A section of the jagged Armor showed a silver-white hue, so parts were burnt black, while others featured spots similar to baked blue. At the tal’s edges, the tal glowed red-hot, emitting waves of heat.
Derby watched the monster that erged from the flas, fiercely swung the Short Dagger in his hand. The dagger, infused with specialized Soul-Breaking Poison, collided with the red-hot Iron Armor, easily shattering the tal and leaving a deep scar on Bologue’s already bloodied arm.
Breaking free from the bindings, a cloak swirled around Derby’s body, rging into the night, while Bologue unleashed a Great Sword that grew longer and longer, slicing through the darkness in front of him. From the blurred shadows erged a streak of scorching blood, spilling onto the ruins.
Derby’s figure materialized out of thin air, and he fell to the ground in a sorry state, his lowered eyes filled with resentnt and venom. Bologue’s sword had struck his leg.
Predicting Derby’s actions wasn’t difficult for Bologue, yet after delivering that sword strike, he didn’t continue to pursue but stood still, gasping for breath.
No matter how fierce Bologue’s offensive was, how much advantage he had in the battle, it still couldn’t change the Tier disparity.
Derby’s previous offensive left Bologue severely injured. He was only able to endure until now thanks to Aimou’s Ether replenishnt and the continuous self-healing of the Ti Reversing Axis.
The Armor was unbearably hot, and Bologue’s body surface was completely burnt, not to ntion Derby’s Short Dagger had also hit him.
The Soul-Breaking Poison invaded his body through the wound, the intensified pain gnawing at Bologue’s nerves. Anyone else might have fainted from the pain, but Bologue found it just right; he was very good at enduring pain.
Bologue considered this a talent of his; if he wanted, he could ignore the sensation of pain, like a precise machine filtering out useless information.
The Wind-Eroded Birds’ offensive weakened, and they returned to their instincts, scattering attacks everywhere.
Commanding such a large group of Domination Objects required intense ntal concentration. Bologue’s offensive made it difficult for Derby to continue imrsing himself in command, forcing him to give vague orders to these alchemical creatures to keep suppressing the enemy.
The Wind Gun roared continuously, high-pressure airflow propelled fatal Blades, tearing blood lines in the night sky like Armor-piercing Bullets, causing the Wind-Eroded Birds to explode, fire extending and spreading under the darkness.
More Wind Guns burst towards the advancing Zefirin, interfering with her actions. But Zefirin, relying on her agile strides, still managed to fight her way to Bologue’s side.
The Soul Breaker flickered with the glow of Ether. Few knew Zefirin was not adept at using the Chain Saw Scythe, boxing was her most familiar combat thod.
A heavy punch landed, the scorpion tail containing potent poison shot out, the Soul-Breaking Poison rapidly spread and dispersed. The toxic mist touched the Armor, sizzling sounds erged, corroding the tal and the Ether beneath.
Joy flashed in Zefirin’s heart; she accomplished it, just like before, the punch pierced through all defenses, delivering the venom into Bologue’s body. Even if Bologue was an Undead, during his resurrection period, Zefirin could achieve so much.
Bologue turned his head, a corner of the nacing faceplate was shattered, revealing a bloodied face and a pair of cold and ruthless cyan eyes.
Under the Blood Boiling combustion, the air beca scorching and unbearable, yet in this high-temperature environnt, Zefirin felt a winter chill.
Bologue said nothing, but Zefirin read words in his gaze.
"I’ve been waiting for you."
Ethereal Amplification filled Bologue’s body, instantly, the red-hot Armor shattered into a wild dance of snakes, shedding the constraints of armor, Bologue’s movents were as fast as lightning.
This was a trap; Bologue did not intend to pursue, he was waiting for Zefirin.
Under Bologue’s strangulation, the intense heat scorched Derby’s throat, blood blisters appeared in the respiratory tract, engorged with blood, blocking Derby’s throat.
Derby fell into suffocation, awkwardly reaching his hand into his throat, tearing open the blood blisters, spitting out large splashes of fresh blood.
The blood mixed with luminescent liquid, this was part of Derby’s etherealized blood, as it left the body, the etherealized blood began to dissipate and vanish.
Derby struggled for air, raising his head to see Zefirin and Bologue’s counterattack.
This was a trap, Derby realized it was too late to stop this.
Bologue and Zefirin were both Prayer Believers, supported by Aimou, Bologue’s speed was much faster than Zefirin.
Evading the swing of the Soul Breaker, Bologue landed a more powerful punch on Zefirin’s abdon, the blow completely caved in, almost breaking her internal organs.
The scattered burning snakes crawled over Zefirin’s body. Her Soul-Breaking Poison was deadly, but the ti needed to erode the target to complete poisoning wasn’t brief.
