Chapter 344: Lanchi and Sigrid's Escape
Chapter 344: Lanchi and Sigrid's Escape
In a corner of the central square of Dan Delun City, sunlight filtered through the leaves in patches, casting dappled light on the busy street. Unbeknownst to the hurrying pedestrians, a solitary figure melded with the shadows, his silhouette slipping past unnoticed.
A rustle cut through the stillness, carrying an underlying sense of purpose and calm.
As dusk bathed the cobblestone street in a soft glow, lush green leaves rustled gently in the breeze, their whispers soon interrupted by the hastening wind. The tranquility of the evening was short-lived.
Reflections in shop windows captured the bustling street, among them, a solitary figure moving slowly with the flow, only to disappear in the blink of an eye.
The rustling wind picked up pace, its rhythm growing more urgent and tense. Newspapers scudded along the roadside, and a dog barked suddenly, joined by birds taking flight from distant treetops.
The elusive figure reappeared, standing at the entrance of an inn, the bass hum of the wind deepening as the sky darkened. Gray clouds loomed overhead as the man slowly withdrew a delicate pocket watch from his pocket to check the time.
As twilight descended, he pushed open the inn's door.
With each opening, the fireplace's flames flickered, partially obscured by an indescribable chill, casting an eerie hue over the lobby.
The man was dressed in a tailored gray suit, his shirt collar stylishly displaying a silver metal tie clip. His slender frame was slightly gaunt, accentuated by a straight nose and thin lips. His short, silver-gray hair contrasted harmoniously with his deep gray suit, creating a visually appealing dichotomy.
He strode to the reception desk, his gaze fixed on the attendant.
"Good afternoon, sir. Are you checking in?"
The receptionist bowed slightly, addressing the guest before her.
Unfazed, the man asked, "Did a man and a woman stay here today?"
From his pocket, he produced a leather envelope, carefully extracting two portraits.
The sketches were crude, evidently modified based on someone's description, yet the features of the young couple were discernible.
"I'm sorry, sir..."
The young receptionist, with her simple makeup, looked troubled. She was not at liberty to divulge information about other guests, but her words trailed off.
"Answer yes or no."
Unperturbed by her response, he brandished his Imperial Investigation Warrant, an emblem of his authority.
His deep-set eyes, partially obscured by his eyelids, fixed on the receptionist with a chilling gaze, as if seeing straight through her, leaving her feeling utterly exposed.
She swallowed hard, unnerved not just by his status but by the aura of quiet danger he exuded—a predator poised to strike.
Her hand involuntarily clutched the corner of her uniform, her heart racing as she struggled to maintain her composure. She suspected this dangerous man was not truly an imperial agent, but her instincts screamed at her not to question him.
"Indeed, a young couple left earlier, but they don't match the portraits."
"When did they leave?"
"About three hours ago."
The man nodded, seemingly satisfied with the information.
Seeing this, the receptionist breathed a silent sigh of relief.
But before she realized it, the man had extended his hand, palm resting on her head, as if to reassure her.
Yet his broad palm felt unyielding and cold as lead.
In the next instant, the receptionist's dazed expression contorted. Her body seemed to compress from within, her once-fair skin now twisted with agony. Her bones shifted and contorted, resembling a victim ensnared in an inescapable nightmare. The process continued, becoming increasingly grotesque, until she transformed into a fleshy, hideous sphere.
The lobby's guests stared in horror at the receptionist's metamorphosis.
Soon, the quivering blob of flesh emitted raspy pleas for mercy. Its surface rippled with strange creases, rapidly expanding until it resembled an overinflated balloon about to burst. The lobby filled with the sickening sound of impending rupture.
The explosion that followed sent everyone in the lobby jumping to their feet, blood and gore splattering the walls. The thick, cloying scent of blood filled the air, assaulting their nostrils and choking them.
Yet, the man stood untouched, shielded by an invisible barrier that kept him pristine amidst the carnage.
He glanced back, his gaze freezing the terrified guests in their tracks, too petrified to move.
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit. Outside, several imperial clerics, clad in their distinctive garb, entered the inn. Their faces, already cold, registered little emotion at the scene before them.
No orders were needed; the clerics knew precisely what to do.
As the man exited the inn, the sounds from the lobby seemed to fade into silence.
Another cleric, standing sentinel at the door, fell into step behind him.
