Chapter 233: Abnormal Activity

The scene was something the priests could not explain, so at first they thought it was a visual afterimage caused by lightning, or an imagined scene mistaken for reality due to mental fatigue, some illusion existing only in their own eyes.

Few knew the power of sharp weapons better than they did.

A skilled swordsman could easily open a wound on an opponent, even pierce straight through, but splitting an inhomogeneous object reinforced by bone and tough tissue in two was a completely different matter.

And to complete this process smoothly required far more than just strength; it also demanded a weapon sharp beyond imagination.

Not to mention the target was wearing a breastplate forged as a single piece beneath their outer robe.

Rainwater seeped through the collar into the lining, and damp cold climbed up the spine.

The pale light hidden within the lightning faded, lasting only an imperceptible instant; the tall grass continued to dance wildly, making it impossible to discern if anything had passed through it.

"Over there... something to the right front!" Kraft tried to point out his discovery to the others, but lacking reference points, he could not describe the location precisely.

As he spoke, he realized the danger of his action, immediately lowered his body, and lay flat on the horse's back. Something whizzed past nearby with a low, sharp whistle, vanishing into the vast darkness.

Amidst the sound of rain, these hidden threats received no proper attention compared to the death that had attracted everyone and the rolling thunder that followed.

"There!" A cultivator spotted something first, called to a companion, and then silence fell.

The strange light and sound drew the cultivators' attention too; we extinguished the lanterns, and chaotic splashing sounds approached. Everyone was groping in the white darkness and chaos, the situation chaotic.

The electric light vanished, and the vision before the flash became even more thoroughly white and dark. Roughly, he felt a slight pause under his hand; viscous liquid was thrown ahead, and the rain washed away the part remaining on the sword's spine.

Over there, only dense sounds of metal clashing had been heard up to now, indicating only large-scale close-quarters combat had occurred, and it had begun very quickly. The lantern lights representing the cultivators moved at high speed, appearing and disappearing intermittently, drawing flickering dashed lines in the rain.

And the cultivators at the rear quickly closed in on Kraft, protecting him in the middle.

"... I think the Xigu family should accept repayment in batches."

Wet wind howled, carrying raindrops; the ground was muddy and dry, maximizing the trace of one man and one horse. Only the rustling of grass leaves parting and twisting could be heard, with no distinction found from the chaotic sounds around.

The way the light radiated resembled a toad's limb dissected under an operating table, the spinal cord broken and cleanly stripped, contracting in response to electrical stimulation.

The rider corrected the direction one last time, drew his sword and held it level to one side, and began to accelerate.

The nearest lantern light suddenly dropped, sinking into the waves of tall grass.

Whether it was mane, bone, or iron armor capable of resisting powerful crossbows, to it there was no difference at all—it was merely a picture under paper.

The light flashed and vanished, reduced significantly compared to before. A guidance with a huge cost. Kraft seized the opportunity provided by it and chased after the target.

This time, under all expected circumstances, some more hidden auras were detected. A neat paper surface was forcibly torn open by some power into a narrow crack, separating things.

He encountered a bit of resistance. With the added speed of accumulation, the blade easily overcame that resistance, pushed forward unstoppable, struck something hard, carved a deep notch, and then tilted slightly aside.

At a distance where breathing could be heard clearly, he suddenly exerted force as if charging forward, then stopped abruptly within two or three paces.

An attack like a whip cracked past his side.

In an instant, the resistance vanished. It seemed a liquid denser than rain erupted and splashed, accurately pouring into the gas pipe; the two mixed together, producing dense, sticky foam.

Leaning on his sword, he stumbled to his feet in the muddy water; his clothes became indescribably filthy. Kraft felt that if he looked now, he should look as if he had just been fished out of a curry pot.

Kraft subconsciously tried to pull up short, and almost simultaneously realized it was utterly useless; a galloping horse could not stop immediately, and the outcomes of two previous examples were still vivid in his mind.

That thing was not a blade, sword, or flying arrow; it defied all logic and had no trajectory or origin. Continuing to keep the light source was merely setting a target for the opponent.

Another passing lightning bolt provided a brief face-to-face; the opponent should have been wearing a mask, but it had been completely soaked by the rain and fallen to the chin, revealing a blank, pale face that looked as if it had not seen sunlight for a long time.

He threw the lantern toward the direction where the light had gone out. "Over there! Be careful, they have arrows!"

Regardless of the relationship between that light and the unknown smooth cut, he did not want to engage with someone of unknown background while being aimed at by someone. An arrow from the darkness might be safer than an anomaly that would raise alarm.

Scrapes and cuts burned the exposed skin; the impact vibrated in the chest and abdomen, and ligaments pulled tightly against the organs.

As expected, that pale, misty light lit up ahead. This time Kraft saw how it appeared.

The crack separating the present world had not yet fully healed; Kraft clearly felt a line of malice, increasing without decrease, bloom behind him. Accompanied by an unbearable cry of pain, it seemed that after tearing the canvas, the wound first acted upon its own perpetrator.

