Chapter 197: Chapter 201 Penetration
Fire, everywhere was rampant, roaring fire, or else it was the aftermath of ash-laden ruins left by flames consumed. Churches destroyed by the inferno, bell towers obliterated, the City-State itself seemed to have been devastated by fire.
Hot, dry winds howled through the charred remains of the church plaza, lifting whirls of ash, while tiny sparks cascaded from the great bell tower, and scorched banners drooped and fell in the breeze.
A tall figure clad in light armor stepped onto the square, a heavy broadsword in hand, striking a trail of sparks against the searing ground.
Fenna’s hair tips had singed from the astonishing heat of the environment around her, her armor showed signs of damage with some wounds still bleeding beneath the breaks, the flesh within twitching and slowly knitting together.
In her right hand, she wielded the sword, while in her left she held a massive Gatling gun, its hefty ammo box strapped to her back—she had removed the weapon from a half-destroyed steam walker in an armory she had passed by not long ago, finding it fairly easy to handle.
The hot wind came, carrying the scent of ashes into her nostrils. Fenna narrowed her eyes slightly, observing the distant streets and the rising plumes of thick smoke and red glow against the street backdrop.
In this “history,” all of Plunder had already been burned to the ground.
The fire had spread since 1989, unnoticed for eleven years, until it engulfed the entire city, and slowly calcified the City-State in a state of ruins.
Even the power of the Storm Goddess had been severely twisted and interfered with—Fenna felt increasingly unable to sense the moisture of the sea breeze, the longer she stayed here.
To burn down a City-State was easy, but to do so without the gods’ notice was difficult. The heretics exploited a loophole in history and possibly even used the divine authority of the Black Sun to disrupt the gods’ judgment of the mortal realm.
But… where exactly were those heretics?
Suddenly, a deep, hoarse whisper came from the shadows between nearby buildings. The whisper was filled with sacrilegious, malicious strength. Shadows congealed from the whispers out of thin air, forming enticing illusions. But Fenna didn’t so much as glance in the direction of the growing shadows or the whispering voices. Instead, she casually lifted the Gatling gun in her left hand and pulled the trigger towards another direction, seemingly empty.
The deafening roar exploded above the plaza, brass casings fell like rain, and as the flames swept through, the air suddenly revealed a tall, thin figure that had been hiding in the chinks of light and shadow, now forced to show itself. In a panic, it could only use its many tentacles and a black umbrella it held to block the oncoming barrage of bullets—and just as it defended itself, a roaring wave exploded fiercely!
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Fenna hurled her great sword, wrapped in the Power of Storm, and it smashed down with a thunderous crash, impaling the creature, flinging it ten meters away, and firmly nailing it to the ground. Then, without a second thought for the skewered Assailant, she spun around, sidestepped, and casually grabbed and pulled free a twisted and deformed street lamp post, smashing it mightily into the side.
The second hidden Assailant was struck down by the lamppost, its head, grotesque like a bloom of flesh, shattered into a pile of gore. Its remaining parts writhed and squirmed violently on the ground, until Fenna swung the massive Gatling gun around and unleashed a storm of searing bullets.
“Two-person stealth ambushes… it seems your tactics end there,” muttered Fenna, casually discarding the severely bent lamppost and beckoning back her storm-wrought great sword. She propped the sword by her side while still holding the Gatling gun, continuing to point it execution-style at the splattered remains of the creature on the ground.
Several seconds later, she frowned.
“No regeneration?”
The young Judge bent down to confirm that the pile of remnants that had once been part of the Scions of the Sun was just lying there motionlessly on the ground. Not only was there no sign of regeneration, but the remains had already started to lose moisture and vitality rapidly, withering into a heap of dry, charred waste before her very eyes.
Why was this happening? Why had these remnants lost their Regeneration Ability? Was it because their main body had suddenly weakened? Or had these remnants been greatly diminished for some reason?
Fenna watched the scene with confusion and vigilance, then suddenly looked up as if sensing something, staring intently at the alleyway not far away.
A mass of green fire appeared in the darkness, quickly gathering and spreading at the edge of the square. Then, as if it sensed something, it pounced on the corpse of the Scions’ remnants!
Burning, consuming, growing.
Before Fenna’s eyes, the invading green flames consumed the lifeless flesh as if a predator was relishing its prey.
The young Judge’s eyes hardened instantaneously, her gaze locked onto the spreading green flames with extreme vigilance. A web of thoughts and speculations surged through her mind, but the flame seemed to ignore her—flowing past her surroundings, prowling around the square before flowing away into the distance.