"Lord Agnello, won't killing everyone with knowledge of their whereabouts attract unnecessary attention?"
This was likely the last batch of imperial civilians they would casually execute today. Soon, they would apprehend the heretic, Sigrid, and the Holy Son of the Empire.
Even in the Northwest Province, they had never been so brazen in their slaughter of imperial citizens.
Yet, none dared defy this man, Agnello, whose senses were as keen as a fox's and whose cruelty was legendary.
"Sigrid, the Great Heretic of the Protoss Empire, has defected to the demon tribe. After committing inhuman atrocities in the north with her Holy Son, they fled southward. What's a few more dead civilians?"
"Very well, let's send the heretics of the Dominance Sect to reunite with their Holy Son," Agnello remarked, gazing southward.
His eyes held a peculiar coldness and detachment, the deep purple sunset casting half of his face in shadow.
...
In the late hours of the night, when even the moonlight was nearly obscured, every second seemed to stretch endlessly.
On the snowy plains a hundred kilometers away from Dan Delun City, the boundless night and the relentless blizzard created a world of deep gray. Each snowflake, blown by an invisible giant hand, carried a long-planned chill, spinning and dancing in the wind before settling on the snow-covered ground.
Suddenly, a deep fissure appeared in the mysterious snowy terrain.
It was a mark left by a fierce battle, a violent impact that had torn the earth.
A solitary body lay sprawled in the snow, stark and incongruous.
It was a massive figure clad in heavy iron armor, now consumed by the icy snow.
As its body hit the ground, snowflakes flew in all directions, as if signaling the end of the battle.
Blood flowed from its wounds, slowly spreading across the snow and forming a macabre blood rose.
Clyde tightly clenched her fists, her breath quickening from the battle and her own injuries. Each exhale formed a small cloud of white mist that blended with the snowflakes.
Lance stood by her side, faring much better.
Even after the intense fight, their eyes remained vigilant, for danger lurked everywhere in these snowy lands.
Every gust of wind seemed to carry an ominous portent, and each falling snowflake could herald the arrival of new enemies.
"It's so exhausting to fight these Grand Clerics of the Church of Oblivion, even with the two of us working together," Clyde complained, her face etched with fatigue as she glanced at the sky.
The battle had aggravated her injuries, which now ached even more.
However, she did become stronger at night, and with Lance's peculiar control spells, they had managed to take down yet another pursuer—a Grand Cleric of the Church of Oblivion.
Their whereabouts had been discovered, and more Grand Clerics from the Church of Oblivion were tracking them down in the snowy plains. Despite their proximity to the Snow Province, the true battle would likely commence at daybreak.
"What are these sealing spells you use? One seals hearing with a grand chorus, and the other blinds with the sun," Clyde grumbled as she caught her breath.
She had witnessed firsthand the sealing spells of her Holy Son, aside from his trademark explosions.
That grand chorus was almost unbearable, and in her prime condition, she might have been unaffected, but in her current state, the call of the underworld was nearly unbearable.
If not for the specially prepared earplugs and sunglasses, these indiscriminate friend-or-foe spells could have driven them insane.
"Great power always comes with great risk. That's the law of conservation," Lance sighed, having already unleashed his signature moves.
Although his [Radiant Virtue] was well-known in Ikelyte, the separation between the northern and southern continents meant that Lance Willford was virtually unknown in the south. It was not surprising that Sigrid, a prominent figure in the north, had never heard of this newly emerging sealing master from the south.
After leaving Dan Delun City, they had crossed the mountain range and had been traveling southward through the snowy plains for over ten hours.
The distant horizon finally seemed to acknowledge the passing of time, gradually revealing a faint glow of dawn.
The faint light cast a warm illusion upon the snowy terrain.
"We're only a few dozen kilometers away from the Snow Province. See, I've been guiding us accurately," Lance remarked, estimating their position by the faint sunrise and the terrain.
"Just say what you want to say. I won't deduct your favorability rating for a limited time, considering how you've taken care of me along the way," Clyde said, exasperated and amused by his lack of subtlety in completing his daily quest.
However, just as they continued their journey southward, chatting casually...
The sky, which had held a hint of dawn's warmth, suddenly turned oppressive. The morning light was as if grasped by a giant hand, losing its original brilliance.
The surrounding space seemed to freeze, filled with a heavy and icy magic that enveloped them like an invisible wall, plunging them into an icy abyss.
(End of Chapter)
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