmen of the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn, the artifact longsword blessed by Zariel, and all manner of miscellaneous magic scrolls. Only after ensuring every preparation had been made did the Rose of Decay watch as Melina summoned the Gate of Hell and plunged headlong into that blazing, resplendent gateway. The Rose of Decay clenched her fists and murmured softly, "Melina, you must return safely... You must find your father."