Lord of Prayer - Chapter 228 - 168: Swindling and Bluffing

Chapter 228: Chapter 168: Swindling and Bluffing

Zhou Chen took off his mask and used Alchemy to conjure a pure white steel mask, which he placed over his face, completely concealing his features.

The streetlamps cast a cold light, their shades swarmed by countless moths and mosquitos. The entire block was utterly silent, its inhabitants deep in slumber. The old house, swallowed by darkness, looked ancient. Its walls were mottled and peeling, and the ground around it was littered with shards of glass that had been blown out from within. The hollowed-out windows gaped like immense, dark mouths.

Zhou Chen slipped silently through a first-floor window and began to investigate the house with light, careful steps.

He entered into a kitchen where the counters were covered in bottles and jars. Most were coated in dust, and some spice jars hadn’t even been opened, suggesting the owner of the house rarely cooked.

The kitchen trash hadn’t been taken out in who knows how many days. Especially now, in the hottest part of summer, the leftover scraps had spoiled and were rotting, emitting a nauseating, sour stench. Maggots and flies had even started to appear.

Zhou Chen held his breath and left the kitchen. He entered the dining room, where the table was a chaotic mess of used takeout containers, reeking of the same pungent, sour odor. There was no telling how long they had been left there.

’Rarely cooks, lives on takeout… must be a homebody. But a homebody wouldn’t attract the attention of the Blood Race… An obsessive scholar, perhaps?’ A guess flashed through Zhou Chen’s mind as he left the dining room and entered the living room.

The living room had no decorative objects and was sparsely furnished—it didn’t even have a television. The dusty coffee table was piled high with books on science, Mysticism, and Alchemy.

’Looks like the owner was a scholar. A male scholar, most likely. Someone who didn’t care much about his living environment, as long as it was a roof over his head…’

He scanned the titles of the books, discovering they were all well-known classics, such as *Essence Theory*, *Soulology*, *Human Biology*, *Secrets of Alchemy*, and *Kabbalah Tree of Life*…

Knowledge is priceless, especially books containing the secrets of the Extraordinary Realm. Out in the world, any one of these books could easily sell for the astronomical price of hundreds of thousands, if not millions.

The value of all these books piled together was equivalent to a luxury villa on the outskirts of Hong City.

“No wonder he was so frugal. All his money went to buying books… What on earth was the owner researching…” Zhou Chen muttered as he finished checking the first floor and walked up the stairs to the second.

There were two bedrooms. Judging by the personal belongings inside, one was occupied by an elderly person and the other by a younger one. They were likely a master and apprentice.

The Blood Race had been here many times. All of the scholar-duo’s important personal items had been taken, leaving behind only useless junk.

After investigating the two rooms for a long time, Zhou Chen came to the last room in the old house. This one was extremely bare; there was nothing inside. However, based on the dust patterns on the floor, it had once been filled with equipment arranged in a circle around the room, all of which had now been completely cleared out.

Zhou Chen lowered his eyes, piecing together the clues he had gathered:

A master and apprentice, both scholars on a tight budget, were conducting some kind of secret research in this old country house. The result of that research was what caused him, Zhou Chen, to travel here from sixty years in the future. Moreover, the Blood Race also seemed very interested in their work; it was highly likely they were the ones who had moved the experimental equipment.

Of course, there was another possibility: someone else had moved the equipment before the Blood Race arrived.

’Could they have been researching a time travel device?’ Zhou Chen was just thinking this when his expression suddenly shifted.

Someone was here.

「First floor of the old house.」

Two masked figures climbed in through a window, cautiously feeling their way through the darkness as they explored.

“I can smell the dissipating aura of Darkness in the air. The Blood Race beat us to it. We’re too late,” one of the masked men, a smaller figure, said in a low voice.

“The Blood Race’s underground intelligence network is too damn good. They managed to lock down the news for three days. Fuck…” the other, taller masked man cursed angrily.

Three days. The trail was beyond cold; any important clues that might have been here were long gone, cleared out by the Blood Race.

“We should still look around. We have to find something, even if it’s a useless clue. Otherwise, the Steward will definitely throw us to the Corrupters!” the taller man said.

The two began to search the first floor stealthily. They picked up the books on the living room coffee table, hoping to find some useful clues inside. Just then, the faint sound of footsteps came from the staircase, causing both of them to tense up instantly. The Essence in their bodies began to surge, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Heh, no need to be so tense.”

The voice, tinged with a light laugh, came from a figure descending the stairs. He wore a pure white steel mask, and on the ring finger of his right hand was a ring inlaid with a black gemstone.

Ascenders have night vision in dark environments, so the two masked men saw the Holy Fire Ring almost immediately and were momentarily stunned.

“Which Steward of the Eternal Fire might you be?” the taller masked man asked warily. He realized his earlier words had just exposed their identities as Abyssal Cultists.

Zhou Chen maintained the typical arrogance of an Eternal Fire Steward, slowly twisting the ring on his finger as he asked indifferently, “And who are you?”

A faint killing intent emerged, as if he might cruelly silence them in the next second. The taller masked man broke out in a cold sweat. He hurriedly rolled up his sleeve, revealing a mark on his wrist—a ring of blood-red thorns. “Sir, we are cultists of the Crimson Sect, acting under the orders of Steward Mandala. My name is Xia Bo, and he is Xia Qi…”