Chapter 15: First Kill

Chapter 15: First Kill

Beneath the crimson yet dim moonlight, Emlyn took out a small metal vial, twisted off its cap, and gulped down its contents.

Then he seemed to melt into shadow, gliding over walls and across the ground as he swiftly and silently followed Rus Bathory.

The Sanguine had always been known for their speed. One baron ahead and one behind, the two raced through gloomy alleys and along the edges of lightless streets. After more than half an hour, they arrived in the chaotic, filthy East Borough and stopped before an old apartment building.

Seeing Rus Bathory choose to climb the pipes, heading toward the third floor in the quietest manner possible, Emlyn slowed his pace and did not hurry to trail him too closely. That would make him far too easy to discover.

After giving it two seconds of serious thought, he took out a translucent perfume-like bottle, removed its cap, pressed it down, and sprayed the liquid inside over himself.

This potion had only one effect: it erased his own scent, making it indistinguishable from his surroundings.

Putting that bottle away, Emlyn took out another small vial, this one brass-colored, and gulped down everything inside.

“Potion Professors are such a nuisance…” he muttered. Lowering his head, he watched his hands turn transparent inch by inch. The brass vial seemed to float in front of his sleeve.

By the time Emlyn tucked the vial away, only a formal suit, a top hat, and a pair of leather shoes without buttons or straps remained where he had been. They formed the outline of a human figure, shifting slightly on the spot.

Another completely transparent perfume-like bottle flew out and floated in midair. It pressed itself down with a series of hissing sprays, scattering the potion within over the clothes.

The outline of the formal suit, top hat, and leather shoes faded bit by bit, until they vanished completely.

Having finished turning invisible, Emlyn glanced toward the room Rus Bathory had entered. Then, soundless and unseen, he climbed the pipe at extreme speed and followed him up.

Taking advantage of the half-open window, he drifted into the room like a transparent cloud, making not the slightest sound. He hid in the corner and watched as Rus Bathory searched for the target.

The latter’s brows gradually drew together, because the room was utterly empty. There were no people, and not even the mosquitoes that had begun to become active over the past week.

Yet this Sanguine baron could say with certainty that the “Moon Puppet” was here.

Suddenly, a creak sounded, breaking the frozen silence.

The room’s door swung inward. A woman in a black dress slowly walked in. Looking at Rus Bathory, she said in a drifting voice, “Who are you looking for…”

Emlyn turned toward the sound and saw that the newcomer had darker skin, long and fine brows, gentle contours, and a mouth whose corners drooped severely. It was indeed the target, Windsor.

However, in Emlyn’s eyes, this devout believer of the Primordial Moon had already changed somewhat from the portrait. Her eyes curved, her brows curved, and her mouth curved, as if she were imitating the crimson moon above.

And on her forehead, cheeks, neck, and all of her exposed skin, withered grass and dried flowers grew in clumps and clusters.

…Hiss. Just what did Rus Bathory sell her? How did she become like this? Emlyn was startled, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise one by one.

At the same time, clusters of withered grass grew out from the floor, walls, doorway, and ceiling, interspersed with wilted flowers.

They completely sealed off the room from the outside world, creating an exceptionally strange scene.

Rus Bathory smelled danger. He did not attempt conversation. Without hesitation, he took out a small metal vial and gulped down the liquid inside.

Pa!

He threw the vial aside and lunged at the transformed Windsor, his body dragging afterimages behind him. His nails extended, and black qi coiled around him.

Windsor, inlaid with withered grass and dried flowers, moved like a large rag doll, meeting him with equal speed. She showed no concern for her own injuries as she clawed at Rus Bathory.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

After a rapid chain of collisions, Rus Bathory flew backward and slammed into the wall.

His sleeve had been torn away, and the claw marks on his skin were deep enough to reveal bone.

From between flesh and blood, dried grass and flowers were slowly growing outward.

What a monster… This was the first time Emlyn had encountered such an enemy. For a moment, he remained huddled in the corner, almost forgetting to help.

He did not recklessly reveal himself. Thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind as he observed the fight between Rus Bathory and Windsor, weighing what method he should use to deal with the situation.

The strangest things are that withered grass and those flowers… Withered grass and flowers… They should be afraid of fire!

Emlyn’s heart stirred. He immediately gave up invisibility, took out another small metal vial, opened it, and drank.

With a puff, he sprayed out all the liquid in his mouth.

The grayish-red droplets ignited the moment they came into contact with air, spreading blazing flames to the sides.

Flame stacked upon flame. Flame linked to flame. In an instant, the room became a scarlet sea of fire.

Amid crackling sounds, the dried grass and flowers were ignited one after another, and the fire spread to their companions at an astonishing speed.

In just two or three seconds, the sealed environment was close to being broken, while the withered grass and dried flowers on Windsor’s body had also begun to burn.

By then, a large hole had been gouged into Rus Bathory’s chest. He had lost most of his fighting strength and was only barely holding on through the Sanguine’s powerful recovery abilities.

Looking at the torch-like enemy, Emlyn keenly sensed that her aura was weakening. Without the slightest hesitation, he charged forward and circled Windsor, launching claw strike after claw strike.

