Chapter 849

Now the pressure has fallen on Miss Wang Hou.

Miranda turned to look at the bloodstain on the wall nearby—it was the last trace the vampire count had left behind.

This was a vampire witch famed for her immense vitality and toughness, yet she had been killed so casually by a single punch, simpler than slaughtering a chicken—truly chilling.

Moreover, the count killed was someone Miranda knew: Countess Dalia of the Lesen clan, known as the Red Widow, whose strength ranked among the very top of all counts, especially her blood-poison arts, which were nearly impossible to defend against—even Miranda herself could never have defeated her so easily.

Hmm, within three moves I could have taken her, but one punch to kill? That's truly impossible.

After all, a vampire's vitality is so great even their own kind shake their heads—it's genuinely hard to kill.

Especially when it was a one-punch kill during self-destruction.

If a witch decides to go down with you, her self-destruction is almost irreversible—even if you kill her at that moment, it's still nearly impossible to stop the massive magical energy inside her from spiraling out of control.

If self-destruction were this easy to stop, it wouldn't be called the ultimate last resort.

But just now, Countess Dalia's self-destruction was snuffed out by a single punch—utterly horrifying.

Miranda's strength allowed her to notice far more details in that punch than an ordinary witch could.

For instance, the dominant martial soul will in that punch directly crushed Dalia's soul—before the fist even touched her body, the vampire count's mind had already shattered under the fist's intent.

She was already dead then.

After her will dispersed, her many vampire talents lost their controller, and her vast vitality naturally had no way to manifest.

After all, a vampire's toughness isn't like a dragon's—it's not passive strength, it's a passive skill.

Their regeneration and vitality rely on reserves stored in the Blood River, requiring their own will to draw upon—this is an active skill.

And if an active skill isn't activated, it's effectively nonexistent.

She also saw the raging self-destruction energy halt its expansion under that punch—the overwhelming force formed an invisible seal, forcibly suppressing and then compressing the runaway magic.

In that instant, Miss Wang Hou even glimpsed a tiny black hole, which sucked away all the chaotic self-destruction energy.

Yet this overwhelming power affected only Countess Dalia—no trace of the punch's force leaked out.

Hence, visually, it appeared as nothing more than an ordinary, unadorned punch that instantly killed a count—immensely shocking.

What terrifying martial soul will, what horrifying control over fist power.

Martial God…

The term instantly flashed into Miss Wang Hou's mind.

Damn it, this clown Grand Inquisitor is a rare true Martial God.

She was deeply shocked.

Though martial-technique witches are constantly belittled by other factions, seemingly at the bottom of the faction hierarchy…

That's only true for those below the peak of the martial-technique path.

Those who walk this path to its absolute end, forging a Martial God body, are few enough that no one dares to mock them anymore.

After all, their terrifying combat power—fists shattering ten thousand arts, feet treading the Milky Way—is genuinely frightening.

Martial witches each have high attack, high defense, thick vitality, and absurdly fast movement speed—aside from slightly lacking ranged bombardment, every other aspect is maxed out.

Below Martial God level, you might still use kiting tactics to wear down a martial-technique assault witch like a dog.

But at Martial God level…

Hmm, once a Martial God punched straight through a forbidden spell barrage to carve a path to her target, then ripped off her stunned opponent's head and kicked it like a ball.

That's truly brutal, utterly unreasonable.

Martial-technique witches who've forged a Martial God body possess near-dragon-level magical resistance—any spell hitting them instantly loses ten percent of its power, dropping to five percent or lower.

How are you supposed to fight that?

Thus, martial witches are essentially artillery killers—in high-level battles, the martial-technique faction finally reversed its former disadvantage and took the upper hand.

The most famous Martial God these past two years has been Queen Euphelia of the Dragon Realm.

This young dragon witch is barely a hundred years old—far younger than any veteran peak's mere fraction, even less than the time it takes most to nap.

Yet she now rivals sages in combat, overshadowing all veteran peaks—this is the terrifying power of a top-tier Martial God.

Sigh, before reaching the peak, everyone mocks martial-technique witches as crude brutes; after reaching the peak, everyone envies Martial Gods for not needing daily complex magical research or endless study of cosmic truths.

They only need to polish their martial soul and study martial arts day after day.

Knowledge requires long accumulation, but martial arts sometimes just need insight—once you awaken, you leap forward a thousand miles overnight, ascending instantly.

Of course, achieving such an unbeatable Martial God isn't easy—among countless martial-technique assault witches, only one or two become Martial Gods per billion, far harder than other factions.

Moreover, most Martial Gods' paths are unique and irreproducible—they're forged from battlefields piled with corpses; a Martial God body always requires blood and fire to forge, while other factions face far lower risk, advancing steadily with mere talent and routine.

High risk, high reward—it's perfectly reasonable that martial witches surpass other peak witches by a wide margin.

But now, realizing the young inquisitor before her was a Martial God, Miss Wang Hou's heart turned to ash—she was merely a traditional magical artillery witch.

If she could create distance and give herself enough room to maneuver, she might still try to fight back and attempt to escape back to the Van Zwart clan.

But now, that grinning clown mask was right before her, only three or four steps away.

This was practically handing her life over to him—she couldn't even draw her staff before he could end her.

So… should she truly submit and confess? …

Miranda thought this.

She glanced around one last time, searching for any other opportunity.

After all, just like Countess Dalia before her, there were still many other vampire witches in this banquet hall—if she was forced to speak, none of them could escape—they were all on the same rope.

