Chapter 156 Chapter 154 Bad Mouth
A tall figure walked out from the flames. Dark horns protruded from its head, and its mask was riddled with black holes. Two severed heads were stuck on each shoulder, and it wielded a massive blade with a crimson tip. The armor covering its body was a blood-dark color, thick and heavy, yet each step made a heavy sound without appearing clumsy.
“It’s even more ‘talkative’ than I imagined,” it said.
“What do you think of my masterpiece? I specifically brought them to the high wall, a group of people all shouting ‘Where is our paladin?’ before they died.”
George did not respond, still half-kneeling on the ground, suddenly raising his hands to hold his sword. Illumined by the firelight, a golden flame suddenly fell from the night sky, striking the sword’s blade and swirling around it. The power from the heavenly realm filled this magic-less golden giant sword with strength in an instant.
It was the paladin’s ability of “Weapon Oath.”
“I’m talking to you, why aren’t you responding? Are you deaf?”
As the voice of the Fearsome Warlord fell, the giant blade cut through the air and leaped ten meters, the burning tip aimed directly at George’s head, rushing at him like a cart.
The shrill sound of metal clashing rang out as the giant blade met the sword several times, and the shockwave of their battle struck Jima’s face, disturbing her blood-stained white dress. She covered her ears, observing the situation.
Two dazzling weapons swung into two bright lines entangled with each other. Each slash from the Fearsome Warlord was filled with heart-stopping power, forcing George to retreat repeatedly, like a sapling in a storm about to snap.
George was no match for him! He could kill George as easily as playing a game.
A thought suddenly jumped into Jima’s mind— as if her wish had been granted, in the blink of an eye, she saw the red giant blade cleave through George’s waist, cutting him in half.
She opened her mouth in terror, about to scream.
No, no, that’s not right, it’s fake. George isn’t that weak. I must be influenced by the fear ability.
She desperately corrected herself, shutting her mouth to stop the scream.
The world before her blurred, returning to normal, the harsh sounds of clashing swords still echoing.
Jima’s legs had gone weak, her heart raced, cold sweat trickled down her trembling face.
Dozens of gray wisps of smoke erupted from her, and Jima caught one with her fingers, staining them gray. She was extremely familiar with this smoke; it was the fear of the Fearsome Warlord’s opponent made tangible. Once stained gray, it would have a vulnerability effect.
She muttered softly to herself:
“I didn’t know my ability was so perverse— I’m not afraid in my heart, yet my body is forced to be afraid.”
The battlefield was now dozens of meters away from Jima. A faint white light emanated from George, forming a massive halo around him. Jima struggled to move her weak legs, jogging toward the halo, and immediately a wave of courage surged inside her, greatly alleviating her body’s fear.
Although her legs were still weak, at least Jima didn’t have to worry about being scared to the point of urinating herself.
“Do you think I’m the useless weakling known as the demon king Jima, wanting to kill me at a higher level? He’s just a loser who happened to be picked up by you, rotting in a woman’s belly, an ambitionless waste. But I am the champion who laughs last in the ‘Midnight of Death!'”
Damn! Even battle trash talk can be turned to me.
George did not reply but continued to clash swords. Both sides’ armor bore several sword marks, seeming evenly matched.
“Hehe, I know you can’t speak, too busy regulating your breath. You give me no pressure at all; I don’t even need to regulate my breath. You’re not even twenty, right? I’m really enjoying slowly chopping you down, you who consider yourself a genius. You can detect lies; you know I’m speaking the truth.”
Speaking during a fight can disrupt breathing rhythms and distract. No one with a sound mind or an advantage would talk while fighting.
A wisp of fine gray smoke emanated from George.
The fearsome warlord laughed heartily behind his mask filled with circular holes:
“You’re afraid, you’re afraid!”
Jima yelled at the top of her lungs:
“He’s lying! He doesn’t need to breathe to live!”
The gray smoke around George dissipated; the Fearsome Warlord’s laughter abruptly ceased. For the first time, he tilted his head slightly, the red glow behind the mask shining as he looked at Jima:
“You’re surprisingly not paralyzed from fear.”
“What’s so scary about you? An old demon, less than a hundred years old, the demon king Jima can smash someone’s head with just one hand. And you’ve been fighting a brave at a lower level who’s less than twenty for so long, you can’t even scare me, an ordinary person.”
“Shut up!”
The red light behind the mask flared up, drowning Jima’s view. Various terrifying illusions appeared before her, including George suddenly dropping dead. Her spirit was strong and firm, showing no signs of wavering or fear. But her frail body couldn’t withstand it.
