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Chapter 398 Greetings

The arrow seemed to have been made from fine steel and compressed into shape. However, it was actually countless pieces of paper-thin metal wrapped around a frame in layers. The frame was constructed with fine details. It could break at a light push. However, its speed was too fast. In just a moment, it was already past layers of obstacles. But then in an instant, the frame bent. The countless steel plates snapped open in response, curling up like an angered snake.

However, the curled plates did not fly out. They remained on the frame and shook wildly, going through thousands of reverberations in an instant. They turned into thousands of 'needle reeds.' The trembling air whistled and the rising noise joined, creating an almost solid cacophony.

The aether in its path shook, going crazy. This was like a miniature version of Zhaodang. It used countless reeds to create disordered aether waves. The piercing melody chased away all aether, transforming the tight space into a temporary 'aether vacuum.' Then the cabin wall rumbled and shattered!

A warrior in heavy armor burst through the wall. The moment the iron giant appeared, Philip's expression changed. "Knights Templar? Bann, you dare—" But then he stopped. He knew where this armor came from. Anyone with eyes would know!

The warrior's armor was nothing like that of the Knights Templar. It seemed to be made of raw metal and forcefully put together and smelted. The shell still contained nails and signs of repair. There was nothing delicate or majestic about it. It was as ugly as a beast, a crazy giant, or a Frankenstein. It was pure aggressive menace.

At the warrior's shoulder, black paint created the combination of gears and the holy emblem. It was an abnormality that had split from the Church a century ago. It was a school that used pure human power to cross the Dark World and develop new land—the Chainsaw Fraternity!

This group of priests who had struggled in the Dark World never shied away from dirty trade. They accepted money for any job, killing and setting fires without any fear. In battle, they could hold a sword in their left hand and beat their enemies with a bible in their right hand. If the god that the Sacred City worshipped was merciful, then the Chainsaw Fraternity carried out the god's cruelty. There were no musicians, aether, or warmth in their world. They only had the bible and machinery, only had miracles made of machines and the cruel battlefield.

Now, the iron priest picked up the heavy 'shower.' The bone-white and blood-red shark on his mask grinned menacingly.

Philip gasped involuntarily.

The fog machine shook. Black oil was forced through, transforming into crushed oil fog. It poured out of the 'shower' with air pressure. It was nice and cool…not!

What came out was aggressive dragon breath! Blazing red fire swallowed the entire room instantly. Other than the warrior, everything else was bathed in the fire. It greedily burned at every molecule of air. The low air pressure fed the fire until it filled every corner.

There was no oxygen, no breathing, and no sound. In the heavy and muffled heat, only the 'shower' rumbled as it operated like demonic laughter.

Philip was buried within.

In a place without aether, killing a musician was as easy as killing a chicken. But unfortunately…Philip was not a chicken. Thirty years ago, he was youthful and strong. He was the Ministry of Information's executioner, a psychotic killer, a fervent believer, and the master swordsman of the Witch Hammer!

In the fire, under the burning red robe, a sword was unsheathed. The frail old man stepped forward. His chest puffed up and he roared like a crack of thunder. The flames shook.

A tragic beam of light shot from his wrist. It cut apart the fiery dragon breath, tearing through the mass of red. The bright sword whistled up and down; it was only a moment before it was held in the air. That moment, the blade was fleeting like a bubble. Cracks followed it.

A straight crack spread. It cut through a wrist, the shower, a chest, and the Chainsaw warrior's mask. Everything was cut in half! Then the hoisted sword beheaded the man.

The flames separated!

The redness was cut into two parts.

The Chainsaw warrior's looming figure split from the middle, iron crumbling, and flesh falling to two sides. It revealed the old priest bathing in fire behind him. His white hair was dyed red and his white eyes were filled with cold menace.

He leaned on his sword. His half-burnt body quivered, almost collapsing to the ground.

The next moment, the aether that had been chased away returned. It transformed into a halo that glowed upon him. He shed his decayed flesh and burnt marks, turning back into an old man with light in his hands.

Arrows whistled from the cabin across the hall like a thunderstorm. However, they froze in mid-air, locked by the light.

A somber prayer chant resounded through the entire ship. The burnt and dying priests on the ground began convulsing. Blood flowed in reverse and flesh regenerated under small noises until the body was complete again.

They screamed from the pain of rebirth and climbed up. Grandmaster Philip waved and the flames went still as if they were put into amber. The arrows shot backward, tearing through the layers of cabins, piercing the entire ship and creating a large, gaping hole.

However, there was nothing behind the broken cabins, other than the automatic crossbow car.

"Stay here," Philip ordered.

The ring of light expanded behind him. It turned slowly and countless voices began singing as if angels had arrived. With support from the symphony of predestination 'God's Punishment Incarnate,' he flew with his sword. He instantly flew out of the hole in the wall and hovered above the deck. His white pupils scanned the crowd but could not find the assassin.

