Lord of Prayer - Chapter 252 182: Black Humor 2

Before he could even return to the Blood Race stronghold, the Killing Doll Alice had devoured his heart and half his liver. Physical wounds meant little to the Blood Race, but he had lost at least fifteen percent of his Soul Quality. If he didn’t find a way to restore it, he would never be able to advance his realm again.

More importantly, the spiritual pain and emptiness from his damaged Soul constantly tormented him, making the agony unbearable.

Fortunately, as the Blood Race Saint Child, he received the best possible treatment. After drinking a Soul-Replenishing Witch Soup that had been brewing for a long time, he successfully repaired his Soul.

As for the Killing Doll Alice, she had been sealed by a Count in the stronghold. Now, twenty-four hours later, she had returned to her initial state. Her “hatred” was eliminated, and she could be used again.

What Pansi couldn’t understand was why he was the one who ended up getting hurt, when he had clearly assigned the Killing Doll Alice a target…

‘That damn human…’

At the thought of Zhou Chen, a vicious glint flashed in Pansi’s eyes. ‘That human had better pray we never meet again, or I’ll show him the true meaning of cruelty!’

“Thank you, Uncle. I feel much better.”

Pansi set down the bowl, thanking the middle-aged Blood Race man before him.

Leaving the infirmary, Pansi walked down the corridor.

The underground stronghold was vast, large enough to house three hundred members of the Blood Race. It even included a dedicated experimental Restricted Area, giving the scholars among them enough space to research the “Eternal Life Project.”

Pansi was just about to find the Count and ask about the results of the raid on the Li Family when a sudden, loud bang echoed through the stronghold. He froze for a second, then his expression changed drastically.

A piercing alarm blared throughout the underground stronghold.

‘Intruders!’

·

At the end of the secret passage was a heavy iron door, the entrance to the underground stronghold.

The Blood Race puppet controlled by the Grand Steward studied the door for a moment before shaking its head. “There’s no way to get in secretly. We’ll have to force our way through.”

‘Force our way through…’ Zhou Chen was still marveling at the Grand Steward’s simple, brute-force approach when the Fat Steward, wrapped in a gust of wind, charged forward like a roaring tank.

BOOM!

The massive boom echoed as the iron door, forged from a special metal, twisted with a sickening groan. It was sent flying dozens of meters by the terrifying force, finally crashing to the ground with another thunderous impact that made the entire structure tremble.

“Charge!”

The Grand Steward’s Blood Race puppet snatched a rifle from a Cultist and led the charge inside.

The Blood Race members guarding the tunnel entrance were stunned to see one of their own, but in the next instant, their supposed kinsman mercilessly pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flashed, spitting out a hail of purified Enchanted Bullets that instantly riddled the guards with holes. They let out agonized screams as their bodies were engulfed in Fiery Fire, writhing until they were nothing but smoldering husks.

‘The Crimson Sect came prepared!’

Since their opponents were the Blood Race, bringing Silver Weapons and Enchanted Bullets was a necessity. It was the only way to ensure their attacks were effective.

When fighting the Blood Race, Extraordinary Abilities and Abyssal Curse Techniques weren’t very effective, unless one held a distinct counter-advantage or could overwhelm them with sheer power. Otherwise, there was only one best option: consecrated Holy Silver Bullets!

At the same time, Crimson Cultists on the two other fronts launched their attacks, catching the Blood Race completely off guard.

But the Blood Race recovered quickly, organizing a counterattack with incredible speed.

A giant bat lunged at Zhou Chen, emitting a visible shockwave of sound that disrupted a person’s ability to think. Several Cultists behind him froze, their faces going slack as the cry scattered their thoughts.

But Zhou Chen was unaffected. He aimed the shotgun in his hands and fired.

BANG! A spray of blood filled the air. The powerful Holy Silver Bullet blew the giant bat’s head apart, and its body fell limply. Zhou Chen pulled the trigger again for good measure, blasting through its torso and splattering flesh and blood across the ground.

With practiced reloads and expert shots, coordinated with the suppressing fire of assault rifles, the Blood Race at the tunnel entrance were swiftly annihilated.

