Chapter 108: Killing with a Borrowed Sword

A carriage raced along a street in the Silver Star District, with Wilter seated inside, closing his eyes to rest.

Beneath his seemingly calm expression, his mood was actually poor.

Since the encounter with the blasphemer two months ago, he had been searching for the target bearing the Conflict Mark. If he could kill the blasphemer, seize the Conflict Mark, and perform another sacrifice ceremony, he would surely receive the deity's response and be granted a blessing.

Luo Xi has always been very generous toward followers who please him.

The deity's blessing transforms the offering into soul power, taking a portion for itself and granting the rest to its followers, directly enhancing their strength.

Thus, people risk great danger to worship it and are eager to hold sacrifice ceremonies.

Wilter has been a fourth‑rank magic swordsman for several years, just one step away from promotion to fifth rank; if he can obtain the deity's blessing and offer the feat of seizing the Conflict Mark, he could at least advance one level.

He has already prepared a demon soul, ready to fuse after the promotion; perhaps he could jump straight to sixth rank!

Everything is in place, except for that blasphemer.

But Wilter has been searching for almost two months and still hasn't found any trace of the target.

He visits the demon‑soul market almost daily, even traced the place the target once lived—a apartment on Keshom Street—but still came up empty.

"Damn it, I should have taken him down that night."

Wilter feels deep regret, yet he is powerless to change it.

The blasphemer was extremely cautious; the day he killed Hogan, he covered his face and it was dark, so he didn't even know what the other looked like.

All he knows is that the blasphemer should be a young, towering Iron Guard with an extraordinary Elemental steel body and great strength.

But those traits are too vague to locate anyone.

Wilter doesn't want to report the blasphemer to Shadow Blade for fear someone else will snatch the chance to please the deity, so he must search on his own. His frequent comings and goings have already drawn displeasure from above, so he can only make excuses to get by.

"Search another half month; if still nothing, we must give up."

Wilter recalled the organization's plan; although there were setbacks before, it has now entered its final stage, and soon he will no longer be able to act freely.

He feels deeply unwilling.

"Hm?"

Wilter suddenly opened his eyes, sitting upright in the carriage, hesitated briefly, then was overjoyed.

A clear sensation surfaced in his mind.

"Conflict Mark!"

Wilter suppressed his excitement, looked out the glass window, and silently searched for the blasphemer's figure.

The carriage raced along the road at a modest speed; he sensed the Conflict Mark not far away, just ahead to the right of the carriage.

Wilter glanced sideways and saw a bicycle.

The bicycle was ahead, gradually caught and passed by the carriage, revealing the rider's appearance.

He was a youth of about twenty, robust, strikingly handsome, with thick brows, large eyes, a calm gaze, leaving a deep impression on anyone who saw him.

Wilter immediately recalled Hogan's words: the blasphemer is a very handsome young man, unforgettable after a single glance.

This person matches Hogan's description perfectly.

Wilter sneered inwardly; Hogan was right—the blasphemer's looks were indeed outstanding.

"Finally found you."

Observing the rider from the shadows, Wilter felt an inexplicable mix of emotions—both exhilarated and irritated—so eager he could kill him on the spot.

The carriage quickly overtook the bicycle, widening the gap.

Wilter didn't rush to dismount; he waited until the next intersection to halt the carriage, then got out.

He casually walked to a newsstand, turned his back to the street, and pretended to buy a newspaper.

Half a minute later, the blasphemer rode the bicycle past from behind, completely unaware. Wilter watched the bike vanish, tossed the newspaper, and gave chase.

Wind Element power coursed through his body.

Wilter appeared to walk normally, each step covering several meters, like a breeze passing pedestrians; many saw a flash and thought they were hallucinating.

He advanced and halted repeatedly, occasionally taking cover to block the blasphemer's view, flawlessly displaying the swift‑wind magic swordsman's traits—blazing speed, light as wind—without drawing anyone's attention on the street.

Sometimes the bicycle also passed through open streets.

Wilter didn't chase blindly; he tilted his ear to the wind's sounds, using his superb tracking skill to never lose the trail.

The bicycle left the Silver Star District, rode over a bridge, and crossed the Feiregelun River.

It then continued forward, traversing the Los District along the street, finally entering the poor‑folk‑crowded Lien District.

The slum's streets were densely packed and chaotic, which made tracking even easier for Wilter.

