Chapter 570: Teles's Awakening

A faint, thin glow lit up the mechanical glove on Rekton's right hand; the glow fell on Katelina, stripping away part of her spirit and the various mad, degenerate thoughts brewing in her heart, and merged with the shadow beneath her.

The shadow beneath her, now filled with the degenerate thoughts and spirit, suddenly came to life, surging and flowing rapidly, forming an independent creature somewhat resembling her but uncontrolled.

With the shadow creature's appearance, the spider‑web‑like threads filling the room began to contract and curl abnormally, as if a split had occurred, pitting themselves against each other.

Regaining some thoughts from her daze, Katelina's eyes flickered; on the invisible ethereal filaments around her, black flames and white frost writhed, battling each other and destroying everything nearby.

Snap! Rekton snapped his right fingers, and the flames and frost in the room quickly grew pale and thin, losing their original intensity; their clash, confined to this room, could no longer cause great damage.

Katelina's complexion darkened; she locked eyes with the figure that resembled her, her gaze flickering slightly.

The bizarre creature, a blend of shadow and degenerate thoughts, moved slower and slower, as if bound by invisible threads; its surface gradually took on a gray‑white stone hue until it became a full gray‑white statue.

Katelina, with a grimace, stared at the stone statue before her; she could no longer feel any limbs below her waist, and as she petrified that strange shadow creature, she herself was being turned to stone.

She looked toward the figure appearing at the window, the Rekton who was patting Teles's back, and her voice grew low and tense, with a hint of impatience she hadn't even noticed herself: "What did you do? Why am I so impulsively reckless fighting it together?"

"I merely amplified a certain thought and emotion in your heart; stepping into the trap so easily just shows your accumulation at the Assassin stage isn't sufficient."

Rekton, mimicking Katelina's earlier words, mocked her, and while speaking he continued to pat Teles's back incessantly.

"Cough! Cough!"

Teles, struck, couldn't help coughing; her cheeks flushed red, and she kept spitting dark red, blackened gore, filling the air with a foul stench.

"Cough~ Okay, okay, I—"

Boom! Crimson mingled with pitch‑black flames materialized in the room, leaping violently, spreading outward and soon engulfing the entire inn.

When the flames reached Rekton, they suddenly churned into chaos, forming a vortex that sealed off the fire.

He scanned the spot where Katelina had been, raised his right hand halfway, and whispered in draconic, "Frost!"

Centered on him, translucent streams of light rained down in midair, striking the raging flames and instantly extinguishing them, leaving a thick layer of frost on the floor, walls, and ceiling, with icicle after icicle hanging.

Katelina's figure had vanished from the room, leaving only a few blackened mirror shards and scattered gray‑white stone fragments on the floor.

"You let her go on purpose?" Teles asked Rekton with suspicion and confusion.

He gave no answer, speaking calmly, "Night Watchers and Punishers will arrive here soon; do you have any other hideouts?"

"South District of the Great Bridge, 81 Tamark Street." Teles said without hesitation, naming one of her bases prepared in Beikelande.

Rekton nodded lightly, placed a hand on her shoulder, and their figures vanished swiftly, becoming transparent.

Shortly after they left, howling gale drowned out the surrounding clamor, and a formidable middle‑aged man descended from the wind.

He was Leidal Waldin, the new head of the Storm Church Beikelande Parish, succeeding the transferred "God Singer" Ais Sineke.

He was heavily built, fully stretching the loose Storm Cleric robe; his hair was deep‑blue, almost black, his earlobes large, his eyes perpetually brimming with lightning and storm, staring at the cheap inn with icicles hanging from its eaves with unabashed anger; the wind hissed at his ears, steady rather than frantic, as if conveying a message.

"Flames, frost, the air still lingers with bacteria and viruses. And those witches again, hum, a bunch of crazy, troublesome women."

He muttered a few words; the swirling gale around him suddenly intensified, lifting his body and carrying him away from the block, where at the street's end a Punisher squad had already arrived.

South District of the Great Bridge, 81 Tamark Street, a three‑story red‑brick building with a pointed roof.

Rekton and Teles's silhouettes were suddenly outlined; he reluctantly withdrew his hand from Teles's shoulder, walked to the wall, and turned on the gas wall lamp in the room.

Teles reached up and tugged the men's shirt that had slipped beneath her shoulder; looking weary, she whispered seductively, "If you like, I can let you touch me a while longer, or we could experience true pleasure together, as a reward for saving me just now."

Rekton took a few steps forward, met her gaze, and, amid her eager, teasing look, reached out to button the men's shirt on her one by one, standing up the collar and wrapping her body tightly.

