Chapter 9
"This is the third time already," Blade said, slamming his glass down on the bar. The bottom of the cup thudded against the wooden surface, producing a dull sound. "First it was my son, then my brother, and now my nephew. After tomorrow, I won’t have a single family member left, Mr. Yin Ying! Are you sure this is all part of the ritual?"
"The focus isn't on family; it's on emotion, Blade," the man in the black robe, known as Yin Ying, replied, tapping his fingers lightly on the bar. His voice was low and serious. "You have no feelings about their deaths, and that’s why the resurrection ritual has failed."
"This time, we spent six months cultivating your bond with your nephew. When he is killed, you will have a clearer impression of revenge, Blade."
Blade gripped the glass tightly, the veins on his aged face bulging. He stared intently at the shadow on the man’s face, as if trying to discern something hidden within.
Blade was notorious for his ruthlessness, but he was also meticulous. To carve out a place for himself in this chaotic region, he would sell anything, let alone familial ties or friendships.
If there was anything that could drive him to reckless revenge after such losses, it would be his own life and wealth.
No.
There was also this strange man in front of him, who had nearly taken away half of his life’s savings and claimed to grant extraordinary powers.
If he failed this time, he swore he would fill the man’s body with bullets, no matter what lay beneath that robe, and set it ablaze.
"Do you want to kill me?" the man in the black robe chuckled lightly. "Just for this little money? It would all go into the donation box, and the church’s extraordinary beings wouldn’t even spare you a glance."
The black-robed man reached up and slowly removed his hood. The warm glow of the gaslight illuminated his face, revealing pulsating growths that seemed almost alive.
These growths writhed against his skin like tiny tentacles, flailing wildly as if trying to tear through his cheeks and escape.
The horrifying sight left Blade stunned, as if those silent little things were emitting sharp cries, causing his thoughts to stall.
This man definitely possessed special abilities.
He was on the brink of death, and he could indeed save himself.
As long as he followed the instructions and completed the ritual called "revenge," he too could gain divine power...
Blade slowly relaxed his grip on the glass, gradually regaining his composure.
"Bang—"
Suddenly, a loud thud from outside made Blade’s body jolt slightly. The black-robed man quickly pulled his hood back up and turned to look toward the street, his fists clenched in anger at the interruption.
"Your men?" the black-robed man asked, irritation evident in his voice.
"Impossible, I sent them all away," Blade replied, his thoughts scattered, still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster. He stared at the glass in his hand and slowly said, "Maybe it’s someone from Pompeii reporting back."
"I’ll go check." The black-robed man glanced at Blade, knowing he wouldn’t react for a while, and strode straight toward the door.
"Jingle—"
He pushed open the tavern’s glass door, the bell ringing as the door swung. He peered outside, scanning the dark street, but saw no figures, no passersby.
The quiet street was only disturbed by the sounds of rats or insects scurrying by, and occasionally, the muffled snores from the neighboring building. Everything was as calm as usual.
With his back to the tavern door, he completely abandoned the calm demeanor he had maintained inside. Instead, he collapsed to the ground, pulling out a half-transparent vial from his robe with his left hand, while his right hand plunged deep into his throat.
"Ugh—!"
As his fingers stirred, his stomach twisted and convulsed as if provoked.
Then, he suddenly punched himself in the gut, again and again, as if he were trying to beat the life out of himself. With a spurt of black blood, a writhing, flesh-colored tentacle was expelled from his mouth.
"Thud thud—"
The tentacle twisted on the ground like a stranded fish, but the black-robed man quickly reached out, grabbed it, and stuffed it back into the vial.
Through the pale yellow, semi-transparent vial, it was clear that the tentacle only filled a small portion of it, as if part of it had already vanished.
"Damn it... another failure..." The shadow on the black-robed man’s face faded, revealing a gaunt, pale middle-aged man whose skin hung loosely like that of a centenarian.
Veins pulsed on his face, and he was completely bald, with only a cluster of black-red cysts the size of a fist remaining, giving him an appearance that was neither human nor ghostly.
The black-robed man staggered to his feet, pressing his right hand against his forehead, seemingly battling a severe headache.
Once he regained his composure, he cast a vicious glance around the empty street, tucked the vial away, muttering a curse under his breath, and returned to the tavern.
He donned his hood again, lowered his head, and sat back down, wiping the black blood from the corner of his mouth as if nothing had happened. He asked, "How’s the arrangement going, Blade?"
Blade, still somewhat dazed, froze at the question. After a long pause, he seemed to remember something and replied blankly, "…It’s all set… They didn’t suspect a thing."
The conversation was repeated, but unlike last time, the black-robed man didn’t provoke Blade further. Instead, he guided the conversation, prompting Blade to reiterate the plan.
"Jingle—"
Just as the discussion progressed and the black-robed man felt his own focus wavering, he heard the sound of the tavern’s glass door being pushed open.
"Who?"
The black-robed man quickly turned to the door, but before he could fully face it, a bullet whizzed toward his chest with a gunshot.
"Bang—!"
The intense pain sent him crashing to the ground, curling up like a shrimp. He glanced toward the window and saw a stunning red-haired girl in a black cloak, expressionless, aiming a revolver at him.
How could it be her?!
Blade jolted at the sound of the gunshot but stood frozen, making no move.
The newcomer was Xia Er.
To avoid a single bullet missing its target, she aimed for the largest area—the torso.
After knocking the black-robed man down, she quickly turned the gun toward Blade, swiftly aiming at the unresponsive man.
"Bang—"
The bullet, smoking as it left the chamber, veered off course at the last moment, screaming as it buried itself in Blade’s throat.
"Thud—"
A torrent of blood mixed with bubbles erupted from his throat as he clutched it, slowly collapsing against the bar.
At that moment, Xia Er felt no relief. With three bullets left, only one remained. She quickly switched hands, holding the revolver to her temple with her left hand while drawing a dagger with her right, cautiously moving toward the black-robed man.
To ensure success, she reserved the last bullet for herself—this was to guarantee a swift death.
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**Chapter Eight: The Night of Boiling Blood**
How could she have found him?!
She should have died without knowing anything!
The black-robed man stared in horror at the girl before him, his already throbbing brain unable to comprehend how she had traced her way to this place.
Moreover, after accurately blowing off Blade’s head with a single shot, she had the audacity to turn the gun on herself... Was she insane?
No... If she wasn’t insane, then there was another possibility.
Only an extraordinary being could perform such bizarre, unorthodox actions.
But how could that be?
This was a lamb Blade had meticulously selected for the ritual, with no background or connections whatsoever—someone whose death would go unnoticed. How could she possibly complete the resurrection ritual? What path had she taken?
Could it be that her earlier display of ordinariness was also part of the resurrection ritual?
As he watched the girl approach, the black-robed man knew he could no longer delay.
His resurrection ritual was not yet complete; he didn’t want to die here!
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