Chapter 118: Chapter 37: Dark Ceremony! Warrior! Till Death! (Part 3)

The shadows are writhing.

The clown’s eerie smile appeared once again within Shawn’s shadow. As his figure descended, the distance between him and his shadow closed in. The clown seemed to maintain a state of ’permanent invisibility’ within the shadows.

This is a shadow law entirely different from the Lady of the House.

A streak of deep cold light flashed by!

The clown emerged from the shadow, seemingly intending to deal with Shawn first.

Not far away, the Tomb Guardian suddenly raised her hand, an invisible chain hooking Shawn. Under the dim ghostly firelight, Shawn’s figure vanished mid-air, reappearing at the Tomb Guardian’s position, while the Tomb Guardian appeared where Shawn had been.

Body Shifting.

Clang!

The clown’s figure split into two, one black, one white, like a grotesque ink-painted puppet. The Tomb Guardian burst into a bluish ghostly flame as the poisoned dagger pierced her body, shrieking cries of wandering souls erupted. The explosive ghostly flame spread in all directions like the Blast Flame Technique.

Both sides suffered heavy losses.

The Tomb Guardian’s figure was nearly gutted, while the clown’s flesh withered, like a mottled ink painting, as if drained of a large amount of life force.

No one knew the Tomb Guardian’s ascension path, but she seemed capable of directly harming an enemy’s soul.

Shawn landed swiftly and retreated, taking out the Butcher’s Endless Wine and downed half a bottle.

He felt the flesh at the wound itch, the ghastly injury healing at a remarkable speed, as though his body’s flesh was awakened by some eerie power.

This wine has something wrong, but it can save lives.

Rocky sped over, guarding Shawn behind him. After using the Lady’s sealed object, six bizarrely twisted spider legs extended from his spine, granting him unparalleled agility, allowing him to ignore terrain like a Wanderer.

The weapon in his hand was a gray-white Bone Sword, also a sealed object, though its specific number was unknown, emanating a deathly spiritual aura.

Having activated too many sealed objects, the elderly Sword Saint’s figure trembled slightly — under Spiritual Vision, the swirling gray mist of his reflection seemed eager to form a monstrous abyssal mouth, threatening to swallow him whole. Amidst the fluctuating gray mist, the twisted outline of the Lady appeared sporadically.

Rumble!

An earth-shaking sound came from the direction of the Wharf District, as an ice storm descended, engulfing the entire district. It seemed the Night Watcher with teleportation capability had already gone to provide support. On the battlefield, only those on the Casting Path could move so swiftly.

Villa District.

As the offspring of the Moth Mother was completely killed, the toxic mist covering this area gradually dissipated.

In the house on the right side, the Poet’s figure was forced out by Jason, accompanied by a dragon breath descending from the sky. Under the Dragon Breath Spray of Dragon Descendant Clothilda, the Poet was turned into charcoal, no longer having the carefree appearance he started with. The scorching dragon breath charred his skin and flesh; as the Poet rolled to avoid it, he expressionlessly tore off his burned face. His exposed eyeballs glanced at the heavily injured clown nearby, then he revealed an exceedingly sinister smile.

The Poet took out an exceedingly peculiar Bone Flute and began to play joyously on the spot.

A piercing sound wave swept across the battlefield.

Everyone fell into a state of deafness. With the sharp melody, all present felt an overwhelming sense of agitation, as if some monster was stirring within the depths of their hearts. The knowledge within Shawn’s mind became extremely tumultuous at that moment; he even heard his knowledge speaking, singing along with the eerie, sharp melody.

“Master! It’s a grand ceremony!”

“The ritual dedicated to the old gods has begun!” Knowledge exulted.

The Poet’s flesh began to patch, regenerate, and recover as he played the Bone Flute, his figure gradually wilting alongside the music.

Life and death intertwined at this moment.

As if an invisible hand was manipulating his body, the Poet’s entire skeleton twisted, his spine bending into the shape of a seven-stringed instrument, transforming him into a bizarre human-shaped musical instrument.

Finally, he put away the Bone Flute and began drumming his belly, the skin stretched as though it were a war drum.

Bang, bang, bang!

The Poet’s hand bent ninety degrees, plucking at the muscles and tendons alongside the spine like a seven-stringed instrument, producing eerie polyphonic melodies. The increasingly jarring chaotic melodies reverberated throughout the battlefield, intimidating those nearby.

This is the law of melody!

But it is not meant for humans to hear; it is played for the sleeping old gods.

Legends speak of indescribable flutists who continuously play maddening music beside the ears of a sleeping pillar-level old god. This is the music law of the Distant Realm; those indescribable flutists are the music deities of this realm and also the extraordinary source of the Poet Path.

All insane melodies are only dedicated to the unnamable ancient pillars!

Everyone was intimidated on the spot, as the score was dedicated to the old gods. Whether performer or audience, they all endured insanity, pain, and pollution.

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