29: Chapter 29 Crimson Breathing Technique! New Feature: Blood Rage!

White Cliff Territory, dungeon.

It usually held petty criminals like thieves, but today it was filled with an extra scent of blood.

Three captives from the Crimson Knights were chained to the racks, bearing wounds from the battle, their faces deathly pale.

Rowan stood before them, not wearing armor, dressed only in dark grey casual clothes, slowly wiping the bloodstains off his fingers with a clean cloth.

His expression was calm, but that calmness was more chilling than any ferocious threat.

Butler Henry stood to the side holding an oil lamp, his face somewhat pale; this was the first time he had seen his master in this state.

"Ulysses is dead, you saw it." Rowan spoke, his voice echoing in the dungeon: "Most of your companions are dead too."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the two: "I am very interested in your origins. Whoever speaks, I can give them a quick death. As for the experience you just had, I can also satisfy those who want to experience it again."

The captive on the left spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his eyes fierce but unable to hide his fear: "Bah! Don't even think about it..."

Rowan did not look at him, turning his gaze to the younger captive on the right, whose face still held traces of naivety.

The young man's eyes darted around, his body trembling slightly.

"You," Rowan's voice suddenly carried a faint chill, and at the same time, an imperceptible mental ripple spread silently, not for seduction, but to amplify the fear in the other's heart: "Do you want to experience that sword technique again?"

The young man's psychological defenses were already fragile, and under the mental pressure Rowan deliberately exerted, they collapsed instantly.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!" He was weeping and incoherent, "The camp... is in the old logging valley west of the Black Pine Forest, near the Poisonous Miasma Swamp!

"Lord Ulysses... no, that demon! He has dealings with Viscount Gladstone of Gino County! The Viscount sends him money and people! There are seven or eight people locked in the camp's dungeon, including an old guy, a blacksmith with good skills; the leader kept him to repair weapons and hasn't killed him yet... I don't know anything else, really!"

The captive on the left roared: "Traitor! The group rules..."

Rowan backhanded and drew the dagger from the guard's waist, not even looking, and flicked his wrist.

Swoosh! Plop!

The dagger pierced the roaring man's throat with precision, and his voice stopped abruptly.

Only the young captive's heavy breathing and teeth chattering remained in the dungeon.

"Very good." Rowan took a new cloth handed over by Butler Henry and wiped his hands again, "Give him a quick death."

He turned and left the dungeon, ordering the waiting guard captain: "Pick twenty men, the best horses, bring crossbows and 'Fire Bottles.' Depart immediately, target the old logging valley in the Black Pine Forest. Be fast!"

The night was like ink, and the sound of hooves shattered the silence of the wilderness.

Rowan led the way, the night wind biting on his face, but his heart held only a deep, cold killing intent.

Old Connor, was he actually still alive?!

The old logging valley was hidden deep in the Black Pine Forest, its entrance half-covered by vines and fallen trees.

The camp was small, with only seven or eight tents surrounding a large central tent and a crude wooden and stone dungeon.

Just as the captive said, the news of the main force's annihilation had evidently not yet arrived, and those left behind had not anticipated a surprise attack at all.

There were only four or five lazy figures by the camp's bonfire, and a guard was dozing at the entrance of the dungeon.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Rowan fired several arrows in succession, taking them out directly.

"Enemy attack!!" Screams and exclamations rang out, and the camp was instantly in chaos.

Rowan had already shot into the camp like a sharp arrow, his longsword unsheathed, tracing a cold trajectory in the firelight.

The remaining Crimson Knights were not elites to begin with, and having been caught in a surprise attack, they were almost unable to organize effective resistance.

The guards were like wolves and tigers, quickly suppressing the sporadic counterattacks.

Rowan headed straight for the dungeon.

He split the rusted chain with one sword strike and kicked the wooden door open.

A thick stench of rot and blood rushed at him.

In the dim light, several people with numb eyes were curled up on hay piles in the corner, wearing shackles on their hands and feet.

"Old Connor!" Rowan's gaze swept over them.