Thoughtfully watching the fire spread and flow, Fenna took a step and walked deeper into the City-State.
…
Torrential rain poured down, connecting the skies to the earth with curtains of water. The sudden downpour from the dark clouds seemed like a long-conspired, now evident plot, washing away everything in the Plunder City-State.
But even the force of the storm could not stop Morris’s progress—until, inevitably, his car broke down.
The old scholar decisively abandoned the idea of restarting the vehicle, knowing that the obstructive forces would only intensify since the Doomsday Preacher had, at some moment unknown to him, cursed him. This Curse would not allow him to fix the car.
But the Doomsday Preacher’s “proclamation” was not an unsolvable spell. Generally speaking, it only provided varying degrees of guidance or interference with “events,” and the longer the duration and the larger the coverage area, the more powerful the force needed, resulting in greater consumption.
He could not stop in this storm.
Morris opened the car door, and the bone-chilling wind and rain hit him all at once, instantly drenching him and even blowing him into a stagger.
But the old man simply reached to hold his hat in place, while his other hand clenched the walking stick tightly as he stepped into the chaotic, blurry curtain of rain.
He didn’t carry an umbrella, for in this weather, an umbrella was futile.
He was now very close to the antique shop, just half a block away. In slightly better weather, he might have even seen the store’s sign.
But under the current severe conditions, all he could see was a vast expanse of rain and the nearest few shops on either side of the street, their doors and windows firmly shut.
Morris trudged through the downpour, not knowing how long he had walked, until finally, he saw the familiar storefront come into view.
The old man instinctively quickened his pace.
The curse that the Doomsday Preacher had laid upon him seemed to finally be losing its potency; the headwind that had been blowing against him the whole time was gradually weakening. The chill it carried no longer bit to the bone as it had at the beginning, and though the rain was still dense, it no longer pelted his body like stones.
Just a few steps away from the antique shop, Morris suddenly heard a voice near his ear—
“Stop, you’ll regret it!
There’s no redemption ahead… Plunder will only be swallowed by another disaster!
History is about to be exchanged… What you’re saving is no longer the true reality, but an echo on a misguided path…”
Morris’s pace didn’t falter for a second; he broke into a run and nearly crashed through the door.
In that instant, the voice at his ear suddenly vanished, as if it had never existed.
The cold wind and sudden rain were also shut out behind the door.
Morris stumbled a few steps forward, the water from his clothes dripping onto the floor. The warm and bright interior momentarily disoriented him.
He faintly heard voices coming from upstairs, two young girls chatting. One of them was Nina: “It’s raining so hard!”
“Yeah, it came down suddenly… Luckily we listened to your uncle and came back early.”
“My hair got wet too… Sherry, could you help me dry the back of my hair?”
Morris shook his head, allowing his somewhat numb thoughts from the cold wind and rain to slowly clear. He looked up toward the counter.
In the warm light, a blond lady in a dark purple, elaborate gown sat quietly behind the counter, casting a curious glance his way.
A very pretty lady, but Morris didn’t pay much attention to her appearance.
What he noticed was the detached and elegant aura around her, along with the mysterious and tranquil atmosphere that seemed to linger around her.
She appeared not to be sitting in an antique store in the Lower City District, but rather in a serene court garden, surveying him—an abrupt Outsider—with a detached and calm gaze, rich in grace.
Morris felt he might have sensed something… non-human about the lady, but the next second, he reined in all his perceptions.
There was a “newcomer” in Mr. Duncan’s antique shop whom he had never seen before, but no matter who this newcomer was, one must never pry carelessly.
Then, a greeting came from across the room: “The rain is heavy outside, sir. Do you need any help?”
“Mr. Duncan… I’m looking for Mr. Duncan,” Morris paused before hastily responding, “It’s very important! Isn’t he in the store?”
“He’s here,” the mysterious and elegant lady smiled, “He said his blood pressure was a bit high, so he’s resting on the second floor.”
Morris looked astonished: “Blood pressure… a bit high?”
The blond lady behind the counter shook her head: “I’m not sure what happened—his mood wasn’t very good after we finished discussing history and forgeries.”
History and forgeries?!
Morris’s heart skipped a beat, wanting to ask more, but just then, he heard footsteps descending the stairs, followed by Mr. Duncan’s voice: “Alice, do we have visitors?”
“Yes, Mr. Duncan! An elderly man I don’t recognize!”
Morris looked up and saw Mr. Duncan standing on the stairs, half of him illuminated by light, the other half shrouded in shadows.
He saw Morris and his face light up with surprise and curiosity.