Chapter 534: Chapter 47 Pure Blood
The Clarks’ retaliation was incredibly swift, with endless cries from the wind-eroded birds overhead, as if they were being devoured by an even more ferocious monster. Besides fleeing, their only remaining choice was death.
The black armored soldiers’ assault changed at this moment, they collectively slowed their pace, with Ether converging, forming an Ether barrier to withstand the onslaught of the gusts.
This ethereal storm, with its high concentration of Ether, possessed immense destructive power. Bologue could discern the storm’s trajectory from its aurora-like path, where everything covered by the storm seemed to rapidly weather, wither, and shatter, as if time had been fast-forwarded.
Numerous scratches appeared on the sturdy armor, the marks increasing and overlapping, causing the pitch-black metal to show cracks and gaps, as if invisible insects were gnawing at it, the fissures continuously expanding until turning into dust and scattering with the wind...
The Condenser who launched the attack noticed Bologue’s presence. He didn’t include Bologue within the strike range, but the deadly storm still brushed past Bologue, a gentle breeze across the cheek bringing a prickling pain like needles.
Bologue realized that the Clarks had not remained silent throughout, they were just waiting for the right time to counterattack, and the appearance of several people disrupted their pace.
So, what exactly happened here?
Bologue still couldn’t figure it out; a surging Ether reaction came from above, not among the wind-eroded bird flock, but higher, from the sky above, the end of the storm.
Thunder roared down, striking the sea, like a giant raindrop crashing into the water, stirring ripples in the waves.
Relying on the blinding lightning, Bologue vaguely saw the silhouettes interwoven above the dark clouds, they called to each other amidst the wild winds, battling in the sky like birds in high flight.
Decoy attack.
Bologue realized this issue, the black armored soldiers’ assault was too flamboyant, too deliberate; with the power they had displayed, it was impossible to conquer the Fortress of the Morning Wind.
They never intended to conquer the Fortress of the Morning Wind; it was more like a decoy attack, drawing the Clarks’ forces onto this cliff defensive line.
The Condenser’s individual combat capability was extremely strong, and as their Tier increased, this strength would become even more prominent. Even if there were more black armored soldiers, the pressure they brought was still not as great as the appearance of a Defender.
And then... a Defender appeared.
The booming thunder instantaneously took away Bologue’s hearing, plunging the world into silence, as if someone had pressed a mute button in a disaster movie, and then Bologue saw the lightning surging, bursting amidst the dark clouds.
The shocking Ether intensity struck Bologue’s mind like a Heavy Hammer, exerting immense pressure. If ordinary people were present, they might directly faint from it.
Bologue couldn’t see the other’s figure, but he could clearly sense their presence. Unlike the Third Seat relying on puppets, this was a true Defender.
A Defender arriving on the battlefield in full glory.
Fortunately, Bologue didn’t need to worry about how to deal with the Defender. As Bologue resisted the pressure and looked up to the turbulent lightning above the dark clouds, the Defender’s Ether intensity soared to its peak and then plummeted rapidly, as if the power that had just erupted was merely his life-forfeiting strike.
The thunder gradually receded.
The battle above the sky was like an interlude; after the terrifying power dispersed, the people on the ground resumed their slaughter.
A faint cracking sound came through the chaotic din, and when Bologue shifted his attention back from the sky, he saw that the burning tombstone had already shattered, and the broken limbs were piecing themselves back together.
Bologue found it difficult to describe the grotesque scene, as flesh struggled free from the solidified metal piece by piece, the flames blazing, burning the flesh with a sizzling sound of fat scorching.
Jagged bones were covered with a thin layer of flesh and damaged skin, the burns congealing into hideous blood clots, the viscous liquid dripping incessantly, completely unlike the noble, elegant Night Race in Bologue’s impression; he emerged through the fire like a monster from a nightmare.
"You are not pure blood."
Bologue deduced the other’s Tier from his grotesque visage.
Not all Night Race in the hierarchy bore the surname Veleris; like a family genealogy, only those of direct bloodline from the Night King possessed this noble surname and were considered the rightful pure blood.
From subsequent knowledge Bologue acquired, High Tier Night Race had absolute control over Low Tier Night Race, and their undying nature was much more potent.
Low Tier Night Race would instantly evaporate into ashes under sunlight, while a Night Race Lord like Serey could even endure the burning pain and walk briefly in sunlight.
The Night Race before him resurrected too slowly, ugly beyond comparison.
A whimper full of thirst came from the bloodied throat, the crimson gaze no longer rational, replaced by an insatiable thirst for blood.