Under his feet, strands of black qi rose and wound toward the believer of the Primordial Moon, like shackles that had gained life.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Amid intense, short bursts of sound, two figures suddenly came close.

All movement vanished.

Emlyn’s left hand had seized Windsor by the throat and lifted her up.

He hesitated for a second. Seeing her ferocious appearance, he gave a crisp crack and snapped the enemy’s neck.

Pa!

A slender little wooden puppet, inlaid with withered grass and dried flowers, fell from Windsor’s body to the floor. The flames in the room gradually subsided.

Emlyn tore off Windsor’s mutated head, turned around, and looked at Rus Bathory, who was gasping violently. Pressing his empty right hand to his chest, he bowed with a smile.

“Thank you for your assistance.”

Seeing Rus Bathory instantly turn furious, yet remain powerless to seize the spoils, Emlyn’s mood improved greatly. He added two more sentences.

“Remember to hand that puppet and the Beyonder characteristic that precipitates from her to Lord Nibes. There is something very wrong with them.”

With that, black qi condensed behind his back and grew into two illusory bat wings.

With a whoosh, the wings flapped. Emlyn turned and flew out the window, descending into a nearby gloomy alley.

After landing steadily, he withdrew the condensed black qi and looked back.

Seeing that Rus Bathory had not followed, Emlyn let out a breath of relief. He pressed a fist to his mouth and muttered between coughs, “I hate fire. I hate smoke!”

He was just about to leave the East Borough when a chill suddenly rose behind him.

Emlyn’s nerves instantly tightened. Holding Windsor’s mutated head, he slowly turned and looked toward the shadowed corner.

At first, he saw a small dark figure standing there. Then he made out its appearance.

Its body was slender like a wooden stake. Its eyes and mouth curved into moons. Its surface was embedded with quite a bit of withered grass and dried flowers.

It was precisely the “Moon Puppet” that had been in the room earlier.

It has latched onto me… What exactly is this object… Lord Nibes’s residence is still far from here… The outside world really is dangerous…

Thought after thought surfaced in Emlyn’s mind, making his spine go cold and his muscles tense.

As his thoughts flickered, inspiration suddenly struck him. Staring at the Moon Puppet, he spoke in ancient Hermes in a low voice:

“The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era;

“The mysterious ruler above the gray fog;

“The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck…”

…

“Who isn’t sleeping in the middle of the night!” Klein flipped over and sat up, rubbing his forehead in visible annoyance.

He quickly got out of bed, took four steps counterclockwise, and entered above the gray fog, sitting in the seat that belonged to the Fool.

Emlyn White? Klein glanced over and, puzzled, extended his spirituality toward the crimson star representing the Moon.

He immediately saw the stiff Emlyn and the slender, bizarre puppet he was watching.

The puppet was draped in dense but illusory crimson moonlight. The light rose and fell gently like tides, establishing a connection with something high above.

At that moment, the crimson moonlight was silently spreading, shrouding Emlyn White.

There’s a problem… There’s quite a serious problem with this puppet…

Having seen more with the help of the gray fog, Klein did not hesitate. He made the Sea God Scepter leave the pile of junk and fly into his hand.

One azure-blue gem after another lit up at the tip of the short bone scepter, blooming with dazzling radiance.

…

After reciting Mr. Fool’s honorific name and requesting assistance, Emlyn felt his already cold blood grow colder still, gradually seeming as if it might freeze into frost.

His body rapidly stiffened. All he could do was watch as the Moon Puppet swayed toward him step by step.

At that moment, silver-white light suddenly darted wildly through the air in the alley, driving away all gloom and darkness.

Pa!

The lightning twisted together and struck the Moon Puppet, submerging it in silver-white brilliance.

The light vanished in a flash. The strange puppet, entirely charred and stripped of its decorations, toppled to the ground. The blood in Emlyn’s body was no longer freezing and resumed its flow.

Quickly escaping his stiffness, he knew that Mr. Fool was still watching this place. He hurriedly asked in a low voice, “What do you require—no, what may I offer you?”

He had always believed that Mr. Fool followed the principle of equivalent exchange, so he felt that since he had requested aid, he ought to pay the corresponding price.

After a brief silence, he saw boundless gray fog and an indistinct figure. He heard a majestic voice from high above:

“That puppet.”

“Very well.” Emlyn stepped forward, bent down, and picked up the puppet. Then he handled the scene and swiftly left the East Borough.

As for Klein, only after cautiously using a paper angel to interfere with divination did he return to the real world.

When he prepared to go back to sleep, he was stunned to discover that outside, the moonlight was bright—bright as if dyed with blood.

Huh… Klein walked to the window in confusion and looked outside. At some unknown point, the crescent moon had become full, and it was scarlet as blood.

Another “blood moon.”

…

A “blood moon”? Alger Wilson looked up at the sky, then steadily walked into the Thunder Church before him. This was where he would deliver his report tomorrow.

At the center of the island, on the peak of a towering mountain, stood another church—the Abyss of Storms.

It was the headquarters within the headquarters of the Church of Storms, the holy temple within the holy temple.