They pushed deeper without pause, gunning down every member of the Blood Race who tried to stop them.

Suddenly, a powerful presence descended. A viscous, bloody mist rose from the ground, revealing an imposing figure. It was a handsome man in a blood-red robe with a somber expression. Blood condensed in his palm, coating his hand before he formed it into a claw and viciously swiped.

The savage, crimson claws were as swift as the wind, flashing past in an instant and gouging horrifying marks into the walls and floor.

Zhou Chen, Mandala, and the other Stewards were horrified. Sensing a sharp wave of death rushing toward them, they hastily dodged. The Cultists who failed to react in time were instantly sliced apart and dismembered by the crimson claws.

“That’s a Tier Three Blood Count!” the Fat Steward said, his tone grave.

‘Tier Three…’ Zhou Chen’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected to run into such a tough opponent right off the bat.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Suddenly, a series of explosions erupted behind the Blood Count. Accompanied by a heavy rumble, it sounded as if some behemoth was approaching.

The Blood Count spun around. CRASH! The stone wall behind him exploded, and a two-meter-tall, bare-chested man with bronze skin emerged from the dust. His massive hand shot out and seized the Count, gripping him so tightly that the sound of shattering bones echoed out.

The Blood Count’s body dissolved into a pool of blood, slipping through the bronze-skinned man’s fingers before reforming in the distance. “A puppet?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

With a wave of his hand, a ball of blood appeared before him and condensed into seven Long Spears that tore through the air. The bronze-skinned man let out a great roar as his body took on a metallic sheen.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Amidst a series of metallic clashes, he tanked the piercing blows of the seven blood Long Spears and continued his heavy-footed charge.

“‘A Tier Three puppet…'” The Blood Count frowned, sensing this would be troublesome.

“It’s the Grand Steward’s puppet. Let’s go,” Mandala said, wasting no time in leading the others away. The puppet had clearly been sent by the Grand Steward to stall the Blood Count.

The Blood Count tried to attack them, but the bronze-skinned man’s fist came roaring toward him, stirring up a visible wake in the air and forcing the Count to retreat rapidly.

BOOM! An explosion tore through the spot where the Count had been standing. The marble tiles caved in, forming a deep crater webbed with cracks.

The Blood Count’s face was nicked by flying debris, drawing blood. His eyes turned blood-red and his pupils dilated as he launched an invisible spiritual interference at the puppet.

‘Since its hide is too thick to pierce, I’ll use a Spiritual Attack. I’ll sever the controller’s connection, or even better, seize control of the puppet myself!’

“Hmph!” A cold snort came from the bronze puppet’s nostrils. The Grand Steward had sensed the interference and immediately engaged the Blood Count in a clash within the Spiritual Realm.

Meanwhile, Zhou Chen and the others used this precious opportunity to push deeper inside. The roar of gunfire echoed from the distance; the other two teams were clearly on a killing spree of their own.

“Dammit, the guy with the ammo just got killed!” a Cultist shouted, firing the last of his bullets. Facing an oncoming member of the Blood Race, he threw the empty rifle at it, then pulled a bottle of pure white potion and his Silver-plated Longsword from his coat.

He crushed the bottle, splashed the pure white liquid onto his longsword, and hastily smeared it across the blade, completing a makeshift Holy Potion Enchantment. He then swung the sword, slicing off a Blood Race member’s head as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Sizzling smoke poured from the severed neck as the body of Darkness was cleansed by the Holy Potion and Holy Silver.

Elsewhere, Mandala pulled a Metal Rune from her robes, tossed it into the air, and spoke a single word in a strange language: “Purification!”

The Metal Rune activated, erupting in a brilliant Purifying Light. The members of the Blood Race caught in the light screamed incessantly, their bodies covered in severe burns. A few who were too close were purified directly into ash.

Watching this, Zhou Chen found the whole scene incredibly bizarre.

A group of Cultists who worshiped the Abyss were using holy power to hunt creatures of Darkness, granting them Purification… It had a certain grotesque, black-humor absurdity to it.