The Night Race’s strength lies not just in their Undead nature; more importantly, it’s because they are numerous and have developed a comprehensive system of blood alchemy through years of self-study.
It’s said they can extract fragments of memory from blood and track the source of the blood.
Olivia obtained Palmer’s blood and memorized his scent, which itself was a threat, reminding him that he had been targeted by a member of the Night Race.
Palmer doesn’t trust his luck, but he trusts his partner. They always operate together, and if Olivia truly comes seeking revenge, he believes Bologue, also an Undead, can handle it perfectly.
"Thank you so much, Bologue!"
"You are my best partner!"
Palmer shouted his thanks in his mind to his partner. As for guilt, the word guilt does not exist in Palmer’s dictionary.
A huge hollow appeared overhead, and on the broken surface of the rock, countless blood holes were shedding fresh blood, while the severed flesh continued to squirm, growing new tendrils reaching towards the two living bodies below.
"See you next time, Bologue... Hope you survive,"
Olivia said half-threatening, half-jokingly. Despite her anger, she oddly hoped that the two freaks she encountered today would survive.
There are many people in this world, but very few like them. If possible, Olivia wanted to make specimens of them for her collection.
She was not a Devil and could not obtain those bizarre souls, but at least she could preserve their bodies.
The figure began to blur and then completely dissolved into a dissipating mist.
Palmer did not let down his guard, warily watching the spot where Olivia disappeared. After several minutes with no anomalies, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall.
His mental tension loosened, followed by intense pain coursing through his body.
He and Olivia were both within the explosion’s range. The Undying Night Race naturally wouldn’t mind, but Palmer’s fleshly body suffered serious injuries.
Under his clothes was all bloodstains, delayed along with the scratches Olivia left on him. The wounds weren’t deep, but the ether, like a venomous serpent, burrowed in, gnawing on his nerves.
Fortunately, he had passed the trial of salt and sulfur, and his body wasn’t that fragile; otherwise, Palmer would most likely have fainted long ago.
Looking at the crawling flesh around him, Palmer knew this was not a good place to fall unconscious. Who knows, he might wake up with only half his body left.
Drawing a folding knife from his waist, Palmer propped himself up with it, while raising his revolver, named Piercing Thunder, with the other hand.
The emerging flesh was taking shape, a pale, spine-like bone structure serving as the main body, with numerous finger-like bones growing around it, followed by a layer of sticky flesh, resembling a giant scarlet worm.
Such worms were increasing in number, and Palmer fired back, every gunshot blasting a worm into blood mist, but they quickly regrew, like weeds hard to annihilate.
Amid constant gunfire, Palmer shouted irritably.
Unclear about what exactly he was calling for, Palmer was completely surrounded by the serpentine worms, on the verge of being devoured, when the Sea of Mist behind the door stirred violently.
Palmer knew what was coming, and amid the pain and blurry consciousness, he struggled to muster his spirit, invoking the howling wind.
He threw all his flying knives, which circled around him, forming a blade storm cutting down the approaching worms one by one.
In an instant, scarlet blood mist enveloped Palmer, the blood permeated his clothing, evenly coating him, nearly turning him into a man of blood.
Flesh fragments and bone shards flew, with many worms dying, yet soon newly born ones attacked, succeeding one another, while the thrown flying knives began to shatter, turning into swirling metal pieces.
The wind gradually weakened, and Palmer leaned exhaustedly, watching these hungry worms.
In the second before death, a vast silence descended.
Palmer felt a sudden suffocation, like a fish out of water, but the worms reacted more violently, twitching as if struck by poison, the severed flesh stopping its regeneration, instead dripping blood continuously.
Heavy breathing emerged from the Sea of Mist, starting with a singular sound, then becoming frequent, joining the silent ensemble.
Palmer saw the gray-white phantoms coming from the Sea of Mist.
Their outfits were strange, resembling modern military uniforms, but at crucial parts like the chest, fabric and iron armor were interwoven.
Each wore gray-white helmets, connected to faceless masks, resembling doll-like figures, with heavy breathing resonating continuously from the masks’ breath valves.
Some carried heavy shields, grasping warhammers with other hands; others held machine guns, with ammo belts stretching to backpacks, and two carried flamethrowers, with flickering flames.