Unfortunately, Miss Wang Hou was ultimately disappointed—though many other clan witches in the crowd were stirring, the sight of Countess Dalia being instantly punched to death had terrified them.

No one dared to step forward now.

Turn off the lights, protect your eyes, small medium large

Even now, these people were all staring at her, their eyes gleaming with malice.

"Countess Miranda, this is the time for you to sacrifice yourself for the great cause."

"To preserve the secret, what you most need to do now is end your own life."

"This mess is entirely your own doing—don't drag us all down with you."

Though no one spoke, Miranda read this meaning from the eyes of these "fellow clansmen."

Hmm, just as she had swiftly activated the Blood Burn Curse to silence Rekti, her most correct move now should be to be ruthless—end her own life, ensuring this terrifying Grand Inquisitor gains no intelligence.

Though this clearly looks like suicide out of guilt, at least it buys the vampire clan some preparation time, letting them face the Inquisition's investigation more calmly.

Hmm, if she sacrifices just herself, this clown Grand Inquisitor—who currently seems to control the situation—will truly become the clown who stirred the hornet's nest; once the vampires react, the Inquisition will find nothing.

But… could she really kill herself?

Earlier, she had activated the Blood Burn Curse against her "daughter" with lightning speed—but now it was her turn, and she instantly lost all resolve.

Miss Wang Hou fell silent.

Her silence made the dragon witch across from her frown slightly, but soon Dorothy understood.

"Oh, how forgetful of me—the Blood Burn Curse, right? You've got one too. I'll remove it for you."

The dragon witch flicked another drop of blood onto Miranda's forehead—next instant, Miss Wang Hou felt her body relax, a sense of liberation washing over her.

Her earlier silence had indeed been due to fear of the Blood Burn Curse—any betrayal thought would immediately alert Lord Van Zwart.

But she couldn't possibly ask this clown Grand Inquisitor to remove it—saying so would be betrayal itself.

Yet now, this clown lord was truly considerate.

But the problem was, at her rank, she was irrevocably bound to her family—betraying the family meant betraying herself; all these years climbing to this position, her hands were far from clean—how could she possibly fully confess to the Inquisition? That would be suicide.

So she fell silent again.

Across from her, the dragon witch frowned again, but didn't press further—instead, she turned to look at the countess beside her.

At this moment, Rekti was furiously writing, detailing everything she knew about the Van Zwart clan and all thirteen vampire clans, her pages already piling up like a dictionary.

Hmm, this typing speed used the Speed Scripture technique, paired with Speed Divine Speech.

Good—Countess Rekti's will to survive is strong, her reform attitude very positive.

Dorothy nodded in satisfaction.

As for the countess beside her…

The chance was given; if she couldn't seize it, no one else could blame her.

Thus, time slowly slipped away in this awkward, deadly silence—meanwhile, new guests continued arriving, since the banquet's official start time was still a bit off.

Some latecomers had only just arrived, but upon entering, seeing this scene, their smiles froze instantly.

Holy shit, they really are here to eat the funeral banquet.

Some Night City elites with clean backgrounds, not vampire witches, thought this was hilarious.

During this, several of Dorothy's acquaintances arrived: Sister Mia, representing the Golden Land; Madeline and Audrey, sisters accompanying two ladies.

The sisters were startled upon entering, though only Madeline was truly shocked—Mia and Audrey merely sighed and covered their faces.

Well, little witch (senior), as expected of you.

Both looked toward the fallen angel lady in the banquet corner, smiling serenely at everything—none of them were surprised.

Dorothy also saw her younger sister Alice—she'd wondered why the little witch wasn't with Anne, and now she saw Alice walking with two exceptionally tall witches, especially close to the cold-looking suit-wearing witch.

This made the home witch glance twice, curious about who the suit witch was—her sister rarely got this close to others.

But once she sensed the werewolf aura on both tall witches, she already had a guess.

Alice, delighted to see her paternal mother after so long, had planned to introduce her to her sister—she knew her sister planned to enter the entertainment industry, and her mother had some influence there.

But as soon as the little witch entered and smelled the air, looked toward her sister's direction, she saw that familiar clown mask—and her smile froze.

Oh my god, sis, are you really going this far?

Even the carefree little witch sensed something was off—she was momentarily flustered, unsure what to do.

Beside her, Hati reached out and grabbed her daughter's hand, then stared in surprise at the clown Grand Inquisitor, the center of attention.

After a long while, Rekti finally finished writing down the information she knew; she picked up the testimony, thicker than several dictionaries combined, and bowed respectfully toward Dorothy.

"My lord, I'm finished."

"Mm."

Dorothy nodded, reached out to take the testimony, but did not immediately read it; instead, her gaze returned to the noble lady who had remained silent all along.

Yet just moments ago filled with despair and visible turmoil, Miranda now suddenly broke into a wild smile, lifting her head to meet the Dragon Witch's gaze with renewed courage.

She seemed to have regained her confidence—only for that confidence to be ruthlessly shattered the next instant.

"At last you've arrived. This fishing expedition was painfully slow; your bait doesn't seem very effective."

Before the noble lady could speak, Dorothy spoke first, her eyes turning toward the banquet hall's entrance, for in her perception, a mighty river of blood was surging closer.

Then, an elderly noblewoman entered, leaning on a cane.

At the sight of this old woman, every guest in the hall froze; those nearby quickly stepped aside to clear a path.

For though she appeared to be a woman on the verge of death, she had in fact only just risen from her coffin.

She was none other than the rightful master of the Vlad family—the Vlad Duke.

The big fish has bitten.