Bloodthirsty Syndrome, it is a condition that plagues every member of the Night Race, filling them with a craving for blood. The lower the bloodline, the more evident and maddening the symptoms, making them akin to beasts.
Within the Night Race, they hold this belief that low-tier members do not count as true Night Race. They are merely beasts infused with Undying Power, and these low-tier Night Race lack the ability to transform others into their kind. Their "Blood Donation" only creates equally malformed bloodthirsty monsters.
During the Dawn War, the truly powerful high-tier Night Race were few, but the low-tier Night Race under their command, and the bloodthirsty monsters transformed by them, were as numerous as cattle, putting immense pressure on the allied forces.
Fortunately, sunlight can bring an end to all.
The pitch-black storm clouds collapsed at a corner, and blinding light poured down through the cracks. With the storm clouds defeated, the howling wind once again ruled the battlefield, like a long knife slicing through the sky, severing a corner of the heavens.
Noticing the fall of light, the Night Race scattered across the battlefield retreated one after another, even the frenzied Night Race before Bologue paused for a few seconds. The fear of sunlight easily outweighed their thirst for blood, and they turned to flee.
Bologue would not let them go easily. Walls rose from the ground, blocking the Night Race’s path, forming encircling barriers with Bologue standing at the only exit.
This was like an arena, where only by defeating Bologue could they leave alive.
The Night Race understood Bologue’s intent. The cracks in the sky grew wider, the light casting upon the ground, drawing a clear dividing line between shadow and illumination.
That was his line of life and death.
"Bothersome creature!"
The Night Race roared and launched an attack at Bologue. He knew Bologue’s tier was higher than his own, but after all, he was a Night Race, an Undead; that was his advantage.
In the previous battles, the Night Race realized Bologue’s weakness. He always kept his distance from enemies, perhaps indicating he was not adept at close combat. If he could just get close, he might have a chance to kill Bologue.
The glow of Secret Energy surged. As a First Stage Condenser, his Secret Energy was not complex, focusing on the Elevation School, granting him greater strength and speed. Coupled with his Undying Body, even against Prayer Believers, he had room to contest.
Bologue was slightly surprised; despite the Night Race’s unhealed wounds, his speed surpassed what it had been. Bologue guessed it was likely due to his Secret Energy.
Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid interlaced forward, but the Night Race swiftly dodged, prompting Bologue to take him more seriously. In the Night Race’s eyes, Bologue’s figure seemed to enlarge continuously. He opened his hand, aiming a lethal strike at Bologue’s throat.
He had won.
That’s what he thought. But then he noticed something had appeared in Bologue’s hands—a hammer made of Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid, rough and mottled, uneven, tightly gripped by Bologue.
This was nothing.
So he believed, and his attack was on the brink of success. It was too late for Bologue to counter or block, but the surge of Ether shattered his thoughts.
A blue glow emanated from Bologue’s hand, muscles tensed and twisted, enhanced by Ethereal Amplification. Bologue swung the hammer at a speed far beyond his imagination.
Comparatively, the Night Race’s movements seemed slowed down like a film, while Bologue had hit the fast-forward button.
He only heard the wind’s whistle screaming by his ear, followed by a heavy impact strike on his head. Before his claw could hit Bologue, the Night Race’s head exploded into a burst of scattering blood.
Skull, brain tissue, eyeballs... Scarlet matter scattered into the air, defying gravity, failing to fall. Within the blood and flesh, scarlet threads connected all the matter, waiting for threads to sew them back together.
No more chances.
Due to the inertia of the hammer swing, Bologue still maintained the motion of the blow, but at this moment, a string of urgent footsteps approached. Aimou sped up, accelerating, and delivered a knee strike, caving in the Night Race’s chest, then kicked, shakily knocking the battered body to the side.
The Night Race staggered a few steps, fell to the sand, and after a brief delay, the fragmented head restructured. He didn’t understand why Bologue didn’t pursue him. He clumsily stood up, ready to flee the battlefield, but just as he lifted his head, he saw it.
He hadn’t looked directly at such warmth and splendor for a long time. The gentle sunlight fell, softly caressing his cheeks, reminding him of his mother’s figure, but that was many years ago.
The warmth dispelled his madness, regaining sanity, he shed hot tears and blood.
In an instant, his eyeballs evaporated into hollow blood cavities, his pale face burned a carbon black, his throat shriveled and collapsed, unable to utter even a scream of terror before death.
The Night Race gradually knelt down, his figure shrinking and desiccating in the sunlight, burning into a pile of dry bones, with only the ashes of lingering fire floating away.