A modern yet retro squad, led by a man in simple attire, devoid of the complex equipment others wore, carrying only a military saber at his waist, like a battlefield commander.
No words needed, the commander drew his saber, and instantly the suffocating feeling intensified. Palmer knew exactly what was happening.
Ethereal Prohibition.
Under the commander’s order, all the ether is rapidly fleeing this area, leaving every inch of their path in a state of ethereal vacuum.
The rest of the team also moved into action, flamethrowers were activated, and the scorching streams of fire burned the growing flesh, pungent smoke causing Palmer to cough repeatedly.
The growth of the corrupt roots requires ether for support, and in a state of ethereal vacuum, they’re no more than a mass of peculiar flesh.
Hoarse screams erupted from the flesh, wailing as they were burned into blackened ash husks.
The shield-bearing member swung their warhammer, smashing the husks to pieces, trampling them to dust, as team members advanced in cross formations, clearing a path through the rampant flesh.
It seemed nothing could stop them; the team advanced in ordered silence, resembling a group of grayish-white death gods.
"The corrupt roots have spread, they’ve taken root at the topmost Beast Fighting Arena."
Seeing the commander approach, Palmer reported quickly.
"It’s confirmed, the Immortal Heart has appeared, and the Xeno-Corruption Cult is here for it," Palmer said without any wasted words, concise and efficient, "The Tyrant has responded to this, granting everyone protection, promising the fruit of fancy."
The commander nodded, then looked at the team member holding a hand crossbow, pausing for a few seconds before speaking, "Indeed, I can feel the support of another power, as we stand against the Xeno-Corruption Cult the Tyrant’s power also grants us protection."
"Should we change our target?" asked the shield-bearing member.
He was the tallest in the team, accordingly, his armor was also the heaviest, practically like an iron rhino.
Palmer had only just composed himself for a few minutes, tentatively asking.
Unfortunately, there was no response; the members of the Violence Suppression Action Group each hid behind masks.
"No, proceed as planned, seal this place," the commander ordered.
"Seal? Higher-ups have already gone mad because of those two damned things!" Palmer shouted loudly, seeing the commander’s calm demeanor.
"It’s not important," the commander shook his head, ordering the team, "Continue the seal, suppress every Condenser you encounter, we absolutely can’t let anyone leave."
Palmer froze; he couldn’t understand the man’s words, laboriously climbing up, he shouted directly.
"Yas! What are you doing!"
The mission this time was to seize the Immortal Heart, after painstakingly blasting open a path, they should be charging into the Beast Fighting Arena with full momentum, cutting through the Xeno-Corruption Cult to claim the Immortal Heart and conclude their task.
But the situation had changed, and Palmer couldn’t fathom the current situation.
The mask clicked open, revealing Yas’s face; he looked at Palmer expressionlessly, speaking softly.
"Palmer, I’m ordering you as the leader of the Sixth Group and the Violence Suppression Action Group."
Palmer was stunned, and the following words plunged his mind into utter confusion and fear.
"You have been assigned to the operation against the King’s Shield Guard, and until you reunite with your leader, you will be under my charge."
The mask closed, and the repressive sound emanated from beneath the breathing valve.
Yas stopped wasting words, leading the team forward, as another member approached to inject Palmer with a potion, quickly treating his wounds.
Sido walked by, lifting Palmer with one hand, carrying him like a sack; a group advanced menacingly toward the Beast Fighting Arena.
The King’s Shield Guard was an unfamiliar term for Palmer, but from Yas’s words, he could understand that he would reunite with his leader.
His leader, Lebius Lovisa.
Palmer laughed nervously; this mission was indeed a joint operation of the Sixth Group and Special Operations Group, not only he and Bologue were included in the task, but Geoffrey and Lebius as well.
Hmm...there’s indeed nothing wrong, just he never thought these two would also be considered among the task personnel.
Unlike the anticipated chaotic assault on the venue with the Sixth Group to snatch the Immortal Heart, the Order Bureau’s target was someone else, someone important enough for even Lebius to be present, and only now did he understand the truth of the mission.
Truly an unexpected surprise.
"Luckily you ran fast."
Palmer muttered to himself, recalling the recently vanished Olivia.
Olivia was right, this was a trap, a trap set for everyone.