FreeBooksOnline Chapter 821 - 448: Louis’s Strength
Chapter 821 - 448: Louis’s Strength
The sunlight was completely blocked by steel, and the blood and wreckage that had been surging due to the explosion were immediately pressed into a cold and dark gloom.
"Thud."
The gangplank hit the ground with a heavy, muffled sound.
A team of fully armed Red Tide Knights quickly dispersed.
Louis walked at the forefront, his steps steady, not like he was landing in enemy territory, but rather inspecting his own backyard.
The air on this island was simply unbearable.
The smell of blood, burnt flesh, and an overly ripe sweetness mixed together, like a bunch of fruits and corpses thrown into a sealed jar to ferment for a month.
Pink mist slowly flowed between the broken walls and towers, visible mental pollution.
If an ordinary soldier stood here, in less than three breaths, their brain would turn to mush.
The knights’ breathing became noticeably heavier.
Cold sweat dripped down from the edges of their helmets, and occasionally a double image would flicker on their retinas, but no one stopped.
Louis, however, remained unaffected.
The Primordial Heart within him turned slowly and steadily, a platinum starry radiance flowing through his veins.
The illusions trying to invade his mind disappeared like snowflakes on a furnace, the moment they touched that light.
He didn’t need a map, the repulsive malice, like a beacon, guided his way.
Through corridors, over stone steps, until he pushed open the extremely heavy oak door.
The door’s bearings emitted a shrieking sound of disrepair.
The scene inside the hall made the knights behind him tense up instantly.
In the center was a throne.
Not wooden or stone, but entirely made of human skulls.
Polished smooth but assembled crookedly, hundreds of hollow eye sockets staring at the entrance, giving a chilling look.
Beside the throne stood two "people."
One was Balk, this guy wasn’t wearing a hat, half of his skull neatly sliced off, exposing the pink brain tissue to the air, rhythmically pulsing.
Several thin tendrils burrowed into the brain grooves, emitting a sticky water sound with each contraction.
The other was Meryl, draped in a black robe, with no shadow beneath her.
Or rather, her shadow had come to life, with several wet, slick tendrils crawling along the ground, leaving shimmering slime trails.
Balk turned around.
In that instant, the air pressure in the hall seemed to be vacuumed away.
No killing intent, not oppressive, just sheer... disgust.
The inherent repulsion a lower creature feels when seeing a predator, or something that shouldn’t exist.
The pupils of several Extraordinary Knights shrunk to needlepoints, their hearts racing, cold sweat soaking through their inner linings.
This was no longer a question of winning or losing.
This was a biological instinct, the body screaming at them to turn and flee.
Just as this chilling pressure was about to suffocate them...
"Haaa—!!" A burst of roar exploded.
Weir stepped forward, his motion like he was about to crush the floor.
The Bloodline Power within him was entirely ignited.
A faint red radiance burst forth from his body, instantly expanding into a semi-transparent sphere with an eight-meter radius, enveloping Louis and the knights behind him.
This red light looked thin like a layer of water film, but extremely resilient, capable of resisting the attack of a Peak Knight.
The aura that drove people mad crashed against the shield, like waves crashing on a reef, forcibly repelled.
The whispering sound that caused tinnitus vanished. Even the dust floating in the air came to a halt.
Absolute silence.
Weir stood at the forefront, arms slightly spread, the veins on his neck bulging like worms, sweat dripping from his chin.
He stared fiercely at the two monsters, his voice hoarse, each word squeezed out through clenched teeth: "Protect the lord! These two... are not right! Form up!!"
Even though he was already a Half-Step Peak Knight, he could perceive the terror of the two on the throne.
The knights’ formation was still adjusting.
The red shield, like a taut drum skin, kept the sticky malice of the hall outside, the air pressure so low it was suffocating.
Just as Weir was about to risk everything, a hand in a black leather glove rested on his shoulder.
"Don’t tense up, Weir." Louis’s voice was soft, without much inflection.
Weir’s body stiffened.
He abruptly turned his head, watching as Louis stepped forward, as if the room was too stuffy, and he wanted to open a window to let in some air.
Under the terrified gaze of all the knights, Louis took the initiative to step out of the red light they considered their lifeline.
He walked alone towards the throne.
Then Balk moved, without any starting motion or charging process.
One second he stood by the pile of bones, the next the air tore with a crisp ripping sound.
That speed was abnormal.
Muscle fibers forcibly overloaded, bones under extreme pressure, bursting into inhuman speed.
When he reappeared, his sharp claw was already at Louis’s throat.
Less than half a hand’s width away.
Weir’s pupils shrunk to pinpoints, but the warning "Watch out" stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered.
But to Louis, it was all too slow.
Time hadn’t slowed down.
His Bloodline Talent, called [Trajectory], had long broken this moment down into countless static blueprints.
From the moment they entered, Balk’s left leg’s muscle twitch frequency, spine’s forward angle, brain parasite signal delay... all data had run through Louis’s mind.