Chapter 607 - 522: Moonlit "Feast

Chapter 607: Chapter 522: Moonlit "Feast

The roars, the screams, the clash of weapons, the lingering echoes of Magic.

It all came to an abrupt halt, as if choked off by an invisible giant hand.

The madly surging crowd was like a wave crashing against an unseen wall of despair.

The savage expressions on the faces of the ferocious few at the very front instantly froze, melting into a vacant daze.

Then, an indescribable Fear shot up their spines and into their skulls, like a cold, venomous snake.

Cold sweat instantly soaked their backs as an instinctive tremor of paralysis seized their limbs.

It was as if they were standing naked before the gaze of a primeval beast, their very souls about to be frozen and crushed by that gilded light.

"Ugh..."

"What...?"

Those slightly farther away also felt their breath catch, their hearts seized by an icy grip.

A primal Fear of an apex predator, rising from the depths of their bloodlines, gripped them. Their fervent will to survive was doused as if by ice water, instantly extinguished, leaving only the instinct to stand frozen in place.

Even the surviving, well-trained Dark Moon Guards turned pale the moment the Dragon Mighty washed over them. Their knuckles whitened as they gripped their weapons, and they involuntarily took half a step back, their eyes filled with horror and disbelief.

The entire tunnel intersection fell into an eerie, deathly silence.

Only coarse, uneasy panting and the faint, yet increasingly clear, hum of Spiritual Energy from a distance served as a reminder that the danger had not yet passed.

The stagnant silence lasted only for a fleeting moment.

Roland, standing his ground, swayed almost imperceptibly.

His already fair complexion had taken on an almost translucent pallor. Beads of cold sweat formed on his brow, dripping silently down his well-defined jawline.

The rhythm of his breathing remained steady, but each inhalation seemed a fraction deeper than usual, as if silently replenishing something that had been suddenly drained.

He lowered his eyelids, hiding the flicker of exhaustion in his eyes.

’The consumption was far greater than I expected...’

’It seems the trauma to my soul not only limits my Casting Ability, but even a Dragon Race Trait like Dragon Mighty, which is driven by the very core of my Spirit, consumes far more Spiritual Power than before. It’s even aggravating that unhealed, hidden injury.’

’And that’s not all...’

Lifting his gaze to the scene before him, Roland frowned slightly.

’The range and intensity of the pressure I just released... compared to my peak, it probably didn’t even reach ten or twenty percent of my full power. It was barely enough to stun these ordinary Transcendents, whose Spirits weren’t highly focused and who were already shocked by my Martial prowess. But against a truly difficult opponent, the effect would be drastically reduced.’

With this in mind, Roland waved his hand.

"Holland! Over here!"

His voice was steady and clear, piercing the stagnant air.

Holland jolted, breaking free from the soul-deep tremor. He snapped his head up toward the source of the voice, his gaze meeting Roland’s vertical pupils, which still swirled with an intimidating, gilded light in the dimness.

A brief flicker of astonishment and an indescribable sense of unfamiliarity crossed his mind, but he quickly suppressed it.

Taking a deep breath, he readjusted the Ogre on his shoulder and yanked on the arm of Ellis, who stood beside him, pale from the Dragon Mighty but forcing himself to remain calm.

"Go!"

Holland let out a low growl and ignored the frozen, terrified stares around them. He broke into a run, following the path cleared by the Dragon Mighty—a path no one dared to block—and sprinted toward Roland at the exit.

They ran in silence.

Only the sound of their footsteps echoed in the now much emptier tunnel, mingled with the Ogre’s unconscious groans and Ellis’s slightly ragged breaths.

Soon, the view before them opened up.

A cool night breeze rushed to meet them, carrying a complex mix of scents—grass, earth, and something Burning in the distance—that completely dispelled the damp and bloody air of the underground.

They had emerged from the exit of the abandoned mine.

Before them was not the open wilderness they had expected, but a clearing hidden on the shaded side of a mountain hollow. The area was relatively flat but piled high with discarded ore and crude work sheds.

