CHAPTER 171: CHAPTER 171 - NOT GOING DOWN EASILY

The oppressive silence thickened, broken only by the ragged sound of their own breathing. Hidden in the shadows of the twisted trees, Luca’s knuckles whitened around his sabers. His eyes flicked toward Aurelia, whose violet gaze shimmered with fury, but beneath that fire a rare uncertainty lingered.

"Did... he discover us? And what do they mean by sacrifice?" she whispered, her grip tightening around her spear.

Luca’s jaw clenched, his expression grave. His eyes stayed locked on the cloaked figure. "I don’t know... but it seems that... we’ve been baited to come here." His voice was low, steady, but a cold weight pressed into his chest.

The screeching, ugly voice cut through the still afternoon again.

"If you don’t come out..."

Luca and Aurelia exchanged one sharp nod. No more hesitation. In a blur of movement, they burst out of hiding—sabers flashing with a golden glint in the sunlight, Aurelia’s spear humming with sharp intent.

The nearest cultist didn’t even have time to scream before Luca’s twin blades crossed at his neck, sending him sprawling to the dirt. Aurelia spun gracefully, her spear thrusting into another’s gut and flinging him back into his companions.

"JIiiieeehh!" another cultist shrieked as Luca’s boot slammed into his chest, knocking him unconscious.

The two of them fought like a storm, swift and merciless, cutting down the first wave of foes before the cultists could even rally. For a moment, the battlefield was theirs—two against many, yet the cultists fell like straw before sharpened steel.

But then—

Boom.

A crushing pressure descended. It wasn’t physical—yet it was heavier than iron. Luca staggered, his sabers trembling in his grip. Aurelia’s eyes widened, her body instinctively freezing mid-motion, as if invisible chains wrapped around her limbs.

The cloaked figure hadn’t moved an inch, and yet his mere presence bent the air. His aura seeped like black smoke, crawling over the ground, coiling around Luca and Aurelia like a serpent.

"Tch—" Luca gritted his teeth, forcing his knees not to buckle.

Aurelia bit her lip until it bled, anger flashing in her eyes, but even she could feel the helplessness clawing at her bones.

All around them, shadows stirred—one after another, cultists emerged from the darkness. Not just a handful. Twenty... thirty... their twisted grins and gleaming eyes surrounding them from every angle.

Luca’s breath came heavy, his gaze darting between the enemies closing in. They had been outnumbered before—but this was different. Now, the noose was tightening, and at its center loomed the cloaked figure, still standing tall, still faceless, a black phantom of malice.

The oppressive voice hissed once more, reverberating inside their skulls:

"Welcome... brave fools. Tonight, you join the sacrifice."

Grinding his teeth, Luca forced his voice out. "How did you find us?" His eyes darted between them, searching for an opening, even as his thoughts echoed in his skull. Calm down. Calm down.

But it wasn’t the cloaked figure who answered. From the left, one of the very cultists they had tracked burst into that hideous laughter.

"Ji-ji-ji-ji-ji-jiee! We already knew from the moment you entered this gorge, jiee-je-je! Not only you, but many others—fools like you who came seeking what we are digging—ended up as sacrifices for our Lord! Ji-jii-jieeei!"

At once, the other cultists raised their hands, voices merging in a grotesque chant that rattled the gorge:

"Blood for the Emperor, flesh for the Emperor, soul for the Emperor!

Blood for the Emperor, flesh for the Emperor, soul for the Emperor!"

The words pounded against Luca’s skull like war drums. He exchanged a grim glance with Aurelia, both of them stiffening under the revelation.

Fuck. Many others were baited already. What actually is going on here then? What is it they want... sacrificing people?

Luca’s voice cut out again, edged with steel. "Why the need to bait? You could have just abducted some innocent commoners instead of going through all this hassle."

The same cultist let out another jagged laugh, saliva glistening at the corner of his mouth.

"Ji-jiejiejie! How could commoners suffice? Their blood is weak, their souls worthless! We need strong blood force to dig that—"

"Enough."

The screeching voice of the cloaked figure silenced the entire gorge in an instant. The chanting ceased like a flame snuffed out.

"Tie them up," the figure commanded coldly. "We will sacrifice them tonight."

