While My Mage Wife Grinds, I Power Up Idly
Chapter 117: What If I Win?

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: What If I Win?

Ashu watched them through his Reaper’s Eye as the Reaper’s claw marks began to climb upward.

At that moment,

he saw a claw mark at a strange angle also climbing—but this one was affixed to his own flesh!

"Oh no!"

Ashu had long mastered the true use of the Reaper’s Eye: sensing life was merely its basic function; its real power lay in foreseeing Death.

Which move would work, which would fail—he could tell at a glance.

And now, he saw "Death" marked upon himself.

At this critical moment, he followed the direction of the threat with his gaze and realized that it was the ten Grand Archmages within the army who had combined their efforts to launch a surprise attack.

They hadn’t stepped forward to protect their comrades in such a battle; instead, they lurked among the ranks, using their allies’ lives as bait to buy time and brew their ultimate strike.

At this moment.

The gigantic energy orb formed from Magical Essence had already been unleashed with tremendous speed—far too fast to evade.

"I see..."

Ashu remained exceptionally calm; everything around him seemed to slow down. In that case, he had no choice but to employ the "Kiss of the Reaper."

When the colossal energy orb collided with Ashu’s body, a violent explosion rang out outside Rose Valley.

The blast’s aftershock instantly obliterated the flower fields within a hundred meters, and even damaged the town’s walls.

"Hmph, you damned cultist, consorting with Demons—die!"

"This is the price for harming our soldiers—pay with your life!"

"Is that all? Move out, we’ll go to Lord Lawrence’s aid!"

"Army, heed my command: continue the assault and crush the Demons!"

The ten leaders formally commanded the troops, intending to storm Rose Valley in one decisive push.

Just then.

A shadow of Reaper power congealed behind one of them, taking humanoid form. Wielding an ethereal scythe, it struck upward in a reverse grip.

That blow instantly pierced one man’s spine, exiting through his chest!

"Ugh—!!"

One of the ten Grand Archmages died on the spot.

In such a situation, no ordinary talent could be saved—let alone their entire Monk squad, which had already been wiped out.

"How?! Damn it! He’s not dead!"

"Counterattack—now!"

"Defend—form a shield!"

"Stay alert! For fuck’s sake, how is he still alive?!"

The combined strike of these ten was the product of long-term military coordination—an attack that never failed.

Even foes stronger than all ten of them wouldn’t dare take such a hit head-on.

Besides, it had been a rear assault on Ashu—how could it not be fatal?

The remaining nine couldn’t wrap their minds around it.

In truth, Ashu himself always marveled at the insidiousness of a Reaper Devotee’s techniques—this move was so slyly executed that even he admitted it.

After the strike, he once more ascended into the sky. This time, he kept a wary eye on the remaining nine, for Kiss of the Reaper had a cooldown and couldn’t be used consecutively.

Moreover, in a battle of equals, using Kiss of the Reaper once made it unlikely to be effective again.

They would certainly guard against it—and even if they witnessed Ashu’s apparent demise, they’d remain vigilant of an attack from behind.

That phantom was not unstoppable; if it were blocked, the move would fizzle out.

"You damned cultist—haven’t you any shred of conscience? Consorting with Demons and betraying your fellow humans!" yelled a soldier below.

Ashu had no desire to respond.

Had he not drawn on demonic power, he would have been cut down by those so-called brethren in an instant.

Meanwhile.

Within Rose Valley, a Demon of Grand Archmage rank charged out.

Ashu glanced sideways and saw that it was one of Shava’s four inner-circle patrol members, clad head to toe in blood-red armor and bearing the head of a bear.

He remembered Antikythera mentioning this guy—something like Bloodbell.

"Buddy, I’ve got your back!" Bloodbell roared.

Ashu curled his lips. "You’re not worried Shava’s gonna eat you, are you?"

There were four inner-circle patrol members in total; Shava had already devoured two, leaving only him and one other.

Seeing the fierce standoff between Shava and the Sword King, it was only natural that they were terrified.

"What are you talking about? I’d give my life to Lord Shava anytime... But, before that, I’m gonna do everything I can to off these human trash!" Bloodbell snapped stubbornly.

After all, having a Reaper Devotee aiding them was an unexpected boon, but he was still an outsider.

He couldn’t go overboard, or Shava would settle the score with him once the battle was won.

Once Bloodbell finished speaking, he couldn’t wait and launched his assault.

