In the watchtower, the shadowy figure slowly rose, reaching out to grab the longsword resting against the armrest of the chair. He was about to climb the stairs to confront Qian Ye at the top. But at that moment, an inexplicable and intense sense of danger surged within him, forcing him to sharply turn his head to the side. There, a layer of cyan green appeared on the wall, which also bulged abnormally.
Time seemed to slow down, and his pupils reflected a cyan-colored origin bullet piercing through the wall, flying straight towards him.
The origin bullet appeared without any warning, as if it had condensed from the void. A thought surfaced in the shadow’s mind: he couldn’t evade, no matter what! Having such a thought just before the bullet struck was extremely dangerous. He summoned all his willpower to suppress the strange, despondent notion, and with every ounce of strength, he moved his body, managing to avoid a fatal shot to his chest, but still getting hit. He let out a scream, and half of his leg was instantly severed.
However, the sense of danger didn’t diminish; it only intensified. Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, he jumped up on one foot, crashing through the ceiling of the top floor, leaping into the air.
As he looked up, he saw only the edge of the East Peak sword!
Qian Ye swung his sword horizontally, slicing the black shadow in half. After the successful strike, Qian Ye paused for a moment, wondering why the vampire count would make such a move, as if offering his head for Qian Ye to cut off. When he noticed the missing leg of the count, he realized that someone had already acted before him.
Looking around, he could not find the person who had helped him, and Qian Ye had no choice but to let it go. However, he admired and was wary of the strong individual who managed to evade both his true sight and his keen senses with such a special gun ability.
In the distant darkness, Zhao Jundu lowered his emerald weapon, making a forward gesture. Over a dozen elite warriors in dark armor emerged from the shadows, following Zhao Jundu to flank the castle.
At this moment, Zhang Shiduo also noticed that the battle situation was different from what they had expected. He immediately leaped onto the watchtower and, seeing the dead vampire count, gave Qian Ye a thumbs-up.
With the watchtower now defenseless, the area below had turned into a battlefield where imperial soldiers and dark warriors clashed fiercely. Realizing the urgency, Zhang Shiduo quickly readied his assault rifle and said to Qian Ye, “If you encounter strong enemies, try to lure them to an open space. I’ll handle them!”
“Got it!” Qian Ye responded, leaping off the watchtower and heading deeper into the castle.
He had instructed the vanguard soldiers to occupy the walls and watchtowers, controlling the outer perimeter and gradually infiltrating inward. In the internal battle, regular soldiers were not very useful and would only be slaughtered by the powerful night dwellers. The officers, being warlords, needed to provide combat support, and Qian Ye did not plan to pull them away. With them present, the casualty rate could be significantly reduced.
Zhang Shiduo, hearing Qian Ye’s arrangement, rubbed his chin, feeling that this young man’s fighting style was quite unique. He turned to give his own team orders, instructing them to work alongside the Zhao clan’s vanguard, combining close combat with long-range attacks, ensuring their success on this front.
Qian Ye delved deeper into the castle. The main building area was built layer upon layer, hugging the mountain, with over ten levels. The entire mountain interior had been hollowed out, forming a complex labyrinth.
This castle was undeniably a masterpiece, blending the styles of vampires and spider demons, yet it felt natural and grand, even more impressive than Zhang Boqian’s central camp. It had risen in just a few days, suggesting the involvement of countless strong individuals in its construction.
The battles within the castle were more grueling than Qian Ye had anticipated. This fortress, almost like a city, had potential for conflict in every room and every corner. Every street fight would be stained with the blood of the strong.
Since entering the castle, Qian Ye felt that the enemies were endless, and bullets could come from unexpected places. One by one, the enemies fell before him, and the battle seemed unending.
Kicking open a door, Qian Ye rushed in, finding the room empty and free of traps. This was the first time he encountered a room without enemies or ambushes, and he felt a stroke of incredible luck.
From the furnishings, it appeared to be the residence of a vampire noble, elegantly and intricately decorated. The kitchen stove still had a pot of soup simmering, warm to the touch.
In the study, a painting hung on the wall, depicting several vampires riding through a snow-covered forest, rendered in a cold and icy style, typical of the vampire aesthetic. At the center, a viscount, dressed in appropriate attire, had a rather gentle expression, unlike the usual coldness of vampires.
