Both Boudica and Geralt leaned towards offense, their support abilities lackluster.
Facing the enemy, Boudica and Geralt fought desperately. However, with only two of them against the seemingly endless Heretics erging from the darkness, their efforts were strained.
The Heretics drew closer, ever closer. Boudica and Geralt had to protect Lance on the ground, preventing them from effectively dodging the surrounding enemies.
How can we stop them now?
"Back off! You filthy blasphers!"
Junia’s power wasn’t limited to her Divine Arts. In this instance, the enemies were too close, leaving her no ti to cast. She had to swing her spiked hamr, intercepting the Heretics surging from all directions.
Each swing of the hamr sent its spikes viciously piercing enemy flesh, tearing through muscle with the force of the impact.
A blow to the head, even for Heretics strengthened by the Flesh Rite, was unbearable, sending them crumpling to the ground.
While her companions fought desperately to provide cover, one Heretic seized an opportunity. He completely ignored the gaping wound on his waist, from which his kidney threatened to spill.
The fanatical believer, ignoring his grievous injury, lunged towards Lance on the ground. His black iron-forged claw weapon was poised to strike down at Lance’s head.
If he succeeded, Lance’s brain would be pulped. Even his non-human physique couldn’t withstand such an injury. Simply put, it ant absolute death.
But just at that mont, a hand shot out and directly grabbed one of the iron claws.
The Heretic was slightly taken aback; this was one of the Lord’s kin, summoned by the Saintess—a force no human could resist.
Clearly, he didn’t understand how this man could still be alive after being struck by one of the divine kin, let alone move.
But he knew he absolutely could not let Lance stand up again.
His other clawed hand thrust forward, but it too was caught before Lance even lifted his head.
He captured my attack without even looking?
Realizing this, the Heretic instantly felt a suffocating sensation, as if it weren’t his weapon but his very heart that Lance had gripped.
"Very good... very good..." Lance used the Heretic’s arm for leverage, slowly pushing himself up, step by step, as if the cultist were helping him to his feet.
The Heretic wanted to struggle, but an irresistible force rendered his body completely unresponsive, like a puppet manipulated at will.
He had undergone the Flesh Rite more than ten tis! Although they were group blessings, his strength far surpassed that of ordinary n; even among the faithful, he was outstanding.
If he completed this mission and returned, he would be qualified to receive a ’Seed.’
Yet now, he had absolutely no power to resist. This...
The shock reality presented to him, however, went far beyond that.
Then, Lance slowly raised his head. His face was a ruin of grotesque wounds, with corrosive marks that had nearly dissolved one side of it.
But right before the Heretic’s eyes, flesh writhed. Filth and blood were expelled as the wounds healed. Even the ruptured eyeball, its eyelid gone, regenerated in monts, its pupil refocusing.
Such lethal injuries, healed in re seconds.
He had only ever witnessed such regenerative ability in Deacons who possessed a Seed.
Doubt filled his mind, warped by the ritual.
Why does this enemy also have such an ability?
Could it be...
Unfortunately for the Heretic, no one would answer his unspoken questions. Lance had fully recovered, and soone was about to bear the brunt of his wrath.
He was, unluckily, the first.
A silent Lance was the most terrifying Lance; it ant he had no intention of giving his enemies any chance whatsoever.
Lance kicked him squarely in the abdon. The Heretic’s hands were still clamped around the peculiar claw weapon. Since Lance gripped the weapon, he also controlled the Heretic’s arms. This forced the man to absorb the full impact, his lower body flying into the air.
Two crisp snaps echoed, followed by the sound of tearing fabric. The bones in the Heretic’s arms, from wrist to shoulder, had been wrenched from their sockets. Only shredded muscle now connected them.
His fingers slipped from the weapon, but their twisted state and the oozing blood showed the damage was severe.
Only five or six seconds had passed between Lance grabbing the weapon and standing up. With everyone else still fighting and the dim lighting, no one had seen the rapid healing of his facial wounds.
But this was no ti for reflection. Lance charged the oncoming Heretics. He raised a hand, and the Giant Slayer materialized out of thin air before he launched a devastating slash.
Bolstered by his terrifying strength, the Giant Slayer cleanly bisected one Heretic at the waist. A swift backhand slash then cleaved another from head to toe.
Even the Heretics felt true despair at such a frenzied scene!
Why could soone survive an attack from the Lord’s kin?
And he doesn’t seem to have suffered much damage. Is he really human?
But their only answer was the whistling approach of the Giant Slayer...
「Hamlet, the sanatorium.」
By now, Amanda had donned her equipnt, adorned with various flashy ornants that must have weighed a good two pounds.
Lance hadn’t lied to her; not a single item in the storage ring had been touched.
With her belongings back, few places could hold her.
Seekers of Ons originated from the Romani. These world wanderers’ strongest trait wasn’t prophecy or divination, but their knack for escape.
Take Tamara, for example. She had offended countless people yet lived to this day. If not for an internal pursuit by the Romani themselves, she wouldn’t have been cornered here.
She didn’t even need a key to leave her cell. Strangely, she hadn’t departed, even though she knew Lance’s absence wasn’t a test.
She found herself in a peculiar situation, constantly fiddling with a set of black and gold cards that lay face down before her.
Concentrating intently, she flipped the cards over one by one. The dissatisfaction on her face, however, showed she wasn’t pleased. When the final card was turned, Amanda slamd her hand on the bed, her entire deanor deflating.
Failed again...
She discovered that whenever she attempted a divination concerning that Lord, the results were always different. So outcos were even polar opposites, showing a stark divergence.
Divining the sa matter might first indicate great fortune and no danger, but the very next attempt could foretell extre peril, her life hanging by a thread, or even certain death.
Using tools for such divinations is common in the Supernormal Realm, as it places the least strain on the caster. The results are typically more cryptic, relying heavily on the interpreter’s skill—this is where true ability shows.
But such drastically polarized errors were unheard of, as if the subject existed in a quantum superposition of life and death.
This was highly unusual; at least, it was the first ti she had encountered such a thing. It felt as if everything about the man was concealed, shrouded in a mysterious mist.
Amanda looked up through the small, iron-barred window at the night sky, which was obscured by dark clouds. She couldn’t even use astrology if she wanted to.
Could I really be wrong?
At tis, she fell into self-doubt. She could only wait until she got out tomorrow to learn more...
The battle had effectively ended the mont Lance awakened. The remaining Heretics hadn’t fought to the death; instead, they retreated as soon as they sensed the tide turning against them.
This was uncharacteristic, not matching their usual fight-to-the-death fanaticism.
This implied there was a significant figure among the assailants, soone capable of commanding them.
Unfortunately, their retreat was too clean. They sacrificed the slowest among them to cover their escape and dispersed into the dense, dark wilderness. Pursuit at night would be exceedingly difficult.
Having just suffered a significant setback, Lance didn’t dare pursue them as recklessly as before.
Just then, a faint rustle emanated from the dark forest. A pair of glowing eyes appeared, instantly putting everyone, who had just begun to relax, back on high alert.
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