In the corner, an old man with tangled, white hair and beard moved slightly.

He raised his head, his turbid eyes struggling to identify the figure in the firelight, and when he saw Rowan's face, a light of disbelief erupted in his dead eyes.

"My Lord!"

Rowan saw him and stepped forward to sever the shackles with his sword.

Old Connor was in decent condition, after all, they needed him to forge and repair weapons.

At this time, Nolan also ran over, and upon seeing Old Connor, he immediately trotted to his father's side: "Dad! Dad! It's really you... You're still alive..."

Nolan cried for a while, then suddenly turned to Rowan and knelt down to kowtow: "My Lord! Thank you! Thank you for saving my father! Nolan's life is yours from now on!"

Rowan helped him up, looking at his eyes burning with loyalty, and said: "Take good care of your father."

Then, leaving a few people to take care of the rescued prisoners, he walked out of the dungeon and began to search the camp.

In the large central tent, Rowan discovered traces of loose ground.

After lifting a beast-skin rug with dark red patterns, he found a hidden trapdoor underneath.

Pulling the door open, there was a stone staircase leading down, ending in a small underground secret room.

In the center was a crude altar built of black stone, with an indescribable bloody aura remaining on it.

Beside the altar sat a box also carved from some kind of black stone.

Rowan pried the stone box open with the tip of his sword.

There were no gold coins inside, only a scroll tanned from dark brown leather.

The leather felt greasy and cold to the touch, carrying a sickeningly sweet, bloody smell.

Unrolling the scroll, the first few twisted characters exuded madness and ominousness:

Crimson Breathing Technique

The text and diagrams below were even more bizarre, describing in detail how to cultivate a highly corrosive crimson battle energy by creating and draining extreme negative emotions such as pain, fear, and despair, mixed with one's own blood and energy.

It also recorded several supporting techniques, all of which had self-mutilation or torture as a prerequisite to exchange for rapid growth in strength.

The end of the scroll was incomplete, with many key parts blurred or covered in filthy blood.

This was an evil technique through and through, using life and soul as fuel.

But it could not be denied that its extreme exploitation of blood and energy and its extreme philosophy of seeking only destruction had a certain twisted and cruel efficiency.

Otherwise, how could Ulysses, who was born a commoner with mediocre talent, have cultivated to the level of a Senior Knight?

Rowan rolled up the scroll expressionlessly and tucked it into his bosom.

Power itself is neither good nor evil; it depends on who wields it and for what purpose.

And the existence of the Myriad Manifestations Furnace gave him the possibility of stripping away the dross and extracting the essence.

Leading the team back to White Cliff Castle.

After handling all the trivial matters such as compensation, rewards, and prisoner placement, it was already broad daylight.

Rowan dismissed Butler Henry and returned alone to the study on the top floor of the castle.

Outside the window, the morning sun had completely dispelled the night, casting its light over the territory that had just experienced blood and fire and had now returned to tranquility.

But he felt no joy of victory in his heart, only a deeper sense of urgency.

The threat of the Crimson Knights was temporarily cleared, but there was now an additional Viscount Gladstone; the opponent was a Peak Knight, perhaps only a step away from being a Great Knight.

He closed the doors and windows, sat behind his desk, and took out the Crimson Breathing Technique scroll.

The human-skin scroll appeared even more bizarre in the morning light, and that sweet, bloody, evil aura seemed even stronger.

Without any hesitation, he unfolded it directly and began to practice.

Almost as soon as the Crimson Breathing Technique's battle energy route was successfully activated, a light blue system panel appeared before his eyes:

[Detected new Breathing Technique operation mode: Crimson Breathing Technique (Incomplete) (Excellent)]

[Do you wish to activate the Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique refining function to strip and extract the essence traits of the Crimson Breathing Technique?]

[Yes / No]

Rowan's gaze fell on the word "Incomplete", a ripple flashed in his eyes, and then he issued the command:

"Yes!"

The moment the command was issued, Rowan felt a cold and violent intent rush into his mind!

At the same time, those deep red characters on the scroll seemed to come alive, twisting and wriggling.

