The Invincible Full-Moon System - Chapter 1887 1887: Slaughter Under the Rain (1)

Larta City was peaceful and silent.

Order was maintained well, as it’s one of the hive cities that oversee a few clusters of realms.

It was lively during the day and quiet by night. People and visitors minded the rules in place, knowing that the authorities had no problem banishing them into a hostile realm, or even executing the transgressors behind closed doors.

But there’s always a limit to order.

Silverbell Street is the loophole to the tight security and order in Larta City.

Before becoming a dead street, Silverbell Street was like any other within the city. In fact, it might be livelier than others. A blooming production sector—that represented almost ten percent of Larta City’s economy, where thousands of Demigods worked.

And then one day, an enemy of the previous High Lord breached the space and obliterated the sector.

For five long hours, Larta City was connected to the hostile realm, and a battle occurred.

A member of the parliament who was visiting the sector died in the process.

Because of the fierce and bloody battle, it permanently scarred the dimensional fabric in the area, even weakening the Overseer’s influence over this spot. Naturally, the High Lord has made efforts to mend the area and prepare countermeasures.

Soon, it was revealed that Silverbell Street was a natural weak point of Larta City.

And despite the encouragement from the High Lord, offering subsidies to potential investors, not one took up the offer. Once a new High Lord rose to power and rescinded those benefits, the fate of the once lively and productive Silverbell Street was sealed.

It was abandoned entirely.

Now, small gangs that intended to do shady business began to populate the area.

Since they were making use of the dead street, the authorities left them be.

As long as they don’t cross the line and cause disruptions to neighbouring streets, they will be safe.

Roger sat down on a barrel beside the warehouse entrance and pressed his back against the zinc wall— watching the pouring rain falling harshly out of nowhere. He smoked a cigarette and then exhaled. Such an atmosphere is perfect to relax.

On his side, Ardi was hissing and grunting in pain while Jack was helping him tend his broken wrist.

“Do it lighter, you fucker!”

“Shut your piss-mouth. If you complain like a princess one more time, I’ll break your other hand.”

“Damn that piece of shit. I didn’t even touch his bitch that badly.”

“Look at your hands. It’s covered with grime and dirt. She’ll get pimples for having your hand too close to her face. I’d be mad if I were him, too.”

“Fuck you, say to me? I’ll stab you. I’ll fucking stab you!”

“Alright, knock it off,” Roger kicked Ardi’s leg roughly. “Matter of fact, get your ass to the bunker and have Clarissa shut you up.”

“Really?!” Ardi stood up quickly, eyes sparkling. “I can have her?”

“No fucking, you horny-ass. Just cuddling.” Roger waved his hand. “Go.”

Not even wasting a single second, Ardi ran into the rain like a happy boy, forgetting that his hand was completely broken right now. He stepped onto a particular spot on the concrete ground, and it suddenly swallowed him whole, as if it were a slumbering beast finally stirred to feed.

“Roger, what about me?” Jack scratched the back of his head. “Can I have Clarissa, too?”

“Is your hand broken?” Roger raised a brow.

“No…?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Right, I’ll go check the warehouse and see if the patrons are having any trouble.”

Jack entered the warehouse and closed the gate behind him again.

At the same time, Roger spotted his other two underlings on the far side of the gate. Boredom had driven them to a game; they were tossing coins at the zinc wall, competing to see whose landed closest without touching it.

It was such a simple game, but it riled up their emotions so much.

Roger leaned his head back gently and smoked the last bit of the cigarette.

Seeing them curse and celebrate was somewhat relaxing.

And without realizing it, he dozed off to sleep.

Some time passed.

Roger’s eyelids trembled and eventually rose like curtains. He was greeted by the same dark, cloudy sky once again, still pouring relentlessly. He groaned and stretched, feeling a bit refreshed after the supposed nap he had taken.

Not what he wanted to do, but good nonetheless.

He got underlings to keep watch overnight, so it’s fine for him to take a nap for a little bit.

Glancing to the side, those two were still awake, but seemed to be sleepy now.

An hour should’ve passed.

“Just two more hours,” Roger stood up and said loudly. “Two more hours before your shift ended. Keep your eyes open and stay alert.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Aye-aye.”

Just then, Roger looked to his other side and frowned, realizing that Jack hadn’t come back. He clicked his tongue and went into the warehouse to check, but saw no sign of him. Since the warehouse was one big pathway with chambers on either side, he should be able to find Jack easily.

But there’s no sign of him.

“Did he go inside?” Roger walked to the nearest occupied chamber in annoyance. “How many times do I need to tell him that he can’t step inside the chambers? Maybe that man is right. Maybe I did give too many carrots that they forgot about the whip.”

After checking all the chambers for Jack, Roger still couldn’t find him.

Now, unease began to creep into his chest.

“Shit, did he go to the bunker while I’m asleep?” Roger remembered that he had sent Ardi to the bunker without supervision. And since he was asleep, Jack might also slip there out of jealousy since Ardi got to get with Clarissa. “If he really did that… I’ll make it fucking hurt.”

Roger ran outside and immediately to the particular spot.

