Chapter 1493 - 61: Rooting Out Evil

Bologue rarely carried out rescue missions—not because he disliked saving people, but simply because he felt, by nature, ill-suited to that kind of operation.

The Undead’s greatest advantage lay in the trial-and-error afforded by their Undying Body. Because of this, Bologue often plunged deep into battlefields of extreme peril; amidst such suffocating tension, he rarely had the spare focus to look after those around him, let alone protect unarmed civilians through wave after wave of brutal fighting.

There was no helping it; he was already in an environment like this. Bologue couldn’t just act impressive and then slink away, nor could he wholly disregard these people’s lives and deaths, unleashing large-scale Command to let the river drown this place.

Bologue did not think of himself as a good man, yet he still harbored a measure of goodwill.

"Olivia, I’m leaving this to you!"

Bologue vaulted over the cover, and after a swift and lethal rush, drove his sword clean through a Night Race member’s throat. Ether bored along the wound and slipped inside, effortlessly tearing the man’s body apart into a cloud of blood mist.

So far, the Night Race bloodlines Bologue had encountered were all relatively impure. Their Undying Nature was greatly weakened; a single sufficiently powerful strike that fully pulverized their bodily structure was enough to put them down for good.

Olivia hurried up to follow. She had always lived under the weight of guilt, at one point living like an ascetic in search of redemption. The plan to save The Imperfect and thwart the schemes of the Rebellious Royal Court filled her with quiet joy, as though she could make amends for her mistakes through it; she had never once refused.

Shadows surged up at speed, like an Abyssal maw yawning open beneath the ground. Amid the terrified cries of The Imperfect, they were dragged together down into the darkness.

The bulging shadow then collapsed, leaving behind on the ground a vast, constantly shifting silhouette. Blades could not cut it, nor could water or fire wear it down—as though it had descended from three-dimensional existence to two—remaining wholly detached from the battlefield until its Ether was completely spent.

Bologue had not expected Olivia’s shadows to shelter so many people at once. If Olivia were treated as a transport unit, could she, as during small-team infiltration, silently carry an entire Condenser squad?

Obviously, Bologue was overthinking it. After swallowing such a large number of The Imperfect, the shadow’s movement slowed to a crawl, even turning completely stagnant where it stood. As the intake of people increased, the burden on Olivia multiplied; now, never mind relocating the crowd—maintaining the sheltering shadow alone was consuming all of her mental strength.

Fortunately, the shadows had at least shifted the Imperfect at the dock away from the battlefield for the moment, allowing Bologue’s actions to become a shade more unrestrained.

"Start the ship! Move it!"

Seeing Bologue’s sudden assault and feeling that terrifying Defender power, the Night Race screamed nonstop as they shoved the levers. The engine thundered weakly, paddles churned the water into spray, and the cargo ship pushed forward along the underground river.

Back when the Land of Secrets was first founded, Condensers of the Commanding School had undertaken drastic modifications to the surrounding geology, carving out one underground waterway after another, hidden deep below. These channels ran straight to nearby seas, silently carrying strategic resources.

It was in this manner that The Imperfect were continuously transported away, penned in as blood-stock by the Rebellious Royal Court.

The cargo ship surged into motion, parting the agitated waters as it raced toward the depths of darkness. Yet just as it was about to leave the dock, it suddenly stalled in place. No matter how wildly the paddles spun, the vessel could not be driven forward an inch.

The Night Race turned back and saw the terrifying figure standing on the pier, eyes blazing like torches.

Bologue stretched out his hand, as if seizing the ship across empty air, drawing everything before him into his range of Command. In that instant, the river reversed its flow, the cargo ship shuddered violently, and the paddles’ rotation slowed, then stopped altogether.

The Night Race stared in shock for several seconds, then roared, "Kill him! Kill him!"

Someone rushed onto the deck, hefted a machine gun, and opened fire on Bologue. Dense bullets wove a stark line of flame, streaking toward him at speed. Yet just before they reached him, a fierce whirlwind coiled around Bologue. It could not outright halt the bullets’ advance, but it could nudge their trajectories off by a hair.

Bologue stood as if divinely shielded; the deadly rain of bullets curved away from him, slamming into the ground around. A small number slipped through the wind’s interference, but they, too, slowed and finally hung suspended before his eyes.

Beyond gunfire, wave after wave of Secret Energy was unleashed from the deck. The first to strike Bologue were the powers of the Void Spirit School—those adept at weaving psychic illusions, whose attacks were always silent and unseen.

Bologue felt Heavy Hammers pounding at his mind. Because of the vast Tier gap, most of the Psychic Attacks were blocked by the Rectangular Soul Critical, yet he still experienced a dizzying shock; the scene before him doubled and overlapped, and bloodshot lines flooded the whites of his eyes.

Night Race of the Ascetic School watched Bologue warily. Though they excelled at close combat, Bologue outmatched them utterly in that domain. Disembarking now would be tantamount to walking to their deaths.

Just as they wavered, the Night Race of the Illusion Creation School conjured ice, thunder, lightning, and flame from thin air. These most basic Elemental Powers condensed and seethed in midair, brimful of destructive force.

They held their breath and gathered strength, ready to bring divine punishment down on Bologue—when he suddenly clenched his fist, as though he had locked his grip around some invisible thing.