Crimson lightning suddenly crackled around him as he charged towards the Imperial Capital forces.

Ashu didn’t rush to provide backup—not only because he was waiting for the Kiss of the Reaper’s cooldown, but because he wanted to play the opportunist in the friction between them.

Now that the demon army’s might had arrived, there was no need for him to exert himself.

Letting both sides stalemate and burn time was exactly the outcome he wanted to see.

...

Meanwhile.

Inside the Imperial Capital.

The royal palace.

A messenger rode in on a gust of wind, swiftly entering the bright, magnificent palace.

Inside the palace, a young crown prince was studying a scroll in his hand.

"Your Highness Wilson, the troops dispatched to Rose Valley have been intercepted, and Sword King Lawrence is locked in a brutal battle with the demon leader."

"Brutal battle?"

Wilson Atras set down the scroll; the flash of dominance on his young, handsome face made the messenger’s legs tremble.

He continued, "I sent him to swiftly quell a mere demon uprising, and he falls into a brutal battle? Who gave him the nerve to delay and squander time?"

"Your Highness!" the messenger hurried to explain, "It’s not that Sword King Lawrence intended to stall—it’s just that... he’s at a disadvantage, continuously pressed by the demon leader."

"What?!"

Though quiet in volume, Wilson Atras’s question carried such force that the messenger buried his head, pressing his face to the floor in silence.

"Lawrence often tells me he is the strongest Sword King," Wilson Atras said as he rose and walked to the window, gazing at the palace gardens. "I’ve always trusted him—every month I send funds to his family, and I even arranged treatment for his ailing sister. I’m sure he will repay me."

At this, the messenger seemed to grasp the situation and swiftly took his leave: "Yes, Your Highness. I will withdraw."

"Go."

The messenger didn’t know how he’d exited the palace; when he came to, he was on the main avenue, his clothes soaked through with cold sweat.

He dared not waste a single moment. He immediately unleashed the Messenger’s signature teleportation magic and sped toward Rose Valley.

In less time than it takes for an incense stick to burn,

the Messenger arrived outside Rose Valley’s walls.

He looked up at the Sword King still battling the demon in the sky, hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself and called out loudly, "Lord Lawrence, His Highness knows you’ve done all you can. He says he trusts you—you will repay him!"

Though meant as encouragement from behind the lines, the words sent a jolt through the Sword King’s frame.

If the messenger’s message had been criticism, a reprimand, even the prince’s wrath, he could have accepted it and explained later—

at worst, suffered a demotion or a pay cut.

But this inexplicable show of support made the Sword King’s eyes narrow with fury.

He clenched his teeth, veins bulging on his bare, sweat-slicked torso.

"Oh? Human, what’s the matter? Isn’t the king you serve cheering you on?" Shava asked with a mocking laugh. As a demon—the embodiment of evil—he naturally understood the deeper meaning of the words.

At that,

the Sword King’s chest heaved and his breathing grew ragged.

He knew all too well the methods of the crown prince, for he had served as his executioner—slaughtering innocent families on his orders.

His own family background had been humble.

His parents died early, and his sister had raised him alone. Years of hard labor had left her gravely ill—an ailment no ordinary physician could cure.

Until he met His Highness the Crown Prince—Wilson Atras.

Prince Wilson had sent for his sister’s treatment and granted him a respectable position, so that both siblings could hold their heads high, even if they returned home.

Now, it was time to repay that debt.

If he failed to achieve the results Wilson demanded, the massacres he once carried out would be laid at his sister’s feet.

"Whoosh—"

Suddenly,

rain began to fall.

Two lines of bloody tears slipped from Sword King Lawrence’s eyes, only to be washed away by the downpour.

Shava jeered, "Human, if you cry uncle, beg for mercy, maybe I’ll take pity and spare you—perhaps even grant you some demon blood so you can be reborn, ascend to new heights!"

The Sword King said nothing.

He no longer had the right to reproach the demon before him, for he had served the "Demons."

He had raised the executioner’s blade for them countless times; today, it was his turn.

After this battle, if the demon did not die, he would—and his sister might too.

He wanted to run, but he knew that the moment the Imperial Capital realized he’d left the battlefield, they’d report it to the crown prince.

By then, he wouldn’t have time to save his sister before she was butchered.

The only path left to him was to stake everything on this day, seize any chance to slay the demon.

What if he won?

If he triumphed, he would remain the prince’s favored champion, honored and empowered—and his sister would continue to enjoy wealth and prestige.