He huffed. Spinning around, he looked into the deep sea. Blazing light shot from his eyes, illuminating the darkness as well as the quickly escaping figures dozens of meters below.

Grunting, he raised his sword and brought it down, hacking the sea surface. With a rumbling explosion, the ray of light was buried into the deep sea. It went up and down, slicing the figures. But even after a long while, there was no blood. The figures had disappeared like bubbles. Only a few dozen strange fish floated to the surface.

"What the h*ll?" Philip frowned. But then the abnormal fish suddenly swelled and exploded. Sickly green smoke spewed from the cracked fish. It swelled in the sea wind and shrouded toward Philip.

The old man huffed. The holy light rose like a wall. Outside of it, the green smoke sizzled and a few strands almost seeped in. It was a rare poison. A mere strand could decay the entire ship into a watery tomb but it could not pass through. However, there was a muffled snort.

Sticky blood flowed from Philip's nose, trickling down. He murmured, "Illusion? And poison…is it the Voodoo Crypt? Do you dare challenge the Ministry of Information?!"

When the poisonous fog covered everything, the assassin's illusion fulcrum had already been included. Instantaneously activated, it would drag the enemy into the illusion. If there was a slight mishap, the barrier would come undone and the enemy would die. However, the poison was also part of the illusion, raising the danger of the originally weak illusion.

The two complemented each other, changing the usual shortcoming of the School of Illusions, turning it into a terrifying attack. Only one group had this technique—the Voodoo Crypt!

"Huh, there's a grandmaster? The client gave some wrong information…" an annoyed voice said in the poisonous fog. "Threatening me with the Sacred City? Wow, I'm so scared. But you guys haven't come to the Northern Islands in all these years."

Philip's face darkened.

The Northern Islands and boundless ocean had always been bases for the School of Illusion. It was comparable to the 'Mirage School' of the desert. They had created the legends of the 'siren musicians' and the 'ship of the undead.'

These musicians who controlled reality and illusions ruled the seas. They controlled many smuggling and illegal trades and never stayed put. All of them were unclean and were responsible for many messes.

They were also informative and would disappear at the slightest hint of trouble. There was an adage among the sailors: every shell in the sea may contain a hiding Illusion musician. No one knew where they would hide.

Therefore, even though they knew that the target was from the Sacred City, some desperate musicians still wanted to take the risk and make some money.

After all, it was just to slow them down. The client had good credit as well. He paid the deposit quickly and never delayed the final payments. Only an idiot would pass up this job!

"I don't know why you angered him but he wants to mess with you guys so we can't do anything about it." The old man in the poisonous fog laughed. "So how about you guys stay here for five minutes and I'll let you go? You'll be unharmed and I can finish my job. How about it? I swear on the Originator I'm honest."

What he got in reply was the light of discipline!

-

"Colt…oh, Colt…"

In the messy ship, layers of solidified flames had transformed into a forest. They bloomed with such red flowers, beautiful yet tragic like fine pieces of art. But Colt, still unrecovered from his fear, heard a hoarse voice.

"My friend, where are you?" The raspy voice echoed among the broken flames, murmuring in his ear, "Can you come closer? It's so dark here. I can't see you…"

The two priests lifted their swords. Countless black shadows slowly emerged from the crystallized flames.

Cruelty flashed past Colt's eyes. He took out the 'anti-tune' and sliced through the air. The music theory on the blade instantly changed. Revelations music theory expanded, fusing into the chaotic theory. With this sword movement, the flames withered and shattered. All music theory connections broke apart. The black shadows screamed until they disappeared.

"Just a bunch of scams." Colt frowned and suddenly felt a wet hand on his shoulder. Someone had silently pressed up to him, laughing in his ears. "I'm right here. Can't you see?"

Colt spun around in shock. He saw the shattered body that had climbed up from the ground. It was only half of a body. It choked and cried. Raising its head, it revealed the cut up side. The flesh was a mess.

"Don't be scared," it murmured and giggled. "I'm just sending a message…" The cracked skull opened its mouth to murmur. Then it shattered, blood splattering. With a muffled thud, the remaining body was nailed into the wall by a sword. It vibrated and shook like an endless sharp laughter.

There was a scream. A vague figure wrapped in green poison disappeared in the distance.

Philip, burning with phantom fire, returned to the cabin. The other priests helped him shave off the burning flesh. He quickly recovered, becoming old but complete again.

This fast recovery seemed like exceptional healing but it actually consumed a man's vitality and potential. Even a grandmaster of the School of Choir was unable to save the lifespan Philip had used up. He was only sixty years old but already looked ancient.

"Let's get off at the next port." Philip's expression was dark. "It seems like we've already been tracked. Those lunatics dare to attack the Sacred City!"

Colt remained silent. He gaped at the body on the wall, shell-shocked. He could still hear the corpse murmuring in his ear as if the dead had truly come back for a greeting.

"I came back from hell," he said. "I'm still alive."