Her heartbeat raced, the pressure exhausting. Her legs felt as soft as noodles, and she collapsed to the ground, side by side with a corpse staring back at her with wide eyes.
Oh no, it feels like I’m going to die suddenly, just like those late-night work shifts.
Jima covered her pounding chest with both hands. Her trembling, weakened hands could manage only simple actions; she didn’t even have the strength to pull out the teleportation scroll, looking at the corpse with wide eyes saying, “Hey, dude, did you die from fright too?”
The corpse said nothing.
“Cut!”
With George’s shout, a dazzling golden-red light suddenly erupted, illuminating Jima’s profile. She covered her eyes, and through the slits, she saw the tall figure of the Fearsome Warlord engulfed by the red light.
No matter the type of Holy Slash, it’s all terrible light pollution. This stupid Fearsome Warlord was hit by George’s opportunity while he attacked, foolishly using his strongest move on the opponent. That fool was definitely going down.
The fear enveloping Jima instantly faded; her legs regained strength, slowly propping herself up to crawl.
Attracting the Fearsome Warlord’s non-lethal attack was her only way to help George. She had tried to manipulate the desires of the opponent; unsurprisingly, she couldn’t see the desire vortex of the Fearsome Warlord when she opened her Desire Vision.
The golden-red light faded, and the phantoms of everything disappeared.
Jima blinked her wet eyes, not yet able to see clearly. That annoying laughter rang out again:
“Hahahaha, didn’t expect I intentionally showed a flaw while leaving another fire for me to escape. I saw your trump card; you missed it and even got slashed by me.”
A slightly deformed helmet rolled on the ground, coming to a stop on a corpse. George bit his lips tightly, breathing heavily, crimson blood dripping from his temple; a deformed bracer hung on his left arm, and the inner layer of the chainmail had burst open at a gap.
George tore off the deformed bracer, pressed his hand against the wound, and white light seeped out between his fingers. But after a moment, it faded, looking only like it temporarily alleviated his injuries.
Jima looked toward the original position of the Fearsome Warlord; a cow cart lay overturned by the roadside, engulfed in blazing flames. Previously, Jima remembered the cow cart not burning that fiercely. Her heart sank as she speculated that during the battle, the Fearsome Warlord had intentionally used his massive body to block the flames from the cart, deliberately exposing a flaw and using the flames to lure George into revealing his trump card.
What a cunning opponent.
Jima couldn’t help but praise him, looking up at the Fearsome Warlord.
The Fearsome Warlord appeared on a burning second floor, walking out of the fire. A deep sword mark had appeared on his blood-red armor, the edges tinged with red. He tried to lower his head, but the armor was too thick, so he extended his hand to wipe off the black-red blood staining his steel gloves.
“Damn! Just a brush, and it’s that heavy.”
Okay, George didn’t miss, he just grazed. After all, he really didn’t show a flaw. Jima predicted that had the Fearsome Warlord not escaped in time using the flames, he might have already lost.
The “talkative” Fearsome Warlord began to evaluate:
“This isn’t an ordinary Holy Slash; I’ve heard that some types of paladins can gain power bonuses after investigating crime scenes. Truly, I feel sorry for you. You look like you can only deliver one hit, yet it missed by a large margin—”
George didn’t waste time talking; he bent his knee and quickly dashed toward the Fearsome Warlord’s position.
The Fearsome Warlord suddenly clenched a living black spider in one hand, black liquid oozing between his fingers, and he waved downward. The ground cracked, and jets of black liquid erupted from all sides, rushing toward George with such speed that it left only an afterimage.
The sun engraved in enamel on George’s chest plate suddenly burst forth with brilliance, causing the black liquid to retreat, forming a barrier that encased George like a spider web. George slashed at the barrier made of black liquid with his sword, but it was ineffective; he was temporarily unable to escape.
Jima recognized it as a supernatural item. Yet it seemed to only temporarily restrict George’s movements without binding him; what did the Fearsome Warlord want to do? Thinking this, Jima quietly rushed toward George.
The Fearsome Warlord spoke quickly:
“Ha, guess why I chose this place to kill you? I finally lured you to the best spot, let my masterpieces howl together!”
The heads on his shoulders suddenly began to emit desperate cries. On the street, all the dead began to release the horrifying cries of their final moments, even the heads on the street were no exception. Each head exuded a wisp of gray smoke, overwhelming George.