The cultists roared again, restarting their unholy chant as ropes were drawn out. The afternoon sun bled faint light over the gorge walls, but the shadows crawling closer around Luca and Aurelia felt more like midnight.

Luca’s whisper cut through the suffocating chant like a blade.

"Can you handle all of them alone... except for that cloaked figure?"

Aurelia’s brows furrowed, her spear trembling faintly in her grip. "What are you planning?"

"Can you?" His tone sharpened, eyes still locked on the cloaked figure whose oppressive aura weighed down on them.

She inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling. "It won’t be easy, but... sure, I can." Then her eyes widened as the realization struck. "You’re not—Luca, you’re not planning to take him on alone, are you? He is in the spatial expansion stage!!"

Luca’s jaw tightened, teeth gritted, yet his expression never wavered. "It’s not like I haven’t slain one before. Just trust me."

And before she could protest, he was already gone—dashing forward with lethal intent, twin sabers flashing like moonlight.

Aurelia’s heart twisted, but her body moved before her hesitation could root her. She pivoted, crimson hair whipping like fire in the wind as she charged into the swarm of cultists. Her spear lunged forward, skewering the first robed man who dared step into her path.

The chanting broke into chaotic shrieks.

With a sharp pull, she wrenched her spear free and spun, the polished steel tracing a vicious arc that carved two more cultists down in a spray of blood.

Her crimson eyes burned. Each thrust was precise, each sweep merciless. Yet the overwhelming numbers pressed against her like a rising tide.

"Kill her!"

They came from all directions—daggers flashing, curses spilling from their lips. Aurelia ducked beneath a wild slash, driving her spear upward through a chest, only for another cultist to slam into her side. The impact rattled her ribs, sending pain shooting across her body.

She staggered but did not fall. Gritting her teeth, Aurelia twisted, ripping her weapon through flesh before spinning with a flourish, the spear’s shaft cracking across another enemy’s jaw.

Blood sprayed her cheek. Sweat trickled down her temple.

Still, she moved—relentless, a whirlwind of scarlet hair and spear strikes. But for every cultist that fell, more closed in, blades nicking her arms, tearing fabric, drawing crimson lines across her pale skin.

Her breaths grew heavy, her movements slightly sluggish. The push and pull of the fight forced her into a deadly rhythm—advance, strike, bleed, endure.

She could hear Luca’s sabers clashing in the distance, his own battle with the cloaked figure raging like a storm.

But Aurelia refused to falter. With one last spin, her spear cleaved through three cultists at once, her body dripping with both sweat and blood.

Her crimson hair, disheveled and wild, caught the sunlight—like a banner of war, fierce and unyielding.

Still surrounded. Still bleeding. But her eyes gleamed with that same unshakable fire.

Aurelia’s battle cries echoing against the gorge walls. Each strike of her spear tore through flesh and cloth, but each slash she received in return carved deeper exhaustion into her movements. Her crimson hair, matted with sweat and streaked with blood, lashed in the air.

Luca’s gaze flickered toward her for the briefest heartbeat, then hardened again as he turned to the cloaked figure standing before him. His hands tightened around the hilts of his white and black sabers, their edges trembling faintly with restrained mana. His breaths came rough and heavy, sweat trailing down his jawline. He is strong.

The cloaked figure tilted his head, voice shrill and rasping, like metal scraping on stone.

"Why waste the effort?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Luca’s lips, sharp and defiant.

"Can’t you see? Your comrades are getting slaughtered."

The figure gave a dry, hollow laugh. "Hmph. Who cares about this trash? Ten die, and we can raise a hundred more."

Luca lunged forward, sabers flashing, the strike carrying both speed and fury. The figure didn’t even bother drawing a weapon—he deflected it with a simple swing of his arm, a shockwave bursting out that forced Luca back ten meters.

Boots skidding against the stone floor, Luca steadied himself, chest rising and falling heavily. His crimson eyes narrowed, thought racing. Hmph, as expected. They don’t even care about their own....I just have to catch him off guard. One strike. A single strike to end it.

The figure straightened, cloak rippling as if alive. His voice sliced through the air, cold and final.

"Enough with the chit-chat."