45: Chapter 45 Sutures and Surgery

Richard forcibly turned sideways, parrying the nearest short spear with his hand axe, and used the momentum to rotate his body, dodging the scythe's horizontal sweep and the dagger's slash.

However, the trident still grazed his left side, slicing three parallel, shallow wounds into his body.

Tiny beads of blood seeped from the cuts on his body; the wounds were not deep, but the sharp pain caused his movements to slow by half a beat.

The Masked Man did not give him a chance to catch his breath.

Six arms slashed in turns, the rhythm so dense it felt like six people were beating him at the same time.

A scimitar struck his back, a longsword pierced the outer side of his right thigh, and a scythe sliced a long wound on his left forearm, extending from his wrist to his elbow.

Richard could feel every wound bleeding.

But he was fearless, because the Bloodthirsty Brand had already been marked onto his opponent.

Every time his hand axe struck the Masked Man's body, even if it only landed on the back of his hand or forearm, the brand would extract a sliver of vitality from the wound and infuse it into his own body.

The sword wound on his thigh was already scabbing over even as it bled, the scimitar cut on his back was contracting, and the edges of the wound on his arm were budding with new, pink flesh.

The Masked Man's attacks did not stop, but his movements were becoming slower.

Richard's wounds were recovering rapidly; he just needed to drag this out until his opponent suffered from excessive blood loss or made a mistake.

The Masked Man's six-armed offensive was indeed airtight, but wielding six arms simultaneously also required a coordinated rhythm.

The scimitar and longsword were the primary attacks, always striking in alternation.

The scythe and short spear were supplementary attacks, responsible for blocking the opponent's evasion routes.

The dagger and trident were the final finishing attacks, dealing lethal blows when the opponent had already been thrown off balance by the preceding offensive.

Richard had tested this rhythm with his own wounds; after being slashed six times, he could now predict his movements in advance.

He deliberately let his left leg lag by half a beat, and when the scythe swept over, he did not fully dodge it, letting the tip of the scythe pierce the outer side of his left calf.

The intense pain made him grunt, but he did not pull his leg away.

He intentionally kept his leg caught in the scythe's blade, using his own muscles to jam the weapon, while leaning his body to the left to expose his entire left abdomen.

This was an excellent bait!

The Masked Man launched his finishing attack without hesitation, the dagger and trident stabbing toward Richard's left abdomen simultaneously.

At this moment, Richard moved.

He parried the dagger with the hand axe in his right hand, letting the trident's thrust continue forward, and the instant the trident tip pierced the side of his left abdomen, he grabbed the Masked Man's right wrist with his left hand.

His fingers dug into the Masked Man's wrist like iron pliers, his nails sinking into his flesh, the agony of broken bones forcibly suppressed by the healing effect of the Bloodthirsty Brand.

He felt the Masked Man's body jolt violently.

The opponent tried to pull back his arm, but Richard was already too close—so close that all the long weapons of the six arms lost their space to swing.

In an instant, Richard dropped the hand axe from his right hand, drew the small knife from his waist, and stabbed it into the Masked Man's right ribcage.

The blade passed through the robe and flesh, found the gap between the ribs, and plunged into something soft—perhaps a lung, perhaps a liver.

The Masked Man let out a hoarse, strange cry, and the remaining five hands frantically attacked Richard's back, but he did not dodge at all.

He did not dodge, because he knew that the Bloodthirsty Brand was converting the damage of every stab he inflicted into his own vitality; the opponent's attacks were merely delaying his death.

One stab, two stabs, three stabs... He could not remember how many times he had stabbed him.

He only remembered that by the end, the blade of the small knife had become too dull to pierce any further.

The Masked Man's body grew softer and softer amidst his convulsions, and the six arms released their weapons one by one, clattering onto the stone floor.

Finally, all six of the Masked Man's arms hung limply, his entire body dangling from the hand Richard was using to grip his wrist, before he slid to the ground, his robes spreading a large pool of blood-red across the stone floor.

[Killed Deformed Amalgam ×1 — Gained 100 EXP.]

[Current Brand Warrior EXP: 920/1600. Blacksmith Profession EXP: 15/100.]

Richard released his left hand, and the Masked Man's corpse slid to the ground.

He reached out and grabbed the dark purple mask, pulling it off with force; what lay beneath the mask was not a human face at all.

It was a deformed freak stitched together with coarse thread!

Two eyeballs of different colors were sewn into an eye socket without eyelids, one large and one small.

The nostrils were two tracheal cross-sections of different thicknesses, and the mouth was three lips of different shapes sewn into an irregular ring, embedded with several rows of teeth that did not belong to the same species.

The entire face looked as if someone had collected fragments of organs from humans and other creatures, then stitched them together into a ball with needle and thread.

"What a pathetic monster."

He sighed, bent down to pick up his hand axe, and limped to push open the iron door of the dungeon.

Outside the door was a narrow stone corridor, with a door on each side.

He pushed open the nearest one; inside was a stone chamber larger than the torture room.

Richard saw a scene that filled him with immense rage.

In the center of the stone chamber stood a large marble operating table, with a person lying on it.

Long white hair hung down from the edge of the operating table, the tips stained in the dark red liquid on the floor.

Morpheus's upper body was bare, and several long, thin incisions had been added to his originally fair skin.

The edges of the incisions were exceptionally neat, and the blood had been barely sealed by some kind of hemostatic potion, but the effect of the potion was fading, and newly seeped blood was trickling down his skin.

The Noblewoman stood beside the operating table, having changed into a new outfit.

A deep black robe, with the hood pulled up to cover her hair; the cuffs of the robe were embroidered with twisted runes in silver thread.

She held an extremely thin scalpel in her hand, the blade still stained with Morpheus's blood.

She was looking down, making a new incision below Morpheus's collarbone, her movements slow and focused, her expression appearing exceptionally gentle.

She heard footsteps, looked up, and saw Richard standing at the doorway covered in blood, holding the still-dripping hand axe.

She was stunned for a moment, then the corners of her mouth curled up, revealing a smile identical to the enthusiastic one she had shown before.

Her voice even carried a trace of sincere regret:

"Awake so soon? It seems Baris is dead... What a pity, he was a very loyal little dog, but it doesn't matter, I can do it myself."

Richard saw Cecilia standing right next to her, but she was motionless.

She maintained that stiff standing posture the entire time, her hands hanging by her sides, her sword hanging at her waist undrawn, her blood-red eyes staring straight at Richard.

The Noble Lady did not even spare her a glance, her entire attention focused on Morpheus, who lay on the operating table with his chest half-cut open.