A flood of despair and fear flooded into George’s mind, and the illusions before his eyes multiplied. The desperate scenes of over four thousand people before they died replayed before him. Even someone of his caliber as a paladin, immune to supernatural effects of fear, was astonished to find the gray smoke had stained his body.
Forced vulnerability! The Fearsome Warlord didn’t necessarily need the opponent to feel fear to exert his influence.
George now looked as if he were made of ashes; even the lightest touch could cause him to disintegrate.
“Cut! Head! Platform!”
The roar was deafening, and the illusions before George shattered. He saw the Fearsome Warlord cleave toward him, gray smoke swirling around that terrifying giant sword, and he felt an invisible guillotine pressing against his neck, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
George’s intuition told him that if the Fearsome Warlord swung down, he would definitely be decapitated. The only choice was to dodge; he couldn’t block it. But he was trapped within this circle and couldn’t escape in a short time.
Even George couldn’t help but feel a pang of fear. Gray smoke began to rise from his body.
“George! Rush to me!”
Jima’s clear voice fell into his ears. George saw through the illusion; between the gaps of the black liquid, he spotted Jima hopping and vigorously waving her small, pure white hand.
In a flash of inspiration, George suddenly understood and immediately activated “Charge of Light,” transforming into a beam of light that shot toward Jima, passing through the black liquid.
In the blink of an eye, he transformed back into human form, appearing outside the circle, right in front of Jima.
The Charge of Light could only be used against enemies and evil individuals.
He managed to show Jima a smile before turning around. Just in time to see the tremendous giant blade of the Fearsome Warlord swing empty, its back facing him.
George kicked hard against the ground, letting out a battle roar so loud it would shame even a green dragon, raising his sword and lunging toward the Fearsome Warlord’s back. The sword released dazzling white light and plunged fiercely into the Fearsome Warlord’s back; the sharp sound of armor piercing rang out as the blade sank in over a fist’s length.
An invisible wave radiated from the sword’s center, dispersing the surrounding gray smoke.
“Ah!”
The Fearsome Warlord grimaced in pain, lunging forward, swinging his sword to push George back, moving with wide, sweeping gestures. George seized the opportunity; as he retreated, the blade grazed his shoulder, severing the spike, and Chamberlain’s head fell down.
The Fearsome Warlord displayed remarkable vitality, not collapsing. His hands still gripped the sword, facing George directly. Dozens of drops of black-red blood coursed down his back, dripping from his body.
Jima calmly assessed the Fearsome Warlord’s injuries.
With this amount of blood loss, it should have wounded his heart, yet it hadn’t killed him with a single blow; after all, it was merely an ordinary Holy Slash, and George was at a lower level. However, the advantage had been established.
“You almost killed me,” the Fearsome Warlord said, striding away, “but unfortunately, I’m not a mortal.”
“Nothing to regret.”
George said as he leaped and slashed toward the Fearsome Warlord. The latter snorted coldly, turned and fled toward a nearby burning house, yelling back:
“Your supernatural ability can’t be used twice in a short time, can it? What a pity—”
George threw his double-handed golden giant sword with his right hand, aimed at the Fearsome Warlord’s back, interrupting his words. The Fearsome Warlord quickly lunged forward, landing on the burning cow cart, his heavy body crushed it, and the flames instantly erupted, engulfing him.
The golden giant sword pierced through the flames and the wooden boards of the cow cart, embedding itself into the ground. George jumped through the flames, pulling out the giant sword, searching for the Fearsome Warlord’s figure.
From the other end of a row of houses, the Fearsome Warlord’s voice echoed:
“Better hurry and escape; I can set up the ritual in half an hour.”
“I already set up the ritual half an hour ago!”
George couldn’t help but grit his teeth.
Jima ran over, angrily kicking a nearby stone, cursing:
“Damn it, he really knows how to survive!”
At this moment, George’s sword dimmed; the time for the oath of the weapon had ended.
“Jima, help me prepare; I need to continue chasing him.”
Jima looked at George; his left arm hung limply at his side, as the earlier strike from the Fearsome Warlord had hit his left arm, where the bracer was already damaged. Moreover, blood was flowing from his neck, staining his throat.
“If you go like this, you’re bound to lose.”
George looked firmly into her azure eyes and said:
“So please help me prepare.”
Jima guessed that even if she prepared, George’s chances of victory were close to zero. But she didn’t continue to persuade, knowing George’s obsession in this aspect was not far behind her own desire for revenge.
“Alright, I’ll help you prepare.”
———
Four thousand words. A two thousand word mini-chapter will be supplemented and posted tomorrow afternoon. Right now, I have to borrow my dad’s phone to send this out.
