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"Big brother..." Jin Luosha's eyes reddened instantly as she gazed at the man closest to her, now so haggard. But before she could speak further, Chen Xuanfeng stopped her.

"Don’t worry, I’m fine." Chen Xuanfeng shook his head and cut straight to the point. "Any progress? Since four days ago, you, the King of the Undead, Dongye, and You Li Jia haven’t proposed any plans. It’s been those ragtag mages running around in chaos. Now that both of you have come together, do you have results?"

"Well..." Jin Luosha hesitated.

Chen Xuanfeng looked up at the King of the Undead.

The great Lich exhaled two icy wisps of mist and cackled, "Kekeke... The little girl doesn’t dare say it, so I’ll speak. My Lord, if we proceed with our proposed method, your wife has a thirty percent chance of recovery. However, the cost is a ninety percent chance your child will die."

"Oh? Explain." Chen Xuanfeng’s voice remained steady, but his gaze turned razor-sharp instantly.

"Kekeke, the crux of this method lies in your unborn child." The King of the Undead rasped. "Due to the rarity of female Saint Masters, there has never been a case of a pregnant Sword Saint, let alone one severely wounded at such a critical moment. Thus, no one has ever considered—what state is the child in when a female Saint Master is pregnant? Is it connected to the mother, infused with the energy of the Astral Sea, in the state of a Saint Master? Or is it in the form of an ordinary human?"

"And your conclusion now, My Lord?"

"I don’t know whether to call it fortunate or unfortunate... This child is in the state of an ordinary human. And that, precisely, gives us a possibility for treatment." The King of the Undead seemed about to let out another eerie laugh, but when he met Chen Xuanfeng’s blade-like gaze, he choked slightly before continuing. "My Lord, you know the only method in the entire world capable of healing a Saint Master’s injuries is a 'substitute'—using a willing vessel to transfer the wounds of a Saint Master. The 'Soul Transfer Curse' of the Moonlight Tower and the 'Sacred Spirit Sacrifice' of the Holy Temple both operate on this principle."

"But these secret arts require a vessel of equal or greater power, or they cannot bear the wounds of a strong warrior. Moreover, the vessel must be willing. Even if Samantha and the Dragon Saint were still alive, neither would sacrifice themselves to save Catherine," Chen Xuanfeng said coldly.

The King of the Undead shook his head at Chen Xuanfeng’s rebuttal. "Of course, I’m not suggesting that method. But don’t forget, besides using humans as vessels, there’s another scenario—using a sacrifice with identical life and soul traits as the recipient. The most famous example is the 'Lotus Substitute,' the special ability of the 'Ten Realms Crimson Lotus Sword,' isn’t it?"

At this point, Chen Xuanfeng vaguely grasped his intention. "You’re saying to use the child as a sacrifice to bear Catherine’s wounds?"

The King of the Undead nodded. "Precisely."

Chen Xuanfeng frowned. "No. Leaving aside whether the child’s life and soul align with Catherine’s, even if they do, how much damage can its unborn, fragile body bear? The 'Crimson Lotus Sword' already has the soul of a Flame Giant as its core, yet it still takes months to absorb the wielder’s power to form a substitute. That’s not something an ordinary life can endure. Otherwise, given that Saint Masters’ offspring aren’t rare, why has no one ever considered this method?"

"Kekeke, the key lies in the fact that it’s 'unborn.' Once born, mother and child separate—no matter how close, they become two distinct individuals. But remember, before birth, mother and child are connected by blood. They can be considered two people, yet also one. It’s like certain conjoined twins—because they share many body parts, they can serve as substitutes." The King of the Undead twirled a finger bone before continuing. "As for the issue of bearing capacity, there’s no need to worry. Exactly because the fetus can be considered part of the mother’s body, we don’t need to transfer all the wounds at once like the 'Lotus Substitute.' Our plan is to transfer small portions of the injuries bit by bit. Then, since the fetus isn’t a Saint Master, our Holy Maiden can heal those portions before we transfer more, repeating the process until the mother’s body can recover on its own."

"So, the success rate you mentioned accounts for the risks both mother and child face during this process?"

"Exactly. After all, both pregnant women and fetuses are extremely delicate. Though beastman fetuses are more resilient than other races’, enduring cycles of 'critical injury—healing—critical injury' repeatedly makes the chance of both dying far greater than survival. Even with your power sustaining the mother and the fetus receiving greater resurrection spells, combining all techniques only gives a thirty percent success rate. And the fetus, enduring injuries repeatedly, has less than a ten percent chance of survival."

"Thus, My Lord, the decision to proceed with this method rests with you." The King of the Undead concluded gravely. "The fetus is already formed—it could survive if delivered now. But doing so would doom the mother. Which to sacrifice, what risks to take—only you, My Lord, can decide."

...Me, to decide?...

Chen Xuanfeng’s countenance remained impassive, but his thoughts were in turmoil.

...If it were my teacher making this choice now, what would he do?...

...No matter how I think about it, his decision would surely be the same as mine now...

"There’s nothing to consider. As Catherine said when facing the Dragon Saint, no matter how hopeless the future seems, she—and our child—will survive."

As Chen Xuanfeng made his decision, thousands of kilometers to the west on the Isle of Undead, another handsome, white-haired powerhouse also faced a difficult choice.

That "man" was none other than the Undead General, hailed as the "Black Eagle"—Griffith.

"Cough cough..." The Undead General, renowned for his angelic, flawless appearance, now sat unceremoniously on the ground, streaked with dust, his armor shattered—a far cry from his usual immaculate appearance.