The snakes prioritized binding Zefirin’s joints, rendering her immobile, then coiling around her body circle by circle; as they bound, the serpents solidified into hard entities, Zefirin failed to even make a sound before she was covered layer by layer with tal.
Like a tal sculpture cast, Zefirin’s punching motion was forever frozen in this scene.
Bologue raised the extended Blade, swiftly severing Zefirin’s hands, the lethal Soul Breaker fell to the ground, then the Blade chopped without hesitation, dissecting the sculpture into pieces, later reassembled, forming a somber and oppressive Iron Coffin standing on the earth.
Sealed coffin.
Scorching Scale burned, and a raging fire appeared on the Iron Coffin. Bologue turned his back to the fire, his twisted shadow casting down, covering Derby.
With the ascension of his Tier, Bologue noticed many things he had not paid attention to before. Tier doesn’t decide everything, just like Derby before his eyes.
Derby, although a Negative Power User, had beco so pathetic under his frenzied assault.
This doesn’t an Derby is weak; rather, Derby is ill-suited for this battlefield. Derby should be a commander hidden deep within layers of defense, surrounded by many Condensers, commanding the vast army of alchemic creatures, not here, dueling to the death with him.
Bologue asked, "Your offensive looks fierce, but isn’t it true that you are nearing the end of your rope?"
The remaining power of the Night Race is not strong. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have sent Derby deep into enemy lines. There are few High Tier Condensers able to act within the remaining Night Race, prompting this situation.
Derby did not answer. He leaned against the wall, struggling to stand. The blade of Bologue’s sword struck him, laden with silver, the wound was extrely deep. Even with his body etherealized, self-healing was difficult.
Fortunately, Zefirin bought Derby enough ti. He moved his body slightly; except for the unbearable pain, everything else was fine.
Just...
Derby gazed at the grand burning ruins. They were so beautiful. Only a handful of Elite Bloodthirsters remained. Clearly, they could not resist Bologue.
The scattered Bloodthirsters and Wind-Eroded Birds on the battlefield suffered heavy losses under the Clarks’ counterattack. After brief panic, the Clarks had gathered their strength and launched a counteroffensive.
The battle had pushed outward from the Fortress of the Morning Wind, raging on the turbulent coast.
Strangely, the fighting here went unnoticed by any but Bologue and Derby, locked in combat. The Wind-Eroded Birds Derby summoned continued to circle overhead.
The unease in Derby’s heart grew increasingly intense, not just from Bologue’s threat but from the feeling that this operation was dood from the start.
From his chest pocket, he took out a small container, clear and glassy with a flowing, bright red liquid inside, condensed like ruby.
This was the Blood of the Regent King.
Since the Dawn War and the Night King vanished from history, besides the Night King’s direct bloodline, it was the purest Blood of the Night Race.
The hope for the Night Race’s revival.
Bologue stepped down from the ruins. Like Derby, Bologue sensed the abnormality of this event. He felt everything before him was a ticulously crafted trap, yet he didn’t understand whether the trap was ant for him or the Night Race.
"No matter what... no matter what..."
Derby murmured softly, making a certain decision.
The entrance to the Wind Cellar was buried in the ruins. Maybe even the Curved Path Gate collapsed with it. Derby’s actions had failed, yet he still felt unwilling.
Gripping the Blood of the Regent King tightly, just as Derby was about to act, an aged voice spoke.
"Give it... to ..."
The voice was so ancient and weak, like a dead being dug up from a grave, relying on the last breath in its throat to whisper the final words.
At the mont the voice sounded, a massive silence descended on the battlefield. Derby’s pupils shrank to a point, his sclera filled with blood, and Bologue also ceased action, his breathing becoming exceptionally heavy, nearly to the point of holding his breath.
A gentle breeze stirred, sweeping away dust and flas. Extraordinary pressure rose from beneath the ruins, and then as if divine, it pushed aside all obstacles.
This broke from convention and beca the biggest surprise of the battle.
"No... it can’t be."
Palr couldn’t believe the scenes unfolding before his eyes. The hunched and frail figure, leaning on the Golden Scepter, staggered towards Derby.
His pace was unhurried, leisurely, yet every strike of the scepter against the ground caused a Vibration in one’s mind.
The old man was dressed in a scarlet robe, wearing a golden mask. His eyes were fixed only on Derby, or rather on the Blood of the Regent King in Derby’s hand.
With his arrival, the mont for this chaotic battle to reach its conclusion had co.
Witnessing this scene, Bologue felt a slight sadness. He didn’t wish to criticize anything, rely sighed softly.
"Few can refuse the temptation of the Undead."
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