Translator: CinderTL
Unlike Roland, who remained on high alert, the white-robed figure completely disregarded the earlier attack.
He slowly extended his crimson tongue, meticulously licking his parched lips, like a gourmand preparing for a lavish feast.
His glowing golden eyes locked onto the young man before him, brimming with an insatiable hunger.
"Though I don't know which dark alley that fool Monen is cowering in now, trembling like a rat..."
The white-robed figure's gaze greedily swept over Roland's entire body:
His straight, pine-like spine, broad and powerful shoulders, and sharply defined muscles.
Every inch of him made the figure's mouth water.
Recalling Roland's heroic figure during their battle at the Blackwater Territory Manor, he gave a barely perceptible nod, a sinister smile curving beneath his hood.
"Compared to Gavin's useless son, this little one is simply... perfect."
At this thought, the white-robed figure could no longer restrain himself. With a sudden blur of motion, he lunged forward.
Seeing this, Roland instinctively swung his sword in a backhanded strike.
But the result was as despairing as before.
The sword blade pierced through the White-robed figure's body without resistance, as if slicing through a wisp of ethereal mist.
Even more bizarrely, the figure's voluminous white robes remained utterly uncreased, as if the sword strike had been nothing more than an illusion.
"Damn it!" Roland cursed inwardly, swiftly dodging to the side to narrowly evade the pale clawed shadow that lunged at him.
Before he could regain his footing, a sudden wave of heart-pounding dread seized him, momentarily halting his breath.
As the White-robed figure drew closer, the surrounding air rapidly turned bone-chillingly cold.
Even more terrifying, Roland could distinctly feel his physical strength being slowly and steadily drained by some invisible force, as if his life force were being siphoned away through countless microscopic needles.
Yet Roland had no time to investigate the source of this eerie phenomenon.
The White-robed figure's relentless assault continued, its attacks relentless and inescapable.
In the span of a few breaths, Roland unleashed a series of fierce strikes.
His sword blade tore through the air, his fists roared with wind, yet each blow struck only empty mist, failing to even graze the figure's robes.
The White-robed figure's eerie footsteps drew closer, its wide white robes tracing dizzying arcs through the air.
Is it a spirit body?
The thought flashed through Roland's mind after several probing attacks.
The figure's complete immunity to physical attacks bore a striking resemblance to the undead creaturesโliches, evil spirits, and the likeโfrom his past life's memories.
"Run!"
Realizing his attacks were utterly ineffective, Roland made a snap decision. He surged forward with explosive force, launching himself like an arrow from a bow toward the window at the end of the corridor.
Crash!
Amidst the crisp shattering of glass, he executed a mid-air flip, landed smoothly, and immediately sprinted forward without pausing.
"Running away? A wise choice indeed, but..."
The White-robed figure chuckled softly, taking a single step forward. Yet the distance between them shrank unnervingly, as if space itself warped beneath its feet.
"Merely a cornered beast's struggle."
The street lay silent as a tomb.
Roland's figure darted across the empty street, his boots crunching over scattered streamers and wine glasses, yet no one stirred.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his gaze locked forward.
Behind him, the white-robed figure moved like a shadow, each step seeming to shrink the distance between them. Unhurried yet relentless, it steadily closed the gap.
Lanterns swayed on either side, casting elongated shadows that stretched and shrank with each stride. The two figures chased each other through the desolate remains of the celebration, one shadow pursuing the other across the silent, debris-strewn ground.
No one witnessed this desperate flight.
Only overturned stalls, half-toppled wine barrels, and the hollow eyes of a still-spinning wooden puppet reflected their fleeting silhouettes.
"Damn it!" Roland muttered, his brow furrowed in frustration as he realized he couldn't shake his pursuer despite his all-out sprint.
Yet his feet never faltered; he only quickened his pace.
Soon, the inn where he was staying came into view.
"Finally!" Roland exhaled in relief, but he dared not relax.
He bolted through the inn's entrance, taking the stairs three at a time as he raced toward his room.
Though his understanding of spirit bodies was limited, Roland was certain they weren't invincible.
Realizing that physical attacks were ineffective, Roland abruptly kicked open the door. He swiftly retrieved the white skeletal remains from their hidden compartment and deftly fastened them to his left wrist.
The moment he completed this action, that familiar, bone-chilling cold surged through his body once more.
Without even turning around, Roland instinctively rolled to the side.
Almost simultaneously, the wooden cabinet behind him hissed softly, as if sliced cleanly by an invisible blade.
But Roland had no time to spare for the commotion behind him.
As he rolled into the corner of the room, his mind raced. The surrounding Magic Elements immediately converged toward the white skeletal remains like a tidal wave, then surged through his wrist, following the tight-fitting bones, and rushed deep into his consciousness.
Just as the magic was about to touch the rune in his Consciousness Shoal, Roland abruptly raised his arm and whirled around.
However, instead of the White-robed figure, he was met by a pair of golden, vertically slit pupils glowing with an eerie light.
As the pupils contracted sharply, the eerie light surged forth like a tidal wave, sending a piercing pain through the depths of his mind.
In an instant, the world before Roland's eyes spun violently.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a blood-red wasteland. Beneath his feet lay a viscous, nauseating blood swamp, each step sinking deep into its mire.
A twisted, crescent moon hung in the sky, its crimson light bathing the world in an unsettling, unnatural hue.
Countless half-rotted arms emerged from the blood swamp, their sharp nails scraping against his pant legs with a sickening rasp.
"Come... join us," a hoarse whisper echoed from all directions, the sound punctuated by the grating of bones grinding against each other.
In the distance, dozens of skeletons draped in decaying flesh staggered forward, eerie green ghost flames flickering in their empty eye sockets.
Even more terrifying, Roland noticed his skin was rotting at a visible rate.
First, his fingers turned black, then his arms, the stench of decay assaulting his nostrils.
Fear coiled around his heart like a venomous serpent, nearly suffocating him.
At this critical moment, a cold, unwavering strength surged from the depths of his soul.
"Hmph."
The white-robed figure watched Roland stand motionless, a contemptuous smirk curling his lips.
"Your strength is decent, but you're ultimately just a mortal."
"If you had reached the Transcendent Realm, you might have had a chance to break free. Alas..."
Yet before the thought could fade, the scene before him made his pupils contract sharply.
The young man who had been hanging his head suddenly looked up. His once-vacant eyes snapped into focus, his gaze piercing like a blade.
"Impossible!"
The white-robed figure's heart churned with shock.
"To break free from the illusion in less than a breath? Even a true transcendent professionalโ"
But reality left him no time to ponder.
For at Roland's fingertips, a brilliant flame had already begun to dance.
(End of the Chapter)
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