Chapter 36

Pain! Pain so intense he wished he were dead!

Luge had never enjoyed such an explosively scorching full-body massage; searing heat mixed with bursting heavy blows, the powerful impact forcing him to stagger back continuously, and amid the suffocating sensation it felt as if that instant of tremendous force was not pushing him against the wall but toward another world — twenty-odd fireballs fell densely upon him one after another, the sensation like being repeatedly crushed, the air churning amid the spraying flames, every breath drawn searingly painful.

But he also wanted to laugh; he did not know what skin Half-Man had given him, for it was so burn-resistant and incredibly tough — "burn-resistant" could not even describe it; it was simply as if it had a faint affinity for fire.

When he barely perceived the current state of that guy who was recklessly throwing flammable objects.

He wanted to laugh even more — a fifth-level Apprentice was nothing more than this — but his vision was actually already blurred, his throat might not be able to make a sound, tears, snot, and fresh blood plastered his whole face, his head buzzed incessantly, his ears rang continuously, and he did not even know if he was missing a chunk; this was the result of him subconsciously protecting his head with both arms just now — thank goodness for this dark red skin, thank goodness he had learned Magic Skin Technique before running out recklessly.

Thank goodness, countless thank goodneses, achieved the him of now, letting him not turn into a charred, mangled corpse.

He breathed forcefully, no longer caring about the discomfort brought by the heat waves that had yet to dissipate in the air.

Now, aside from breathing in great gulps, he, leaning against the wall, could do nothing else.

Unknown how long passed; the dizziness had recovered considerably; he began trying to move his limbs, simply clearing his mouth and nose to make breathing smoother, then groped toward his Storage Bag — at this moment his brain, slowed by the beating, finally reacted: the fitted Robe he had obtained not long ago was thoroughly ruined; he took out a bottle of Dasha's blood, raised his head and gulped it down fiercely — without these movements cooperating, he was not even sure he could swallow the stuff down smoothly.

A moment of excessive force made him topple from where he was leaning and become flat on the ground; his body slowly recovered under the nourishment of Dasha's blood.

These blood had been stored for quite a few days; the effect seemed to have weakened somewhat, he thought.

When his vision was no longer so blurred, he first propped himself up on his elbows, tilted his head, and looked toward the person on the other side of the Passage who had already crossed paths with him for a distance.

Seeing that person also lying on the ground at this moment, occasionally wriggling, he finally felt at ease.

Unknown whether the other party was also recovering, or had something he had never seen before, he suppressed the anxiety in his heart.

Every once in a while, he had to confirm the other party's condition.

As if racing against an imaginary enemy in recovery speed, he actually hoped it was a needless worry — if the other party did not recover, it would be much safer.

Time slows because of anxiety and fear, just like when those fireballs closed in — clearly a blink-of-an-eye matter, yet he felt it exceptionally long, as if he could give each fireball that struck his body a little nickname in sequence: the one that hit his armpit could be called Little Armpit, the one that burned off the hair on his head could be called Bald Burn.

Luge stretched his legs, felt it was about time, braced himself on the Cave Wall, and stood up.

He hooked his Spiritual Power and first cast a Zero-Circle Spell·Spiritual Boiling on himself.

This unknown old brother — don't say I didn't give you a chance; it's been long enough, he thought.

Of course he had indeed been carefully maintaining Foul Skin the whole time, even afraid that person would move wildly and run out of range, so he even crawled forward a bit with his head against the ground.

Thanks to Dasha's blood; he'll give him extra Roast Meat when he gets back.

He clung to the Cave Wall and moved slowly, observing the other party; with his experience, looking at the other party's convulsing state, he could almost determine it was the influence of Foul Skin — looks like targets with physical bodies are easier to manipulate, or perhaps this person simply wasn't as powerful as that Spirit Body-like target last time.

The person lying on the ground wore a Hood; only the stubble on the lower half of the face was visible.

Luge's barely recovered body still ached everywhere; he had no mood and no need to study this guy.

He walked to a suitable position and stopped.

Judging from the situation just now, this person's Zero-Ring Spell Slot should be a solidified Fireball Technique, and not a simple solidification at that — obviously modified or combined with some other means and Spell Combination, the power astonishing.

Although the other party was already in this state, he still did not dare approach rashly; current Wizard Apprentices all cultivate the Third Generation Meditation Method — a Fifth-Rank Wizard Apprentice has at least five Temporary Spell Slots; what if he suddenly gave him a big Surprise? He really could not take it now.

He once again buffed himself with Bull Strength, then took out a Short Spear from his Storage Bag and tossed it in his hand.

Did not rush to act.

First, three consecutive Freezing Rays, all striking the other party's ankles, even freezing the ankles to the ground.

During this period the other party still did not rise to resist; the Appearance suggested no deception.

Another Freezing Ray went straight for the face — a pity the other party's side-lying posture partially blocked it.

Then he pulled open his stance, swung his arm round, and threw two Short Spears in succession.

A pity his skill was limited — only one hit squarely in the torso, the other grazed the scalp — but it was enough to make this guy of unknown name cease wriggling.

Luge's body swayed; he slid down against the Cave Wall and sat on the ground.

Pat! Pat!

A burst of footsteps made him, who had just relaxed, tense up again; although he had Bull Strength's buff, he still could not run fast now — but even if he couldn't run fast, he had to run.

"It's me, little guy, well done."

Ba'angte, carrying a gray-white long snake, slowly walked into view; judging by that Look, there was not a shred of bedragglement.

This guy definitely thought I was already dead, Luge thought.

"This Apprentice is probably called Lan Te; strength is relatively weak, and I punched him twice — I think handing him to you should be no problem; and at this level, when you chose to stay, you had to be prepared to face it — what follows may be the lowest standard," Ba'angte looked at Luge, already bedraggled beyond words, and said, "Looks like after a period of not seeing each other, he may have made Progress too, or perhaps I predicted wrong — you wouldn't still be not at Third-Rank Wizard Apprentice, would you?"

"I just have mastered relatively few Spells." Luge said.

Foul Skin had received a Fifth-Rank Wizard Apprentice's actual combat test; he felt his confidence harden a bit — moreover, he had only been cooperating with their questioning before; he never thought to complete some Wu Xue Da Ren's Commission; in a bit he'd get the benefits, find a chance to slip away, go back and continue hiding to Meditate, completing the second Magic Mark early was what he should do.

"Perhaps in a few days you really should leave together with that fire-playing cook."

Ba'angte said, tossing over a bottle of dark green Potion.

"Free." He added a sentence.

Luge received it, but did not drink; instead he solemnly put it into his Storage Bag.

Ba'angte saw it but did not mind, instead walking toward the corpse pinned to the ground by Short Spears.

A Storage Bag was tossed over; Luge raised his hand again to catch it, pulling the shoulder that had been strained by the forced throw of Short Spears before it had recovered.

He thought for a moment, stood up under Ba'angte's surprised gaze, came before that person, and stripped off the other party's Robe and Boots.

"I didn't bring spares." He explained.

The same Hooded long Robe, torn open at the tears, in two or three moves was already on his body.

Ba'angte sized him up from the side — his body no different from an ordinary Kobold — revealing a comprehending expression.

(Chapter End)