CHAPTER 122: CHAPTER 122: DEMONIC SPECIES_1

Although the police chief’s face was no longer recognizable as human, it seemed he still had some cognition left as he taunted Lance, "Hahaha! This is the power of a god; you will never defeat me!"

The successive thwarted attacks made Lance realize this opponent was not to be trifled with. The scene couldn’t help but bring certain things to mind.

Could it really be that the Forefather intervened?

But the monster the police chief had transformed into gave him no time to think. It became extremely aggressive, charging straight at him and swinging its deformed hands.

In the blink of an eye, he cast aside his doubts and, Longsword in hand, went to meet the assault.

It was true that most of Lance’s past battles hadn’t involved an enemy who could withstand his first strike. This had led to him being unable to precisely gauge the level of his own strength. But now, this fleshly punching bag was a good reflection of his power as a Brave.

Lance launched attack after attack. Each left wounds on the creature’s body that quickly healed, but this gave him a rough idea of the monster’s strength.

Although the police chief looked strange, his actual combat ability wasn’t impressive. He was like a child wielding a kitchen knife—dangerous but equally fragile.

If it were facing ordinary soldiers or civilians, it might have massacred them. But stripping away the fear its twisted form inspired, it didn’t seem much of a challenge for a Brave like Lance.

The Longsword sliced through Flesh. The monster winced in pain, but this time it didn’t recover. Lance noticed its belly deflate slightly. He immediately understood that it needed to consume Flesh to heal, unlike him, whose Abilities allowed healing out of thin air.

But the next second, the monster flailed its tentacles, grasping chunks of Flesh from the ground and shoving them into its mouth to chew. The exposed wounds began to heal once more.

"Hahaha! Blood is surging! Become a part of me!"

The monster was taunting, oblivious to the drastic change in Lance’s expression as his mouth moved, muttering in a low whisper.

"That is my Sacrifice... How dare you... How dare you..." Lance gripped the Longsword with both hands and suddenly let out a roar, "You are courting death!"

A fearsome aura erupted with his shout. Lance’s face contorted as if he had fallen into a berserk rage; he raised his Longsword and charged. His originally well-balanced combat style suddenly changed—the Longsword, wielded with brute force, became the purest and most terrifying form of attack, devoid of any technique.

The left arm that had blocked the Sword Blade just moments before now emitted a cracking sound upon impact, and the monster’s body staggered uncontrollably.

Lance had managed to force the monster back with sheer strength, and its left arm’s carapace fractured.

The barrage of attacks was relentless and grew even more ferocious, not giving it a moment to recover before the next Longsword strike landed.

Driven back step by step, its right tentacle was severed, the left arm’s carapace shattered further, and wounds all over its body remained unhealed.

At this moment, the monster found itself utterly helpless to resist.

Impossible! I am chosen by a god! How can I not even beat an ordinary person? My power must not be enough... It’s not enough!

"Oh god, I offer everything to you! Please grant me even greater power!"

But sadly for it, its prayer had no effect whatsoever, as if it had already been abandoned by its supposed god.

This situation plunged the monster into complete despair. Lance, relying solely on his own strength, was torturing the creature, enveloping it in fear.

Lance had noticed its odd behavior, but it had been unable to cause him much damage before, let alone now. Instead, taking advantage of its breakdown, his Longsword slashed diagonally. Under the tremendous force, even the deformed Flesh could not withstand the blow. The carapace completely shattered, and the left arm was severed, flying off.

Then, twisting his body to exert force, his next Longsword strike cut directly into the monster’s waist, the Sword Blade slicing more than halfway through its spine.

Had the intense battle not dulled the Sword Blade’s sharpness, that strike would have cleaved it in two.

But the grievous wound also robbed the monster of its last vestiges of resistance.

With a fierce kick, Lance leveraged the force to pull out his Longsword. Reversing his grip, he swung the Longsword down on the monster’s neck. This time, with no muscle to impede it, he cleanly severed the head, ending the fight.

The monster—now headless, armless, and nearly reduced to a human stick—paused for two seconds before collapsing with a BOOM. However, Lance did not relax at all. Instead, he plunged his Longsword into the swollen tumors protruding from its chest.

Fearing it was feigning death, Lance immediately raised his hand and activated Sacrifice. The Void Devourer passed over, leaving only tattered clothing, without a trace of blood or Flesh remaining.

It seemed not every Heretic possessed the strength of the Butler to struggle during Sacrifice, especially this mere minion.

The reward returned. Lance had thought the monster’s transformation might yield something special, but it turned out to be nothing more than common experience points.

That made sense. If it had really been a Forefather’s spirit possessing the creature, how could I possibly have defeated it? It must have been like the encounter with that alpha wolf, where some secret technique was triggered. It seems the methods of the Ascension Sect aren’t as simple as just burning Incense; there’s much I still don’t understand.

Heaving a sigh, Lance looked at the Longsword in his hand. Unable to withstand his brute force, the Sword Blade now had many chips and indentations.

This Longsword, from the collector’s Exhibition Room, must have once belonged to a Swordsman with exceptional skill in swordsmanship. If he knew how I’d treated his sword, would he be so angry he’d come back to life?

However, Lance didn’t dwell on it. It was quite normal; weapons and armor were consumables. Even metal items required extensive maintenance over time.

In any case, he had several swords in his Exhibition Room, so he could simply replace them when they were damaged. No sentimentality attached.

Approaching the candelabrum, Lance scrutinized the Blood Candle but couldn’t discern anything particularly unusual about it. It didn’t emit any spiritual light, so it clearly wasn’t an Extraordinary item. The chance of it attracting a god’s gaze seems unlikely, as the Forefather hasn’t even achieved godhood yet, let alone Ascension. Besides, the true gods are still in slumber.

There has to be a reason, though. Otherwise, those Heretics wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of crafting these things and using them specifically for important occasions like Sacrificial rituals.

He tried to activate Sacrifice, but there was no reaction. It seems even that mysterious entity doesn’t value this.

Remembering the blasphemous way this object had been made, he felt disgusted. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Lance turned his head to look...

Within an indescribably mystical great hall, the walls were covered with vast expanses of abnormal, pulsating Flesh, forming actual walls of Flesh. Among them stood an altar of black iron, upon which twisted, eerie Flesh grew as if it were alive.

A few individuals in gold-trimmed black robes encircled it. They were completely enveloped, standing motionless as if they were sculptures rather than living beings. Yet, a faint sound of writhing and friction emanated from within their robes.

Until, at a certain moment, one of them suddenly moved. A voice, not human yet attempting to mimic human speech, emerged.

"A Seed has died..."