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Chapter 503: Blooming in the Midst of Slaughter (1)

"Bang!"

The handle of the umbrella struck Marc's chin fiercely. Just as he was about to fall backward, he took two steps back to regain his balance. Then, with another "bang," the umbrella's shaft hit the side of his neck. With a "thud," Marc fell to the ground, unconscious.

Schiller approached with Umbrella in hand, intending to check on him, but he heard a rustling sound behind him.

Schiller halted, planted the tip of the umbrella on the ground, and turned around. He saw Arthur, the one he had previously pierced through the throat, emitting a purple glow from his body. Both his eyes and the wound Schiller had left on him were emanating this light.

The illuminated areas resembled the beams of a large spotlight, their trajectory clear in the dark night. Arthur slowly floated up in the air, his body straightening as he levitated. The staff adorned with a crocodile head, like a crocodile itself, flew back into his hand. As he opened his eyes once again in mid-air, his long hair fluttered without wind.

Arthur landed gracefully, lifting his head and exhaling. There were no wounds on his body anymore. If not for the bloodstains on his clothes, indicating he had died at least once, no one could tell what he had just been through.

Schiller stood opposite Arthur, gripping Umbrella, and watched this eerie resurrection ritual. As he pulled the umbrella blade out from Arthur's throat, he was certain that he had killed Arthur. There was no possibility of feigning death. Yet, just moments ago, Arthur had resurrected.

At that moment, Schiller saw the terrifying, massive silhouette of Khonshu appear behind Arthur. The hawk-headed deity opened its wide beak, conveying a message to Schiller:

"The Egyptian gods possess the ability to manipulate the realms of life and death. When a human body dies, but the soul has not yet departed to the afterlife, they can be resurrected. Ammit possesses this ability, and I do too..."

Moon God's voice always carried an ethereal resonance, as if echoing from moonlight. Yet, Schiller didn't respond, he simply continued to gaze at Arthur.

Khonshu began to hesitate; he felt he might have chosen wrong. He wanted a formidable persona, not just a fighter.

The cold indifference in Schiller's eye contact conveyed to Khonshu that he had no intention of heeding his advice. He still wanted to kill Arthur.

However, for reasons unknown, Khonshu didn't intervene. He simply faded away. Meanwhile, Arthur raised his staff high. The crocodile-headed scale on top emitted a "clack clack" sound, swinging incessantly.

The balance scale tattoo on Arthur's arm also started to move. He shouted, "I shall judge you, sinner!"

The swinging of the crocodile balance became increasingly intense, showing no sign of stopping. Schiller stood still, silently watching his performance. It wasn't until the atmosphere grew quiet and a bit awkward that Arthur seemed perplexed. He brought the staff closer to his face, attempting to hold down the swaying crocodile head with his other hand.

No matter how he tried, the crocodile head showed no intention of stopping. Both sides of the crocodile head swung faster and faster, almost leaving afterimages. Arthur kept speaking into the air, "Stop! Halt! Maintain balance, judge him!"...

After performing this one-man show for quite some time, Arthur finally realized something was amiss. He opened his mouth wide, gritted his teeth, and used both hands to grasp the staff, which had become somewhat uncontrollable. He declared, "Grant me strength, let me judge him!"

"Clang—"

The metallic gleam of the umbrella blade clashed with the crocodile head on the staff's tip. Arthur held the staff in a defensive position, arms crossed to deflect the incoming sharp blade. His eyes shone with light, and on his face, the shadow of a crocodile face was faintly visible.

Magic radiance emanated from the staff's tip. Arthur, who had seemed quite refined before, turned fierce. He wielded the staff like a sword, raising it high with the crocodile head facing downward. He thrust it toward Schiller's shoulder, which was just a foot away.

"Bang!"

Umbrella unfurled, its sharp magical gleam gliding across the umbrella's surface adorned with bizarre snake-like patterns. The friction produced a slightly grating sound, yet there were no marks left on the umbrella's surface from the staff.

Staring at the point of attack on Arthur, Schiller observed as the patterns on the mesmerizing snake-skin surface of his blocking umbrella began to spin, exuding a bewitching power.

In a moment of bewilderment, the umbrella was retracted, the blade emerged again, and with a "shing" sound, the tip of the blade slid from the clavicle at the neck down to under the arm. Instantly, blood flowed like a river.

The blade was exceedingly sharp. When the wound first opened, the blood had yet to gush out. In that instant, one could see tendons overlying bones. When the blood did erupt, only a pool of flesh and blood remained.

Arthur, however, didn't emit a wail of agony; instead, he let out a low growl. Schiller, who had succeeded in his strike, didn't advance again; he instead took two steps back.

Curious, he observed Arthur's response. Clearly, this reaction wasn't normal.

Though not everyone screams when injured, people usually exhibit various stress behaviors in response to pain. They might involuntarily contract muscles, curl up, or cover the wounded area. Even someone like Marc, a trained agent, could assume a defensive posture in the briefest moment of injury. Still, there would be a momentary hesitation, a human instinct.

But not Arthur. His low growl seemed more like anger at his own failed defense, rather than a reaction to the pain of the wound.

Once again, light bloomed from the wound. Soon, the wound Schiller had inflicted had healed.

Arthur's expression turned mocking. He said, "You think pain can defeat a devout practitioner? You're dreaming!"

"Don't you feel pain?"

Schiller asked again in that peculiar tone and manner.

"Devout faith, fearlessly enduring all pain!" Arthur raised his staff and exclaimed, "To judge sinners is to heal all wounds!"