The ground swallowed him.

And when his vision returned to him again, he was now inside a dark hall with light at the other end.

He heard screams.

Roger was immediately alerted and sprinted through the hall.

A spacious room capable of hosting at least a hundred people came into view. Soft carpet stretched across the floor, muffling every step. On either side, slaves were chained inside cages, their faces were not hollow and watchful as usual.

All of them were either crying or trembling in fear.

At the far end of the room stood another group—slaves who wore no chains at all.

Most of them were ladies with only one burly man, and he was the one tasked to protect the ladies.

But right now, he was backed against the wall, and there was clear terror in his eyes.

Roger ran to the small woman seated at the center of the space. Her skin was dewy, and long, pale blue hair cascaded around her shoulders—a perfect match for the color of her eyes. She was innocent and beautiful, like fresh snow. “Clarissa.” He squatted down before her and gripped her shoulders firmly. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did Ardi do something to you?”

Her entire body was shaking, and though Roger was talking to her, she couldn’t make eye contact.

In fact, she actively avoided his gaze, but she did manage to shake her head.

“No?” Roger frowned. “Then what happened?”

Seeing that she was unharmed in any way, only shocked by something, Roger turned to the burly man. He extended his hand, and the burly man was lifted from the ground and dragged through the air toward him.

Roger rose to his feet—and seized the burly man by the collar, “What the fuck happened? Why are they all in this state? Speak!”

Since forever, the burly man dared not to answer Roger’s question.

But now, he remained silent.

His eyes were wide in shock, like he was staring into Roger’s soul, but he didn’t say anything.

It was almost as if he believed the stare alone was enough of an answer.

“And where is Ardi?” He asked again, shaking the burly man harder. “Where is he?!”

Getting no answer, Roger threw the burly man away and looked around the entire room in anger.

“What the fuck happened here?!” He screamed, throwing his arms wide in a desperate bid for the slaves’ attention. Frustration and confusion bled into his voice. “Hello?! Why won’t any of you answer me?!” His jaw tightened as he squared his shoulders. “It seems I’ve been too lenient with you fuckers. I gave you comfort, and this is how you repay me. Fine.

His voice dropped, the heat draining away—into something far colder. “I’ll make all of you remember exactly who owns your lives.”

A thin sword entirely made of energy manifested in his hand.

And when his hand moved, the blade also wobbled and followed like it was more a whip than a sword.

Just as he raised it to whip the nearest slave, his eyes suddenly stopped at a stain on the carpet. A pool of red among white, gold, and black. He went to one knee, touched it, and realized that the red stain was blood.

No doubt about it.

Roger ran back to the hall and returned to the surface.

He ran to the backside of the warehouse and then to the corner.

On each corner of the warehouse, there was a small invisible portal that led to a pocket dimension.

In there was a very cramped space that could hold five people at most. This was where the remaining guards of the warehouse were stationed. Back-up for unsuspecting intruders. Running a business such as this was dangerous work, and it required more hands to keep it running smoothly.

Roger entered one of the portals, and he only found a table, cards, and five empty seats.

He went to the other one. And it was the same.

Like a madman, he sprinted to the front again—and entered the two portals there. But even at the last portal, the people who should’ve been stationed there were gone. But at the last one, there was also a blood stain on the table.

“Who…?” Roger looked down, watching the droplets of water falling to the floor. “Who did this?”

Just a few hours ago, his underlings filled the warehouse.

And now, all of them were gone, reduced to a few bloodstains.

But what made Roger uneasy the most was that he didn’t sense anything. He didn’t sense a presence or shift in the air that might indicate someone had broken in. It was almost like a Ghost was hunting them all down, and it succeeded.

Roger walked out of the portal and was drenched by the pouring rain again.

He immediately realized the absence of the two thugs who had been right by the warehouse gate earlier.

Both of them were simply gone.

No bodies. No sign of struggle. Just empty space where bored men had stood minutes ago.

But unlike the previous scenes, the killer didn’t hide himself. Not too far away, at the edge where the warehouse shadows bled into the mighty storm, a figure stood motionless beneath the downpour. The dark silhouette drank the light around it, a wound cut into the fabric of the night.

The figure’s head was tilted up like he was enjoying the rain, and both his eyes were closed.

On its forehead, there was a mark, a crimson sphere that pulsed with a slow, living glow—like a heart beating right beneath the skin. From that mark, sharp red lines branched outward, tracing the contours of the body like cracked porcelain or the veins of a dying leaf held up to moonlight.

Blood leaked from the figure’s fangs, trailing over the chin in lazy rivulets.

More dripped from the tips of sharp, black-steel claws.

The blood pooled briefly at the figure’s feet, a crimson halo that spread through the rainwater.

But the storm was relentless. The rain came down in silver sheets, washing the crimson from the claws, from the fangs, and from the fair skin. The puddle thinned, diluted, and then vanished into the concrete as if it had never existed.

In moments, the figure stood pristine—cleansed of every trace of slaughter by nature’s own hand.

A monster washed clean by heaven’s tears, standing in the rain like a promise of violence.

“It’s a good night for a rain, don’t you think?”