But the next moment, the Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique within his body surged!

It was as if an invisible phantom furnace had unfolded within him, and the blue-white battle energy turned into a raging furnace fire.

Some characteristics regarding "extreme blood and energy conversion", "pain-to-power conversion", and "instant explosive amplification" were extracted.

The furnace's flames burned and refined these fragments, causing them to collide and fuse violently with his original "Frost" and "Insight" traits.

Rowan's body trembled slightly, his skin surface occasionally flashing with Frost crystals, and occasionally showing an abnormal blood-red, but his eyes remained as clear as ice.

After an unknown amount of time, the violent fluctuations in his body slowly subsided, and the system prompt appeared clearly:

[Refining complete!]

[Extracted essence trait: Blood Rage (Blue)]

[Passive effect: Slightly increases tolerance to negative states such as pain, weakness, and mental shock; battle energy flow is less likely to be disrupted when injured.]

[Active effect: Can be actively triggered to burn blood and energy significantly in a short time in exchange for a significant increase in strength, speed, and explosive power. Accompanied by a period of weakness after activation.]

[Warning: Excessive use will consume life span; use with caution!]

[Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique proficiency +36!]

Rowan clearly felt that in his dantian's battle energy core, besides the [Frost] and [Insight] traits, there was now an extremely tiny dark red light spot at the center, like a spark of fire sealed within an ice core.

That represented the [Blood Rage] trait, quietly dormant, waiting to be ignited.

His mind stirred, and he tried to trigger a trace of [Blood Rage].

Immediately, a scorching power surged from the depths of his body, flowing through his limbs and bones, bringing a feeling of fullness filled with power, but without the violent confusion and bloodthirsty impulses described in the Crimson Breathing Technique; instead, there was a sense of precise power under cold control.

He quickly stopped triggering it, and the scorching sensation slowly receded, leaving only a trace of slight fatigue that was almost negligible.

"Stripped of evil and madness, leaving only the purest power of blood and energy explosion..."

A trace of satisfaction flashed in Rowan's eyes.

This newly acquired [Blood Rage] trait was like magma sealed in an ice core, quiet yet dangerous.

The passive effect could increase tolerance to negative states, which was extremely practical in melee combat or when encountering strange methods.

And that active effect of burning blood and energy in exchange for an explosion...

He recalled the battle with the Radiant Griffin in his mind.

A Peak Knight existence, whether it was a magical beast or a human, had a total volume of battle energy, quality, and control over power that was far beyond what a Senior Knight could compare to.

His current strength should be at a relatively strong level among Senior Knights.

Relying on the dual traits of [Frost] and [Insight], as well as his exquisite skills in "Silent Pilgrimage Archery" and "Winter Oath-Keeper Swordsmanship", he might be able to contend with a weaker Peak Knight for a short time.

But to defeat them, he lacked the means.

But what if... he triggered [Blood Rage]?

At the moment [Insight] found a flaw, using [Blood Rage] for an extreme explosion, combined with the fatal strike of "Silent Funeral", or the resolute thrust of "Vow of Freezing: Winter Tremor"...

Perhaps, there was really a glimmer of possibility to threaten a true Peak Knight.

Of course, the price would inevitably be heavy.

"Strength, still not enough." Rowan clearly realized this point.

Whether it was to deal with the potential follow-up moves of Viscount Gladstone, the more powerful Crimson Knights he might encounter in the future, or... to get in touch with the ladies of higher levels, he needed to become stronger faster.

The morning light filtered through the window, cutting the study into geometric shapes of light and shadow.

But Rowan's gaze had already crossed the castle and the mountains, casting toward the direction of Gino City.

"Blood Thorn Knight Ulysses... The Crimson Knights behind him are a thorn in the side of the Church."

A faint arc curled at the corner of Rowan's mouth, "For both public and private reasons, I should make a trip to the Church of Dawn."

"After all, the territory has just experienced a tragic attack, suffering both physically and mentally, and is in urgent need of seeking some spiritual comfort and guidance from the merciful priest..."

"That is very reasonable, isn't it?"