Only when the sound of horseshoes breaking the water in puddles entered their awareness would they realize a light, seven-legged creature was approaching, deciding whether to dodge or continue drawing the half-drawn bowstring.

He grabbed the arm that swung toward him by instinct, then let go and shrank back as if struck by electricity.

"Extinguish the light!"

Relying on his night vision, which was better than nothing, he could vaguely judge that the forward direction was correct; something existed within the undulating, wave-like grass.

However, protecting the target did not mean wanting their protection; instead, he chose to spur the horse into the tall grass, running in an arc toward the direction the arrows came from.

The horse's neighing pierced the rain curtain; a human body fell and rolled into the grass, emitting a low, muffled groan like mud bubbling, hoping the horse had not broken his leg bones.

The delay and deceleration left room for Kraft to dodge; he bent low, bypassed the invisible blade, crashed close, drove his elbow hard into the opponent's upper abdomen and diaphragm, seized the wrist of that hand, and forcibly twisted it outward to its limit of motion.

Perhaps the direction exposed by the sound was too wrong; the sense of crisis this time was closer than ever before, reaching a distance where avoidance was impossible.

The rider pulled away, turned the horse's head, and without further thought accelerated again, holding the sword level, recalling the back-and-forth sprint drills in the castle courtyard; the horse carried man and sword over the same position.

The cultivators had not yet reacted, bypassing the potential threat directly ahead of the road, and swept separately toward the direction indicated by the wasted lamp.

Just now might have been the first time he faced a "person" in the true sense; he was nervous beyond belief, and even for a moment he had not produced any sense of reality, constantly turning toward the main battlefield.

His curled body left the saddle; the grass mat absorbed part of the impact, and the rolling extended the process of dissipating force, but the remaining force still made him feel that not a single part of his body was painless.

The sound of a horse losing balance and falling came from nearby; warm, cold liquid sprayed into the rain, pumped from the broken ends of large blood vessels by the high pressure generated by a strong heart onto the ground.

While moving, two more things flew past, but not toward him; instead, they flew toward the target where the lantern still burned.

That guy was very professional; Kraft heard faint, low panting while rapidly approaching, and signs of activity from more than one person, standing very close to each other.

【We really should have someone teach us; combat is not brawling.】

It was a bright, nearly colorless stone-like object, peeled off from some broken geometric shape, and now passively activated by some means, briefly "igniting" that light which illuminated another layer of the world.

He loosened the reins and performed a very standard rule-breaking move, flipping sideways to one side.

And the "electrode" connecting it was a withered, bony hand; the long, pale fingers, causing discomfort, were half a segment longer than normal, with clearly contrasting dark veins running beneath the skin.

However, the head, still reasonably protected, remained clear, ordering the body to regain control as quickly as possible and tearing open the light, wet, and sticky cloak.

The guess was correct; there was more than one person in there.

It seemed they were still searching for the culprit who killed their companion, but the tall grass in the rainy weather was truly unsuitable for finding anything.

Just a second earlier, he felt a movement not belonging to any human bone or joint, an flexibility difficult to describe.

He felt he had captured a tremolo sound reduced by the heavy curtain of water; it was the bowstring, having released its stored energy, vibrating slightly.

Yet before was the dragging sound of muddy water, a paste-like substance being dragged up from underground and flung about.

Kraft hurried over this way. I saw that light again, that extremely substantial, dismal beam. A segment excerpted from some celestial body, grafted onto the place that belonged to it.

And the two warnings finally drew attention; that was a bad thing.

After charging out for a stretch, Kraft only then reacted with foreknowledge to what I had done besides repeating those two sprints.

"Damn it!"

I could still distinguish the direction from which that light had most recently emerged; I gripped the sword hilt tight and leaned forward to approach.

Nearby, there was still no metallic tremor of weapons clashing; the number of attackers was small.

Surely not; catching that fellow would be best.

But it was already too late; the sword blade pressed down diagonally, the heavy sensation colliding down sparsely like raindrops; these were the tips of grass flying past and severed.

But the rest was merely insurance to make up for any gaps; the one thing that played the decisive role was always just one, and the threat that had nearly buried the entire squad lay precisely there.

Based on this, the direction was adjusted again; the steady horse, according to its master's request, galloped toward the place invisible to the eye.

The concealment effect of the rainy night was two-way; extinguishing the light temporarily erased Kraft's direction of movement from the opponent's field of vision, while the seventh shot made the shooter's position in perception become even more definite.

Like a wound slashed open on a living organism, it maintained for not long, but enough time for an entire squad to pass through, before it gradually healed, erased itself, and hid the other layer behind it that was similar yet not completely overlapping.

Facts proved the opponent's pain tolerance was still good; in that situation, they could still attempt to launch a counterattack with their remaining hand.

There were no more sounds; there would not be more sounds.