"You!!"
Monk Green's eyes blazed as he spotted the incoming light. He swung his sword hard, deflecting two bright rays with sharp snaps.
"I wanted to forgive you...
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before he could finish, a fiery flash blinded him. Reacting on instinct, he blocked the attack twice, yet the hidden weapon packed a mighty punch. He stumbled back, his right hand throbbing. He was not ready for the ultimate attack.
"Ugh!"
Pain shot through his chest. He looked down and saw a small hole in his shirt, exposing red flesh underneath.
A slender weapon stuck in his chest shivered. It was half-buried and half-visible, emitting a dangerous sizzle.
"Hahaha, you stupid cockroach, my power is beyond your imagination. A mere weapon never... Ah!"
The monk smirked at a stunned Stirling, but his expression twisted in one second. His limbs twitched. Wisps of black smoke rose from his face. He screamed in pain.
His neck shrank. His eyes bulged. He staggered back, clutching his sword high against his body to avoid falling.
It worked!
Stirling clutched his pistol and felt a rush of triumph. As he got ready to aim again, he noticed the evil monk standing tall with a wicked grin on his face.
Stirling has been on high alert. After all, Green is a demon marked with a small red cross on the quicksand map. As a small boss identified, he possesses strong resilience to defeat.
Without hesitation, Stirling dodged. A rush of something sinister zipped by; a sharp pain pierced his shoulder.
Gritting his teeth, Stirling aimed for his rival's head, firing two shots: bang, bang! Then he crashed hard onto the ground.
Monk Green, drained of strength, couldn't evade. His head jerked, revealing two grotesque bullet holes in his forehead.
Shit!
As he landed, Stirling rolled into the flickering light of the lamp. Hornets swarmed, clouding the room in a frantic dance.
[Kill the Ghostly Hornet, +0.1 Day Lifespan]
[Kill the Ghostly Hornet, +0.1 Day Lifespan]
[Kill the Demonic Monk of the Blood Temple, +16 years and 76 days' lifespan]
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...
Notifications echoed in Stirling's ears, one longer than the rest, widening his eyes.
Holy crap! He blinked, realizing the notification was genuine. Sixteen years!
That felt like a windfall.
Excitement surged through him. But a sharp sting in his shoulder pulled him back to reality.
Turning his head, he surveyed his torn clothes. Blood seeped outward, attracting the hornets even more.
Hiss! Thrilled yet pained, Stirling gasped.
What the hell attacked me? With his left hand, he grasped the oil lamp and moved toward the wooden beam, pulling out his blade. Ignoring the buzzing hornets, he approached.
As he neared, he discovered the source of the sudden attack.
A scarlet, slender tentacle collapsed on the ground, connected to Green's chest.
What is this? Is it poisonous? Panic twisted his stomach as he prodded the grotesque appendage with his blade. It didn't budge. A second strike followed.
Bang! With a dull thud, the tentacle quivered but stood strong. How could it be? The demon must have perished with it. Stirling sighed with relief.
He moved closer to the corpse, noting the monk's wide eyes and the grotesque bullet holes in his forehead. Dread pooled within him.
Stirling recognized Green's formidable skill. The monk could have killed Stirling with one counter if his attention hadn't been on the lantern's secret.
Yet, revealing the lamp was part of his strategy.
In military tactics, striking the mind paralyzes.
Faced with a fierce foe, he used the lantern as a diversion. Then, his series of brilliant trash talk successfully enraged his opponent. When angry, intelligence drops to zero. Michael Jordan, often seen as the best player in NBA history, was a trash talk master who knew how to motivate himself and chip away at his opponent's confidence. After that, Stirling tossed a coarse cloth net, intending for his opponent to despise him.
Finally, Stirling drew his opponent into the crossbow's range. Then, he fired the malice-slaying gun while his rival lost concentration. Victory had been his!
The journey stole breaths, and a flash decided life and death. Even if repeated, the odds felt slim.
God bless me, I made it through, Stirling muttered.
The hornets sensed something was wrong. They buzzed away, flitting toward the door. But Stirling concentrated on the monk.
He used his knife to pry open the monk's robe, revealing his upper body. A blood-red tentacle protruded from his chest.
It was a tongue!
A faint human face appeared on the chest of the dead body. Its mouth had clear outlines against the blurry background.
The tongue snaked out from that mouth!
What the fuck! How did this grow?
Stirling frowned, glancing at the bullet hole marring the monk's chest.
Fine black veins radiated from the wound, reminiscent of leaf patterns.
It seems the enhanced rune is working. Otherwise, the monk wouldn't have fallen with such speed.
He recalled the mysterious rune on the lamp. It had rescued him twice, hinting at a remarkable origin.
After a pause, he pressed the blade tip against the corpse's chest once more.
It takes ordinary strength to break skin, all strength to draw blood. What a monstrous body! Why is his flesh so resilient?
The monk's leathery toughness pressed down on him.
If it were this formidable, how much stronger was Monk White on the mountain? Stirling's earlier ambitions of beating Priest White evaporated in an instant. He rushed back inside, grasping the Quicksand Map, eager to examine it.
White showed no sign of reaction to his junior's demise. The Red Cross remained at the mountain's peak, bringing Stirling a sense of relief.
There's still hope. If I breach the village entrance's barrier, I might escape... Stirling recalled Monk Green's lifeless form. If he had not crossed paths with me in Rock Village, would he have left? How would he have done that? An idea sparked in Stirling's mind, urging him toward the corpse again.
