The Elder’s gaze was filled with surprise; he hadn’t expected that under such overwhelming power, soone would still dare to rebel against him. What was even more unexpected to the Elder was that Bologue’s target was not him, but the Blood of the Regent King.
Bologue saw through the Elder’s assertiveness. The Elder was nothing more than another Night King, another Serey Villeries, just another coward afraid of death.
Whether assisting the Night Race or stealing the "Dawn Oath," all of the Elder’s actions were to survive, to obtain the Blood of the Regent King, and thus beco a noble mber of the Night Race.
Bologue didn’t have many friends, but for those few he had, he cared a great deal. At the sa ti, Bologue was soone who held grudges, and those he hated rarely t with good ends.
If the Elder desired to live on, then Bologue was determined to bring an end to all of it.
For this particular raid, the Iron Spear was almost entirely composed of Red rcury. Driven by Ethereal Amplification, the Iron Spear reached its maximum speed, piercing through the gale with a thunderous roar, igniting into a firestorm capable of lting through tal.
The roaring flas approached Derby, and at this mont, a surviving Elite Bloodthirster leaped forward, attempting to halt the advance of the firestorm, but soon the firestorm exploded again, spreading into a torrential rain of flas.
Owing to professional competence, Bologue opted for a wide-range attack to ensure the explosion would be enough to destroy the Blood of the Regent King.
Firelight rged together like a collapsing wall of fla. Even though the Elite Bloodthirsters used their bodies as shields, blocking a large portion of the flas, many fires still surged like tidal waves, threatening to engulf Derby in an instant.
Derby clutched the Blood of the Regent King, guarding it beneath his chest. Even with severe wounds, he was determined to ensure the safety of the Blood of the Regent King, for it was his only bargaining chip to reverse the situation.
Derby shouted, "Are you just going to stand by and do nothing?!"
The next mont, a fierce wind descended, roaring around Derby, stalling the advancing firestorm montarily in the gales, then a stronger hurricane swept past, blowing the flas off in another direction. The high-speed air currents escaping rapidly created a vacuum in the local area.
The firestorm unleashed with all of Bologue’s might was easily dispelled by the Elder, and this was not the end.
Ether swirled around Bologue, and before he could land, blood reddened Bologue’s vision, and then the chaotic noise filled his ears.
Like innurable spirits encircling Bologue, they let out shrill, high-pitched screams, and eventually the decibels broke the threshold, shattering Bologue’s hearing.
The world fell into silence.
A shallow blood mark surfaced on Bologue’s body, quickly enlarging, extending, and penetrating his flesh. The ghastly and terrifying wound spread instantly, the profusion of injuries covering his body almost tore Bologue into a pool of flesh.
He crashed heavily onto the ground, the oppressive wind pressure pinned Bologue tightly, squeezing his body, large amounts of blood oozed from his wounds, and in no ti, a pool of blood had ford beneath him.
"Don’t hold back, he is just like , an Undying."
Amidst the extinguished flas, Derby looked at Bologue with lingering fear. If not for the Elder’s betrayal tonight, Derby truly didn’t know how he would handle Bologue.
Bologue was a formidable opponent, with a professionally rigorous attitude, highly efficient and cold style, treacherous and versatile Secret Energy, and an Undying Body allowing him to rise from defeat countless tis.
Derby hated opponents like this.
In ancient tis, even the most lowly of the Night Race felt a sense of haughty superiority when facing humans.
Yes, humans.
The Night Race, with their acquired Undying Bodies, had long severed ties with humanity. In their worldview, the two were entirely different species: one could die, and the other could not.
The Night Race stubbornly clung to their various noble etiquettes, taking lives from enemies with extre elegance. For them, a life-and-death battle was like a ga—they could die calmly and stand up again, but their enemies had to exert all their strength.
They had only one chance.
Bologue was like an aberrant cell, a distortion that sent the storyline spiraling into chaos. Now another Undying had appeared, and he took the Night Race as his hunting targets.
The balance of life and death was thus broken, even the haughtiest of the Night Race would be dismbered by Bologue, cast into a coffin.
Upon hearing Derby’s words, the Elder increased his power, causing half of Bologue’s body to sink into the ground, blood filled the crevices.
Is this... a Defender?
Bologue whispered in his heart; at this mont he was powerless. In the face of absolute force, Bologue had no choice but to comply.
"Hand over the Blood of the Regent King to ."
Having cleared the battlefield, the Elder resud the previous deal, demanding from Derby.
The backlash of the oath, the aging vessel... nurous negative forces were affecting the Elder, his life could be asured in minutes. He had to complete the Blood Ceremony swiftly to transform himself into a Night Race mber.