After his shout, Arthur noticed Schiller still staring at him expressionlessly. He felt a tinge of annoyance, as he had been performing alone from start to finish. It was as if the person across from him wasn't an actor playing his opponent, but rather an audience member.

Schiller's utterly noncommittal performance ignited Arthur's rage. Just as he was about to say something to provoke Schiller, a shadow flashed by, almost imperceptible.

The blade's passage generated a gleam brighter than moonlight, leaving ripples in the air, akin to oars cutting through water...

With a "hiss," the blade's tip penetrated Arthur's shoulder. It continued along the bizarre patterns on the umbrella's surface before Schiller's fingers, pale and slender, which didn't look like those of a professional killer, clutched the handle.

When this hand held a pen, it certainly wouldn't invoke terror like it did now. As veins spread from the arm to the back of the hand, Schiller twisted his hands, then pulled out the blade before striking downward.

"Thunk," Arthur's right arm shattered at the shoulder. His arm, along with the staff he had been holding, flew away.

Arthur widened his mouth, using his other hand to cover his exposed shoulder. Schiller took two steps back again, observing Arthur's reaction.

Now he was sure. Arthur's lack of pain response wasn't because of the healing power from his faith, but because he genuinely didn't feel pain.

Arthur's face turned pale, his expression twisted. He turned his head to look at his arm and the staff that had been sent flying.

His long hair covered his face, giving him the appearance of a disheveled malevolent spirit. However, simultaneously, a burst of light emanated from the point of the broken arm.

Schiller noticed that as the limb regenerated, the light grew stronger and the process took longer than before.

After Arthur's arm had been restored, he beckoned with a gesture, and the staff flew back to him. He realized that the person on the opposite side was completely mad, a killer who couldn't be reasoned with. Therefore, he had no intention of using the persuasive tactics he would use on devotees.

He slightly bent his knees, propelled himself upwards, and hovered in mid-air. Afterward, he flew a distance backwards, creating distance between himself and Schiller. The tip of his staff emitted a flash of purple light.

In front of Schiller, a purple Magic Circle lit up. A monstrous hand reached out from beneath the ground, forcefully grabbing onto the earth.

However, at that moment, a blade descended from above, directly piercing through the monstrous palm. The blade was withdrawn, then swiped parallelly, severing the palm. Black blood sprayed everywhere.

The monster let out a wail, retracting its arm. Arthur stood still, capturing his staff with both hands, focusing his attention. The purple light grew more intense.

From the severed wound of the monster's palm, a purple light emerged, repairing its limb.

This time, the monster grew smarter. It didn't show off or engage in a revival prelude. Instead, it attempted to crawl out directly from the magic circle.

Yet, the magic circle was on the ground. The monster couldn't possibly emerge upside down; its head had to come out first.

The summoned Jackal's head emerged from the magic circle, but before it could react, a knife came down.

With a "swish," the head of the Jackal, accompanied by a gush of blood, flew out and landed in front of Arthur. It rolled a few times before finally resting, its eyes devoid of life.

Schiller once again retracted the blade of his umbrella, looking at Arthur. Arthur stood still, swallowing some saliva. He raised his staff once more and said to Schiller, "You damned killer! You've forced me..."

Arthur murmured a strange phrase in ancient Egyptian, seemingly invoking power. In a moment, the tip of his staff emitted a brilliant purple light, and several magic circles appeared several meters away from Schiller.

The speed at which the Magic Circle operated visibly increased. Over a dozen Jackal monsters jumped out and began slowly advancing toward Schiller...

Schiller remained motionless, but he retracted the blade at the front of the umbrella and tapped the ground with the umbrella's tip. "Don't fall asleep."

Following his gaze, Marc, who had been knocked unconscious on the ground by him earlier, slowly climbed to his feet. Or rather, it wasn't Marc who stood up; it was another personality hidden within him, Jack.

As Jack got up, he instinctively touched his chin. The slight pain there didn't make him flinch; instead, it seemed to excite him.

Originally, like all Agents, Marc had a serious expression and a cold, indifferent eye contact. Such a demeanor would intimidate ordinary people greatly, and every Agent was trained to carry this sharp disposition to deal with possible emergencies.

However, now, Jack's eye contact was more like Schiller's: cold, gloomy, brimming with a murderous intent, just like any natural-born killer.

He didn't speak, only extending a hand. Moonlight threads coalesced into bandages, wrapping around him.

Unlike Marc's Moon Knight costume, Jack's outfit lacked the mystical chest plate and the cool cape and cowl. It was composed of mummy-like bandages that covered his entire body. Only his right eye remained exposed, emanating an unsettling red light when it blinked.

If Marc's Moonlight form could still be called "Moon Knight," then Jack's form could only be referred to as "Moonlight Murderer."

And his actions lived up to this terrifying appearance. He stretched his hands into the air, conjuring two long curved knives. Their silvery gleam blinked, the blades intersected. With a "swish," one of the curved knives plunged into the chest of a Jackal monster.

As he withdrew the blade, the eerie purple light reappeared, and the wound on the Jackal's chest swiftly healed. Jack stepped back two paces. His sole visible eye narrowed, seemingly contemplating something.

However, it was evident that someone else had already drawn the conclusion for him. Schiller, clutching the umbrella blade, didn't look at the Jackal monsters; he kept his gaze fixed on Arthur. When his peculiar and eerie voice resounded, the blooming of slaughter unfurled like petals.

"Tear them apart."

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