However, contrary to their expectations, the clearing was devoid of the well-dressed, imposing figures who had been escorted out first.

Or rather...

Their figures had now become twisted, unconscious bodies scattered across the ground.

THUMP!

The soft thud didn’t come from the distance. It was the sound of Roland’s hand shooting out to firmly block Holland, who had instinctively started to step forward and investigate.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, the gilded luster having already faded.

After his pupils adjusted to the dim starlight and the distant afterglow of a few scattered torches, his gaze swept across the slag-covered clearing, as sharp as a falcon’s.

Within the shadows stood three chilling figures.

They were three of the four High Tier Heartstealers who had appeared earlier in the Dark Moon Hall, each holding a strange, short staff.

Their thick, dark-purple carapaces gleamed with a cold light in the faint gloom. The naturally formed, intricate patterns on their shells, resembling nerve bundles, faintly pulsed with the glow of Spiritual Energy.

Thick tentacles writhed slowly around their mouths, their tips occasionally sparking with tiny arcs of electricity.

The three Heartstealers were not gathered together but stood in a loose triangular formation, subtly blocking the main path from the clearing to the more open ground beyond.

The two on the left and right were like silent sentinels, maintaining a high state of alert.

Their heads turned slowly, their slick-skinned faces oriented in different directions.

Their inhuman, pupil-less, dark eye sockets seemed to absorb light, precisely scanning their surroundings for any hint of movement or Energy fluctuation.

The short staves in their hands, topped with cloudy crystals, were pointed slightly forward, the Runes on their shafts shimmering with a ready light.

Meanwhile, the Heartstealer positioned slightly forward in the center of the triangle was engaged in a "task" that was stomach-churning and sent a chill straight to the bone.

Its four thick tentacles were not raised in a guarded posture. Instead, like the most nimble and greedy of snakes, they were coiled tightly, suctioned to the head of a human body lying limp on the ground.

The body was clad in a well-tailored, expensive-looking short robe of dark purple velvet.

It was none other than the goblin steward, Grom Shadow Scale.

Right now, the goblin who prided himself on his shrewdness and "respectability" was staring wide-eyed. His once-yellow eyes, which had gleamed with avarice and calculation, were now utterly devoid of light, leaving only a hollow, deathly gray.

His mouth was slightly agape, saliva mixed with some dark, viscous fluid dribbling uncontrollably from the corner.

The Heartstealer’s head, covered in slick, dark skin, was tilted slightly forward. The finer, smaller, secondary tentacles around its mouth vibrated at a high frequency, emitting an almost inaudible but scalp-numbing sound of sucking and squirming.

Accompanied by this sickening, subtle noise, the goblin Grom’s head was visibly "caving in" ever so slightly.

It wasn’t that his skull was fracturing, but rather a more bizarre and complete loss of substance.

It was as if all the brain tissue, memories, and even the dregs of his soul within his cranium were being forcibly extracted and devoured by those greedy tentacles.

The Heartstealer’s dark body rose and fell gently. The eerie blue glow of Spiritual Energy flowing across its carapace pulsed at a slow, satisfied rhythm, as if it were savoring a long-awaited "delicacy."

Around them lay a few other figures, scattered about.

From the tattered remains of their clothing and the priceless, scattered jewelry, one could vaguely identify them as the "important figures" who had been escorted out earlier.

Now, like Grom, they had become silent decorations on the cold ground, a testament to the Heartstealers’ efficiency and cruelty in the hunt.

The night wind swept over the slag-covered clearing, stirring up fine dust, but it couldn’t disperse the faint, sweet-metallic tang and the deeper stench of death that permeated the air. And also...

Three cold, clammy auras of Spiritual Perception that felt almost tangible, locked onto this location.

In the distance, the deep, dark exit of the abandoned mine was like the throat of a great beast, the faint Chaos and hum of Spiritual Energy from within seemingly cut off for the moment.

Before them, a silent "feast" was not yet over, and three pairs of inhuman "eyes" had turned in unison toward the new intruders.