Derby hesitated for a mont, but upon seeing the Elder’s actions, along with the "Dawn Oath" in his hand, it was the simplest and most direct pledge of allegiance.
There was no reason to hesitate. If Derby wished to leave alive, the Elder’s power was indispensable.
Derby strode toward the Elder, ready for the Blood Ceremony.
The Elder’s gaze was filled with fervor, fixated on the container in Derby’s hand, where flowed his "new life."
"Blood... blood..."
The fierce wind lifted the Elder’s body, and he floated towards Derby. When there were only a few ters between them, another surge of Ethereal Fluctuation suddenly erupted, and Derby turned around, a shadow shrouding over his head.
Instinctively, Derby retracted his arm, trying to protect the Blood of the Regent King, while the shadow summoned all its strength to deliver a lethal blade strike.
The blade didn’t hit the Blood of the Regent King, but it did sever Derby’s hand, where the Blood of the Regent King was tightly grasped in the severed hand.
The Elder glared at the figure that appeared out of nowhere. Even though he had already dealt with everyone on the battlefield, another character erged at this mont.
The Ether surged, an attack full of anger descended.
Aimou only had ti to cross her arms to protect her chest; in the next second, dense Wind Blades slashed at her body, leaving dents on the tallic shell, followed by a heavy blow that smashed Aimou into the ruins, the wind pressure returned, grinding the randomly protruding ruins into a flat surface.
A small piece of ruins compressed into a block, Aimou was embedded within it, her left arm completely bent downwards, with arcs of electricity flashing ceaselessly.
If Aimou weren’t an Alchemy Puppet, that strike by the Elder would have been enough to kill her.
Aimou managed a weak smile; she succeeded, accomplished the surprise attack, even if she couldn’t destroy the Blood of the Regent King, she had still hindered the Elder.
The severed hand rolled within the ruins, Derby clutched his wound, frantically searching for the severed hand, the Elder also grew anxious, just as he was about to summon the fierce wind, a sudden chilling cold descended upon the Elder’s heart.
This wasn’t a sensory cold, but a chill born of instinctive fear; suddenly, a calm voice reverberated across the battlefield, the voice wasn’t loud, could even be described as sowhat deep, yet it entered everyone’s ears with striking clarity.
"Act One, gun loaded; Act Three, gun fired."
The Elder’s actions halted, the fierce wind dissipating beyond control, his feet reconnecting with the earth; he forcefully leaned on the Scepter, striving not to fall.
"Ha... ha..."
The Elder breathed heavily, the familiar airflow beca incredibly sharp, with every breath, he felt like knives were slicing his lungs, his throat, leaving his internal organs a bloody ss.
Indeed, it was like that.
The Elder clutched his heart, sothing was squeezing his atrium, an unknown entity rapidly expanded, then drawn by another force, rampaged through his body.
Bursting forth.
The Elder saw it, a blood-stained bullet head erged from his heart, then exited his body, leaving.
Even more bizarre was the bullet’s trajectory, resembling ti flowing backwards, the bullet head spiraling towards him but continuously retreating until it returned to the barrel.
On the other end of the ruins, the long-waiting assassin appeared, Church watched this drama unfold with a blank expression.
Just like his nondescript face, Church was a person whose presence was exceedingly thin; even in this terrifying battlefield, few noticed him.
As the bullet returned to the chamber, Church’s Flintlock Gun underwent a temporal reversal effect too, the flint returned to its starting position, dispersed smoke reconverged, sinking into the darkened muzzle.
Church suddenly felt very drained, as if he had been through an arduous battle, the Ethereal Radiance on his surface completely dimd; this shot had almost consud all his Ether.
The Elder stared dazedly at the gun in Church’s hand; it was the first ti he saw this Alchemy Armant, yet it evoked an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
Many years ago, the Elder saw an Alchemy Armant similar to this one, vaguely rembered, it was known as the "Gun of Destiny," which upon aiming and pulling the trigger, regardless of the enemy’s resistance, the bullet would inevitably hit.
Unlike the Gun of Destiny, well before the trigger was pulled, the Elder had already been hit by Chekov’s Gun; now Church’s arrival was rely to retrieve the bullet, completing the cycle of destiny.
"Just a bit more..."
The Elder murmured, chest wound’s drained blood revealing a radiant heart.
Many years ago, the Elder’s heart had already undergone Etherealization.
Even so...
The Elder’s vision began to darken, he hunched over, spat out more blood, along with his golden mask that fell down, subrged in the bloody water.
Once the Elder’s breath steadied, amidst the blood, he saw a face extraordinarily ugly and hateful.
In an instant, the Elder was terrified, that visage resembling a vile specter.
Then the Elder realized, the specter in the bloody water, was his own reflection.
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