"So he hid in the slums; no wonder I couldn't find him."

Wilter harbored secret resentment; had he not been lucky today to encounter him on the road, years of searching might have been futile.

A moment later, he watched from afar as the rider rode into an inn.

"Basil Inn."

Wilter didn't rush inside; he hid in a corner outside the inn, observed for a while, and found the business quite bustling, with many extraordinary beings coming and going. Even from the street, he could hear the inn's noisy chatter, many people playing cards.

It was a perfectly ordinary inn.

The blasphemer entered and never emerged.

"This may just be a temporary stop; if I don't act now, the next chance might be hard to find."

Wilter hesitated briefly, then decided to go inside to investigate.

He wasn't worried about being recognized; that night during their duel, he had covered his face and even disguised his voice.

Entering the inn, a burst of clamor and the smell of alcohol hit him.

Wilter frowned, his gaze sweeping over the dozen tables in the hall, yet he found no sign of the blasphemer, unsure where he had gone.

He sat at an empty table and casually ordered a few dishes and drinks.

Gamblers' shouts rose and fell, mixed with the raucous laughter of call girls; occasionally someone, furious at a loss, caused a brawl, only to be driven out by the dwarf proprietor with a red rooster‑crest hairstyle.

The scene was no different from countless inns in the world.

Where Transcendents gather, it boils down to three things: playing cards, women, and wine; they can't afford to lose at cards, they quarrel over women, they get drunk, and it inevitably escalates into fighting for sport.

Wei Erte ate and drank while searching for the Defiler of Gods.

The Swiftwind Demon Swordmaster is highly sensitive to wind and sound, but the inn was too noisy, impairing his hearing so he could hear nothing useful.

He also refrained from questioning the waitstaff, lest he reveal his purpose.

Wei Erte was very patient; halfway through his meal, the Defiler of Gods reappeared, asked the waiter for a dinner, and had it delivered to the rear courtyard.

"Courtyard?"

Wei Erte seized the crucial information.

He finished his meal, then sat for another half hour until night fell before getting up to leave.

After exiting the inn, Wei Erte circled around to its back from a distance, covered his face, leapt lightly over the wall, and fell silently into a courtyard like a drifting leaf.

He stood in the corner of the wall, merged into the shadows, and listened intently for a few minutes.

In a room on one side of the courtyard, a faint breathing sound drifted, steady and strong, likely a sleeping Transcendent.

"Sleeping this early?"

Wei Erte, puzzled, slipped to the window and peered inside through the crack.

A white‑haired man, torso exposed, lay on the bed, his body scarred, two cross swords propped at the headboard, sleeping soundly, completely unaware of any approach.

In his arms he cradled a shapely woman, her fair shoulder exposed, black curls covering most of her face, her head resting on his chest; only a half‑profile was visible, yet exuding endless charm, the thin blanket revealing gentle curves that sparked imagination.

From the tangled sheets it was clear the two had just endured a fierce battle.

"A Demonkin hunter, not a Defiler of Gods."

Because the view through the window was only a fleeting glimpse, Wei Erte could not gauge the Demonkin hunter's strength, but this being a slum‑district inn, he was unlikely to be a master.

Just as Wei Erte was about to leave the window, the woman's profile from the room inexplicably flashed in his mind.

"I feel like I've seen this woman before."

"And I didn't hear her breathing earlier; how odd."

He hesitated, standing there for a long while without recalling, and couldn't resist glancing back inside.

This time, Wei Erte focused on the woman and noticed a tiny beauty mark at the left corner of her mouth, about half a grain of rice in size, hardly noticeable.

"Beauty mark…"

At that moment, the woman shifted slightly, her black curls parting a bit to reveal more of her face.

Wei Erte finally saw her clearly, his eyes bulging wide.

He stood outside the window, stunned as a wooden chicken, daring not to move; cold sweat streamed from his forehead like water, his tremor uncontrollable, and he lacked the courage to glance into the room again.

At that moment, Wei Erte had only one thought: flee immediately!

He held his breath, tiptoed backward, daring not to press the ground hard for fear of waking the two inside.

"Where are you going?"

A sudden voice rang out, nearly scattering Wei Erte's soul.

He turned and saw a towering figure at the courtyard entrance—it was the Defiler of Gods he had been tracking for hours, his face bearing a half‑smile as he stared at him.