It seemed this small suite belonged to the viscount. In the stronghold of the great lords, even a viscount could only claim a single suite.
After searching the place, Qian Ye sat in the chair at the desk, flipping through a few books. Most were about history and art, common interests among high-ranking vampires.
Unexpectedly, he found two translated Empire books, one on history and another a novel about a pair of young lovers driven apart by family conflicts, ending in a tragic double suicide.
Qian Ye slowly put the book down, and when he looked at the room again, it felt different. It was clear that the owner of the room cherished life and had made this place a home.
From the furnishings and daily items, it was evident that there was a female presence, though it was unknown if she also went to battle. In the dark races, almost everyone was a warrior, and children were no exception. Vampiress warriors were no different.
Though Qian Ye had seen similar scenes before, he had never paid attention to them. His hatred for the dark races had blinded him to anything else.
Perhaps it was because of Yuetong that he now noticed things he had once overlooked.
After a few minutes of rest, Qian Ye’s weary body regained some of its origin power. He stood up and headed for the door. The brief respite was over, and the battle continued, as did the slaughter.
At the doorway, Qian Ye suddenly suppressed his aura, stepping aside. The door burst open, and a heavy axe cleaved down, slamming into the floor. A werewolf warrior, having missed his target, stumbled into the room.
Qian Ye struck the werewolf’s back with the East Peak, pinning him to the ground, then stabbed him in the heart with a vampiric blade.
The werewolf’s struggles grew weaker, and the hot, vital blood brought Qian Ye back into a boiling blood state, rapidly restoring his strength.
Qian Ye pulled out the vampiric blade, wiping the blood on the werewolf’s body. Curious, he flipped the warrior over, revealing a surprisingly young and handsome face.
By the standards of Evernight, someone of this age with such combat prowess had a bright future. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here in the great lord’s castle. Yet, his career as a warrior ended prematurely at the hands of Qian Ye.
Qian Ye slowly rose, his expression turning calm as he pushed down all his feelings. As he stepped out, he became the unstoppable god of slaughter once more.
The continuous battle drained Qian Ye’s recently restored origin power. He dashed into a nearby room, intending to catch his breath. His gaze then froze. There was another door inside, likely leading to the bedroom, and blood was seeping out from under it, carrying a distinctly human scent.
Qian Ye gathered the last of his origin power and approached the bedroom, flinging the door open. The sight before him sent a surge of rage through his veins.
Inside lay the bodies of over a dozen imperial soldiers, some clearly recently deceased. Their corpses were mangled, some nearly reduced to bones. This room had become a small-scale blood feast.
Among the remains, Qian Ye spotted the Zhao clan’s insignia. Judging from the hasty signs, the perpetrator of this gruesome meal was likely driven by vengeance rather than hunger.
Qian Ye stood quietly for a moment, then placed an incendiary grenade among the bodies and closed the door. As he left the house, a roaring inferno erupted behind him, engulfing the hellish scene.
At that moment, Qian Ye felt a massive force, like a beast’s charge, slam into his side, sending him flying several meters. Instantly, he leaped to his feet, diving into a nearby alley, and rolled behind a row of weapon racks.
Feeling a burning pain in his shoulder and back, he touched it and saw his hand covered in blood. Ignoring the wound, he first threw an incendiary grenade, creating a sea of fire to deter any pursuers, and then examined himself.
He had been shot, and the origin bullet’s power was immense, shattering his armor and tearing through his body. The wound was a mess of flesh and bone. Fortunately, the bullet, designed for pure power, lacked black titanium, sparing Qian Ye from further complications.
The shot had come without warning, and Qian Ye had not sensed it until the bullet hit. Clearly, unless he activated his true sight, normal senses could not detect such imminent danger.
However, the battlefield was akin to urban warfare, with narrow spaces and constant disturbances of the environmental origin power. The chaotic and dense origin lines in his true sight made it nearly impossible to detect any traces of the attacker unless they struck again.
This must have been a special ability, and a highly dangerous one on the battlefield. Qian Ye recalled the demonkin he had killed, who had a similar ability to silently deliver grenades. In a one-on-one duel, Qian Ye would have ways to counter, but in the chaos of battle, even he had fallen victim to a surprise attack.
Pondering how the origin bullet or grenade had evaded his senses, Qian Ye combined his experience from the previous kill and suspected that this ability might be related to the void origin power.
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