Chapter 187: Origin and Background

The clothes were slashed open, and a layer of some unknown transparent armor covered his solid muscles, showing no change as the blade slid across.

Sparks flew onto his face.

"What kind of monster is this now?!"

The leader let out a strange cry.

But he chose to attack first—there was no time to dodge—and this slash accomplished not even Cun Gong, not even slowing the opponent's charging momentum.

So, without surprise, he was pinned to the ground.

With a thud.

His head was grabbed and slammed hard into the ground.

Half a face, wearing shock and terror, sank into the dirt.

Wh-what the hell is this strength!

This is mid sixth-tier??? I'd believe you if you told me I was pinned by that owl bear just now!!!

"Where are you from? What organization? Why are you targeting the tree spirits of Windwall Forest? And what is the thing that specifically attacks tree spirits?"

Rod fired off several questions in a row.

His tone was sinister, and the force in his hand gradually increased:

"I'll count to three. If you don't answer, I'll twist off your fingers one by one."

However, the other was the type who wouldn't shed tears until seeing the coffin, and immediately roared:

"Andy! Hodgkinson! Come help me take this guy out!!!"

"You think I'm joking?"

Rod drove a rising punch into the back of his head; his skull sank a few more inches into the dirt, clods flying.

Of course, he held back—punching the head clean off would leave nothing to question.

Just the right amount of force: dazed but no brain damage.

While the man was in a dazed state, Rod seized his right index finger, snapped it backward with a crack, then twisted it left and right, tearing off skin and flesh together.

"Aaaaaah!!!!"

Amid the screams.

The blades of two spiritual warriors came at him head-on.

Rod flung the severed finger into one of their faces, and with a wet slap, blood smeared all over it.

With 【Dragon Scale Art】 active, he couldn't be bothered to dodge.

He caught the steel blades barehanded, one on each side; amid the sharp screech of friction and flying sparks, the blades were locked tight, unable to move at all.

"Idiot! Got him!"

The blue-haired swordsman on the right sneered.

As he spoke, his steel sword flashed with spiritual light, then puffed into green powder, which, as if alive, slammed into Rod's face.

It seeped in with his breath, drilling into his lungs.

"This is my Rot Spore Sword, which I went through a lot of trouble to get. I admit your defensive spiritual art is well-practiced, but how are you going to defend against internal destruction?"

The man seemed to think victory was in hand and even provided commentary on the side.

The other, apparently to avoid being affected by 【Rot Spores】, simply let go of his weapon and retreated with the blue-haired swordsman.

He pointed at Rod's waist: "I want those two swords."

Blue-hair: "What joke are you cracking? I'm the one who'll take him down."

"I want one of them anyway. Look at my sword—it's already rolled its edge from him grabbing it."

The leader on the ground cursed with a ferocious face:

"Bastards! What are you doing?! This guy isn't an ordinary sixth-tier! Go finish him!"

Blue-hair was unimpressed.

"No matter how unusual, he's still just human. My 【Rot Spore Sword】 was bought from Amerl—even seventh-tier lizardfolk can't resist it. In five seconds he should turn into a puddle of pus."

Before he could finish speaking, he felt something behind him blocking the sunlight.

He had just turned to look when his whole body jolted; a sharp pain shot through his back and reached his chest.

"Hgh—"

He couldn't speak; blood poured from his mouth in great gulps.

And only when he looked down did he see a blood-drenched large hand thrust clean through his chest.

"How-how is this possible"

Rod tossed the corpse aside, his expression flat as he stared at the remaining one.

A layer of pink-purple wrath-flame rose up, burning the blood and viscera on his arm completely clean.

Under the pink-purple firelight, his face was especially terrifying.

The man was horrified and immediately thought of retreating.

He tossed a small leather ball; it burst midair into thick smoke.

"Boring."

Rod's arm swayed, and 【Devotion Body Sword】 was already drawn.

A golden sword-shadow swept through the air; the spiritual energy flung from the sword-tip gathered into sword-qi, carrying a sharp shriek as it tore through the air.

Whoosh—

The slash-wave of 【Shrieking Sword Wave】 split the smoke, flashing past the fleeing man's waist; immediately, the upper half dropped lifelessly to the ground, while the lower half's legs kept running, only collapsing softly after running several dozen meters.

The leader stared in disbelief.

This spiritual fluctuation—I'd believe you if you said you were seventh-tier!!!

For a long time now, there has always been a tremendous gap between the sixth and seventh tiers. A cross-tier duel at this level has almost never been won throughout history — most such cases only appear in newspaper novels or in the biographies of certain historically renowned experts.

Of course, their kind of preparation with all sorts of specialized gear, and swarming attacks, don't count.

Not long ago, the young scion of the Agir family, Isabella, single-handedly killed a seventh-tier as a peak sixth-tier — already an extremely rare official record.

And the person before him — this kind of power, this kind of defense, this degree of spiritual fluctuation.

He himself being a half-step seventh-tier, he could determine with certainty that this person must be of the caliber of Isabella Agir.

The moment this thought arose.

He had already lost any thought of resistance.

Now turning to the battlefield on the other side.

The seventh-tier Druid's transformed owlbear had shown no mercy at all — no one could withstand a single claw — and was already in the final pursuit and cleanup phase.

"Old rules, I'll count to three."

"I'll talk, I'll tell you everything, just please don't kill me."

"That depends on whether you behave."

The leader decisively pulled out a magic contract, then in one breath spilled out everything he should and shouldn't have said.

Very quickly.

Rod came to understand the full picture of the matter.

The goblin Pete's intel was not wrong — these were all members of the Ruins Brotherhood, and this leader was not the true mastermind either.

That was a plague mage called Aimeer.

The Ruins Brotherhood members had originally been following the president's orders to support the rebellion at Coral Bay, when they later encountered Aimeer in the Dusk Hills.

This person made no attempt to conceal his identity as a plague mage — even a sewer like the Ruins Brotherhood gave people like him a wide berth.

But this person expressed his admiration and sincerity toward the Brotherhood, and was willing to provide them with all kinds of magical support.

One must understand that the Ruins Brotherhood's operations basically never had anything resembling logistics.

Basically it was the type where they found a place, they looted it on the spot — making do with whatever was available.

The quality of their gear could well be imagined.

Coincidentally, this Aimeer was an extremely well-rounded mage — plague mage was merely one of his countless professions.

And what the Ruins Brotherhood had to pay was merely to kidnap all kinds of intelligent races back for this Aimeer to conduct magical research.

Treants, sirens, ghost pirates, tieflings — all of them would do.

No one knew what this plague mage wanted to do.

But clearly, there weren't many kind-hearted people in the Ruins Brotherhood — they had no desire to probe secrets, especially since the vast majority of members in this operation were humans, kobolds, and gnolls.

Their moral bottom line was especially low.

If it weren't that Aimeer happened not to need samples of those three races — kobolds, gnolls, and humans — this group would probably have a few mysteriously disappearing every night from within their own ranks.

(End of this chapter)