Had he seen the Defiler of Gods appear ten seconds earlier, Wei Erte would have been delighted, but now he only wanted to get away from this place, not staying a single second.

"He led me here on purpose!"

Wei Erte's thoughts rushed, suddenly recalling many things, and his face turned ashen.

He didn't intend to fight; wind Element power surged through his body, turning him into a black silhouette in the wind as he leapt toward the courtyard wall to escape.

"Trying to escape?"

Just as he was mid‑air, the Defiler of Gods, seemingly foreseeing it, charged fiercely toward him.

Wei Erte's complexion shifted dramatically; being extremely attuned to wind currents, he sensed the Defiler of Gods' charge carried terrifying force, like a steam locomotive—collision would leave him gravely wounded if not dead.

"His strength has grown!"

"We must dodge!"

Wei Erte's right foot planted mid‑air, spawning a vortex beneath, as if stepping on an invisible object; he used the force to pivot, adjust his stance, and swiftly drew the single‑edged sword at his waist.

A faintly curved blade flickered with blue light, activating the "Flash Sword Slash".

The unparalleled sharp sword aura tore the air, sword and wielder alike, slashing toward the charging enemy.

Unexpectedly, the Defiler of Gods seemed to have no intention to evade, perhaps unable to change direction mid‑charge, allowing the blade to strike him.

Wei Erte knew the opponent possessed a steel Body Element, granting extremely strong defense.

Yet this slash, gathering all his power, could wound even a steel body deeply, delivering a heavy blow to the foe.

In an instant, the distance closed.

The blade struck the Defiler of Gods with pinpoint precision, from forehead to brow, then chin and chest, the wind Element power on the sword erupting in an instant.

If it were anyone else, Wei Erte was confident he could cleave the opponent in two with a single strike.

But he only saw sparks flying out!

It seemed the blade had struck not a head but an incredibly hard steel ingot; a massive recoil surged through the sword, numbing his hands, nearly causing him to lose grip.

"It's over…"

Wei Erte turned pale with shock; before his thought could settle, he was struck head‑on.

Bang!

He felt as if he had slammed into a rapidly moving iron wall; the terrifying force crushed his body, sending him flying back into the courtyard, slamming heavily beneath the room's window.

Everywhere he was in pain, countless bones inside his body were broken.

But Wei Erte could not attend to his injuries, forcing himself to rise, glancing back at the room behind, terror filling his eyes.

The room emitted several sounds, as if someone had awakened.

He hadn't had time to react when a violent whooshing sound rang again in the courtyard; he turned quickly and saw the God‑defiler charging forward again.

In the blink of an eye, the tall figure surged to his front.

He inhaled deeply to suppress his wounds, and Wei Er Te's steps interlaced; at the instant he was about to be struck, he used the Swift Wind Step, his silhouette melting into the wind and circling behind the enemy.

In a normal fight, that would be the perfect moment to launch a rear attack.

Yet Wei Er Te had no desire to fight; he only wanted to flee.

The Swift Wind Step kept flickering, each footfall erratic; after several direction changes he put distance between himself and the enemy.

The charging God‑defiler suddenly halted, the gray‑white belt at his waist glowing with runes; a thunderous crack split the ground, and a pale‑purple magical energy centered on the God‑defiler burst outward, dragging a massive column of air with it, shaking the entire courtyard.

Boom!

The shockwave from the energy burst raced like lightning, instantly blasting the Swift‑wind‑stepping Wei Er Te into the air, who fell to the ground.

"Arcane Explosion!"

Wei Er Te recognized the spell, but couldn't understand—wasn't that God‑defiler an Iron Guard? How could he wield magical equipment?

The spell's vibration knocked him dizzy for a few seconds, worsening his injuries; when he managed to get up again, he found the God‑defiler had not taken the chance to attack, but stood in the courtyard, watching helplessly.

"What's going on?"

Wei Er Te's mind was in chaos; he scrambled up the wall.

Suddenly, a silver blade of light flashed before him; the sleeping Demon Hunter, whose arrival he hadn't noticed, was now standing there.

Instinctively he raised his sword to meet the foe, only to find the Demon Hunter's speed surpassed his, his swordsmanship superb, and a single thrust pierced his heart.

Wei Er Te fell, lying on the ground staring up at the high‑standing Demon Hunter, eyes wide with terror, his blood‑spattered mouth weakly whispering, "Legend…"

Before he could finish, he swallowed his last breath.

(End of Chapter)