Disregarding Teles's bewildered and angry feelings, he stepped back two paces and said calmly,

"Compared to that kind of reward, I'd rather you cash it in and give it to me."

"You're really something." Teles opened her mouth to retort, but recalling his brief clash with Katelina, she swallowed the unfinished words and instead asked, "Why did you deliberately let her go? Do you pity her, or are you afraid of the witch sect behind her?" Rekton shook his head expressionlessly and said, "I'm simply curious about the current state of the Primeval Witch."

"Although I'm confident I could kill her, it's not something I can do easily; the Immortal Witch's vitality is as tenacious as rats in a sewer—she can be eliminated but hard to eradicate completely, especially with you as a burden beside me."

"Moreover, I just struck a deal with Night, so it's unsuitable to cause a big stir in Beikelande."

Teles paid no heed to Rekton's words; she untied the shirt buttons while turning toward the wardrobe at the far end of the room.

As she approached the wardrobe, the men's shirt slipped off, revealing the snow‑white skin beneath, partially hidden among her loose hair, exuding great allure.

The fallen shirt suddenly sprouted a few crimson flames, which were quickly consumed.

After shedding the shirt, she kicked off her shoes, reached for her waistband. Rekton cleared his throat, swallowed, turned with difficulty, walked to the stained‑glass window, opened it, letting the night's cold wind soothe his suddenly restless mind and body.

Sensing the movement behind her, Teles curled her mouth into a calm, seductive smile and, at a measured pace, selected clothing from the wardrobe.

After about ten minutes, she changed into a black‑purple court gown, barefoot on the wooden floor, each step's creak seeming to tug at hearts.

Rekton, via the window's reflection, took her silhouette into his sight and said calmly,

"It seems you've adapted well to being a woman; now do you still want to switch paths and become an Iron‑Blooded Knight?"

"It's only for role‑playing," Teles said, her chest rising slightly as she defended herself.

She paused a second, then continued,

"I've already processed the Pain Witch's magic elixir; now you should tell me the magic elixir formula for the Iron‑Blooded Knight and the ritual required for advancement, right?"

Rekton gave a slight nod and said,

"Of course, otherwise what would I be looking for you for?"

"The ritual for the Iron‑Blooded Knight, for you, is simple: assemble a team of at least thirty people, forge deep battlefield camaraderie, let them grow strong together, coordinate seamlessly, understand each other's intent through glances and moves, becoming almost one, then have them perform the ritual."

"The stronger and more in sync the team, the better the ritual's effect."

Teles's expression turned odd; after two seconds of silence she couldn't hold back a retort: "Simple? Building a thirty‑person team as bedmates is easy, but becoming comrades in arms— is that something a witch should do? Are you sure it won't end up as just a…?"

Rekton chuckled lightly in response: "So the choice of people matters; currently Beikelande isn't suitable for cultivating a private team. You could go to the sea, or the Southern Continent; I'll find someone to take over here."

After a moment of silence, Teles unexpectedly declined the proposal, her voice calm and slightly hoarse as she said,

"Before I complete my revenge, I don't intend to leave Beikelande; this great metropolis is also a jungle of steel and desire, where I can forge a qualified Hunter."

"Your enlightenment is good; if you maintain this mindset, the chance of becoming an Iron‑Blooded Knight is high, and once you change paths, the link between you and the Primeval Witch will be completely severed."

Rekton crossed his arms, gave a flat assessment in two sentences, then handed her the complete magic elixir formula for the Iron‑Blooded Knight.

Finally, he added, "I obtained this elixir formula from someone else; its price must be paid by you."

"Of course." Teles nodded calmly.

Just as the words fell, she felt her vision blur for a moment; when she came to, Reckton's silhouette by the window had already vanished, and the window that had been opened was now closed.

Has he already left? I didn't sense anything unusual at all, and just now it seems Katarina didn't notice when he appeared, able to easily suppress that Sequence 3 witch. He is already an angel, or has mastered some powerful sealed item? Is it that gem-inlaid mechanical glove?

After muttering to herself for a moment, Tris suddenly fell silent, let out a heavy sigh, sat before the dressing table, and looked at her reflection in the mirror, her expression complex.

In a standalone cottage a few streets west of the West District, countless vast and mixed pure knowledge surged forth from the spiritual realm, reforming in the room's living room into Reckton's silhouette.

He glanced at Leonard, lounging leisurely on the sofa, and chuckled aloud:

"You don't have to work tonight?"

(End of Chapter)