18: Chapter 18 Desperate Resistance

Val was confident in herself; her weapon was her body, tempered by thousands of trials.

She unleashed her strongest martial art, mastered over years of practice—the Burst Fist—slamming it fiercely toward Count Morta's face!

This punch carried a whistling white mist; its speed and power reached the limits of her physical ability. As her fist broke through the curtain of rain, it even stirred up a sharp whistling wind.

Count Morta smiled, showing a slightly more serious expression.

He tilted his head to dodge the punch; the wind from the punch brushed past his cheek, stirring a stray lock of hair on his forehead.

Then he reached out his left hand and grabbed Val's wrist.

Snap!

Val's right wrist was easily snapped like a withered branch between his fingers.

Val did not scream; she merely let out a muffled grunt and continued to throw a punch with her left hand.

Count Morta's fingers on his right hand were brought together, slicing horizontally across her left upper arm.

Val's forearm and upper arm were severed in the middle. Half of her arm spun away, landing in the mud a few steps away, its fingers still twitching slightly.

"You have courage," Count Morta remarked, his tone carrying a hint of genuine approval.

The next moment, his fingers pierced into Val's left chest and exited through her back.

When he tore her still-beating heart from her chest cavity, Val's eyes were still open.

Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, nothing came out.

"No—Val!!!"

Richard's roar exploded into the rainy night, but the red-haired tomboy could no longer hear it.

Her body fell backward into the muddy water, her amber eyes wide open, pupils slowly dilating.

Richard's mind went blank for a moment; he couldn't even believe his own eyes.

In the blink of an eye, a living companion had instantly turned into a cold corpse.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

His heart was completely filled with rage; he only wanted to roar and vent.

There were no tears in his eyes, only a dense web of bloodshot veins; in the depths of his black pupils, only a ball of madly burning killing intent remained!

He charged toward Count Morta, wielding his halberd!

His footsteps trampled through the pools of blood from countless corpses, the splashed muddy water mixing with the dark red liquid, leaving a trail of dark marks behind him.

"Beast, I will kill you! I will kill you!!!"

Just then, several scorching red beams of light shot out from a corner of the battlefield.

These three crimson scorching rays erupted simultaneously from an opened parchment scroll.

Each one was as thick as an adult's wrist, carrying heat sufficient to melt steel, drawing three parallel lines of fire in the air, heading straight for Count Morta's body.

It was Hoffman, that bald, fat old merchant, the coward who was always bragging, kneeling in the muddy water, holding a burning magic scroll with trembling hands.

The edges of the scroll were already charred, the parchment curling and blackening in the high heat, but the remaining magic runes on it were still stubbornly flashing with blinding light.

"Damn it, finally finished the incantation!"

Tears hung on Hoffman's fat face, his voice shaking so much it was almost impossible to hear what he was saying.

"This is something I stole from a red dragon's lair when I was young; it's worth eight hundred gold coins, let me tell you... Die... you damned monster!"

Count Morta's body twisted past, almost grazing the gap between two of the rays.

He dodged the first, but couldn't dodge the second and third.

The second scorching ray struck his left shoulder, burning his entire left arm and half of his shoulder into charcoal.

The third one pierced directly through his abdomen, leaving a fist-sized hole in his body.

The edges of the hole were still burning, orange-red flames spreading along his velvet coat to his chest and back, wrapping his entire body in a constantly expanding mass of fire.

The Vampire let out a piercing scream; it was no longer the elegant, composed sigh from before, but a genuine scream of pain, so sharp it almost tore the eardrums of everyone present.

He staggered back two steps, the charred part of his left hand making a sizzling sound in the rain.

The flames on his body did not extinguish in the downpour; instead, they burned brighter, swallowing his exquisitely delicate face under tongues of fire.

But he did not fall; instead, he vanished from everyone's field of vision.

The next second, the smile on the old merchant Hoffman's face froze.

He looked down at his own chest; Count Morta's right hand had pierced through his chest cavity, through his ribs, through his lungs, and out his back.

The Vampire's speed was impossibly fast, even while burning with flames, even with his abdomen pierced through.

He was still able to rush to Hoffman before anyone could react, delivering a fatal blow to the old merchant with his remaining right arm.

"This magic scroll is quite nice, but what a pity, it almost killed me," Count Morta whispered into Hoffman's ear.

He pulled his hand out of Hoffman's chest, and the old merchant's body slumped limply into the mud, still wearing that stiff smile he hadn't had time to wipe away.

Richard mustered all his strength and thrust his halberd with all his might, but Count Morta swatted it aside with a casual wave of his hand, sending Richard tumbling embarrassingly into the muddy water.

"Don't be in such a hurry, young man; you are my next meal."

Immediately after, Count Morta leaned down, pressed his lips to the wound on Hoffman's throat, and began to suck greedily.

Fresh blood poured into his throat; as that blood surged into his body, the flames on him began to extinguish at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Charred skin peeled away layer by layer, and new flesh grew out from beneath the charred shell, as fair as silk just pulled from milk.

Countless fine granulations grew from the edges of the fist-sized hole in his abdomen, intertwining and fusing, healing until only a faint scar remained within a few short seconds.

When he stood up, except for his burned velvet coat, he looked completely unharmed.

"What a pity, my coat was the latest fashion from the Aurelian Empire; what truly impolite fellows."

He complained while tidying his charred cravat, his voice full of indifference.

His gaze swept over the remaining people and finally landed on Cecilia, who was using her shield to protect her severely wounded teammates behind her.

Now his expression became excited, like the joyful look of a collector discovering a rare treasure.

He walked toward Cecilia, his pace not fast, but every step carried an irresistible sense of oppression.

Cecilia raised her shield and charged at him, but he swatted it with a casual wave. The kite shield was knocked flying from the side, Cecilia was spun around half a turn, her longsword slipped from her hand, and she fell backward to the ground.

Before she could even get up, Count Morta had already grabbed her by the throat with one hand and lifted her off the ground.

Her feet left the ground, the weight of her armor dragging her down, and her neck emitted a faint sound of grinding bones between the opponent's fingers.