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Novel Catalog
Chapter 119
The reddish heavenly sword floated firmly above Philix’s head, acting as a barrier against the relentless purple thunderbolts crashing from the heavens. It trembled under the force, yet held strong.
Nash stood nearby, his expression sharp with focus. He channeled inner energy from his finger, guiding it toward the sword to stabilize its position against the cosmic fury.
Stellar swallowed hard. “Nash… how can I help—?”
“Shut up!”
“Okay!” Stellar zipped his lips, eyes wide as he stared up at the thunder roaring overhead.
Was this really the kind of spell priests could cast? Even grandmasters like Zakariah wouldn’t survive something like this, right?
Nash’s energy reserves soon depleted. The sword’s trembling grew more erratic, and the thunder’s force intensified.
Without hesitation, Nash bit his tongue and spat a bloody mist into the air. The mist shimmered and coalesced into a crimson image of the heavenly sword.
Boom!
The five bolts of thunder exploded in midair, broken apart by the sword’s spiritual projection.
—
Far in the desolate wilderness of the north, within a lonely straw hut, a priest in yellow robes sat before an altar.
He jolted forward and coughed up a mouthful of blood. His eyes opened wide, filled with both fear and recognition.
“As expected of Jonathan Calcraft’s apprentice,” he muttered solemnly. “His strength is no joke.”
Rising slowly, he grabbed several parchment papers from the table, murmuring incantations as he tossed them into the altar’s flames. They burned quickly, turning to ash.
Then he reached beneath the altar and pulled out a dustpan filled with small voodoo dolls.
When he scattered the ashes over the dolls, they began to twitch—then rise to their feet.
—
Outside the Zell estate, the storm howled while blood soaked the soil.
More than twenty assassins lay dead. Nearly all of the Martial Arts Association’s grandmasters and the Quiet Winds Church’s red-robed priests had also perished.
Cillian’s longsword pierced the heart of the Terranova ninja. With a grunt, the ninja collapsed.
The remaining killers hesitated. Fear seeped into their eyes.
The Blood Fiends had failed. Again.
Lloyd and Zakariah, both bloodied and exhausted, finally felt relief creep in. But that peace was fleeting.
Suddenly, the dead began to move.
One killer, decapitated moments ago, bent down and picked up his severed head—reattaching it to his neck as if nothing had happened.
Zakariah recoiled. “What… What is this!?”
The Terranova ninja also staggered upright.
Cillian’s gaze sharpened. “Corpse Controlling Spell…”
Lloyd wiped rain from his face, his voice grim. “There are still people out there practicing this dark magic?”
Zakariah demanded, “What do you mean dark magic? Are they alive or dead!?”
“They’re dead,” Lloyd explained. “But their bodies are being controlled. The spellcaster must have soaked straw in their blood, then crafted voodoo dolls from it. By activating the corpse-controlling rune, they can force the corpses to keep fighting.”
Zakariah paled. “You’re priests—can’t you undo the spell?”
Lloyd shook his head. “This is high-level sorcery. We’re not strong enough. And it’s been outlawed by the National Association of Priests for years. Very few even remember how to cast it—let alone dispel it.”
The Terranova ninja let out a guttural roar and charged at Cillian, more reckless than before.
This time, he didn’t dodge or defend. He attacked with suicidal intent, indifferent to pain.
Splat!
Cillian drove his sword into the ninja’s abdomen—but not before the enemy’s blade pierced Cillian’s chest.
Staggering back, Cillian kicked the ninja away, then bit his finger and smeared the blood across his blade.
The sword began to glow with a faint white light.
A wave of sword aura surged forth, violent and pure.
But even as the deadly energy enveloped him, the Terranova ninja hurled his own weapon straight toward Cillian with every ounce of remaining strength.