Our Family Has Fallen

Lance soon understood. Ultimately, this creature wasn’t a natural product but rather something cultivated through a mysterious ritual, imbued with Supernatural Power.

As long as the Heretics were alive, the Supernatural Power in their bodies would instinctively resist the damage from the Corpse Decomposition Spore, preventing the one-sided devastation seen when used on corpses.

However, Lance was now quite content. Indeed, Grendel was a treasure.

Strike while the iron is hot—Lance picked up the hatchet and, in a few swift moves, inflicted numerous wounds on the Heretic’s body. These injuries wouldn’t heal, bleeding incessantly and rapidly draining its last bit of Life Force.

After dealing with this threat, Lance finally turned his attention to the main battle. Boudica and the others were also entangled by the Heretics’ bizarre abilities.

”Tadiff, catch!” Lance shouted, throwing the spore-coated hatchet toward him.

By then, Tadiff had already abandoned his grappling hook, as it was useless against such monstrosities. The wounds he inflicted with his own hatchet would heal in no time. The enemy’s assault was unbelievably frenzied, almost suicidal, forcing them into an extremely defensive position. If not for his armor, he probably would have been pierced through. Even so, he felt powerless.

Upon hearing his employer’s shout, Tadiff, though puzzled, had no time to wonder as he saw the hatchet flying toward him. This would be impossible for an ordinary person to catch. But Tadiff was no ordinary man, not to mention he was equipped with the Claw of Agility, which quickened his reactions. He caught it easily with a simple lift of his hand, now wielding hatchets in both.

Wielding two axes made defending against the Heretics surprisingly easier. However, he quickly noticed something was amiss. The wounds from that particular hatchet showed no signs of healing, instead bleeding profusely. It was clear the Heretic’s condition was rapidly deteriorating.

Realizing this, Tadiff intensified his attacks.

But before Lance could take a breather, a gunshot suddenly echoed through the dark passageway, accompanied by an eruption of Spiritual Essence. It was evident Dismas had encountered trouble.

”Leave this one to me. You go ahead and help Dismas.” Lance charged forward quickly. He didn’t use the Corpse Decomposition Spore, instead drawing an ancient-looking hatchet with a greenish blade—the Banshee Hatchet.

Lance’s arrival rescued Boudica from her predicament. Being pinned down by a Heretic was hardly good news for her. In fact, she was somewhat frantic. She was confident she could take down that creature if she had space to maneuver in the open. Unfortunately, this confined area meant her War Halberd threatened to collide with the stone and brick walls with every swing. A long weapon without room to be wielded effectively was a significant disadvantage, sometimes even less effective than a shorter one.

But she didn’t waste time with complaints; there was no room for that in battle. She immediately broke away and dashed into the darkness.

Lance, this time, had no intention of testing anything. If I’m not stronger than a Pigman Knight, am I supposed to be weaker than this thing? Brute force was Lance’s fighting style. Without a word, he went straight in with a shield bash to the Heretic’s head.

This wasn’t a feint; the helmet was useless against such raw power. The sheer force poured through. The iron helmet, lacking any cushioning, transferred the impact evenly to the Heretic’s head, instantly knocking it unconscious.

Lance swung his axe down on the Heretic’s neck. The wound did not heal; instead, the power from the hatchet began to corrode the Flesh along the incision. To the naked eye, pustules and blisters emerged around the wound, showing signs of spreading further. Yet the power within that body began to fight back, resulting in a tug-of-war at the wound—continuously rotting and then attempting to heal.

This was a battle between Supernatural Powers, and the Heretic’s body was the battleground.

But Lance wasn’t satisfied with this. His hatchet worked even harder. Bones, no matter how tough, couldn’t withstand steel, especially when corroded by Supernatural Power. When the spine was severed, the head did not fall but rather lolled to one side with some attached Flesh, pulling the body down with it.

Lance looked at the festering, corroding wound and couldn’t help but shake his head. Sometimes, being too resilient isn’t a good thing, he thought. What could have been severed with one blow now needs several more hacks, only prolonging its agony. At the same time, he now had a better understanding of the power contained within the Banshee Hatchet.

But the battle was far from over. He could hear the commotion coming from the darkness ahead and swiftly picked up his axe and charged forward.

Dismas had guessed correctly. The Ascension Sect’s typical formation included a Spellcaster versed in rituals and Sorcery. Unlike the frenzied Heretic Warriors, this Heretical Witch, in fact, realized upon encountering the team that these enemies were no ordinary opponents; after all, only the ruthless could survive here.

So, at the first opportunity, she began Casting Spells. The power of the Soul-Entangling Curse will shatter their spirits, and their bodies will become nourishment to bring me closer to my Lord.

Yes, she too was a fanatic. Originally, she was just a farmer’s daughter. Her parents were honest peasants, and she had been betrothed early in an arranged marriage. Her life after marriage was predictable: tilling fields, bearing children, unknowingly repeating the cycle of her ancestors. It wasn’t until she encountered the Sect of Ascension that she understood there was another side to the world. She claimed she still loved her family, so she ’sent them to God’s side.’ And now, she intended to send these people there as well.

Casting Spells is no simple matter. Without preparation, it takes time to commune with that wondrous power. She had originally thought those Heretic Warriors could hold back the enemy long enough for her to prepare. But unexpectedly, an enemy suddenly rushed out!

While Boudica and the others kept the Heretic Warriors occupied, Dismas found an opportunity to break free. He finally located the Heretical Witch, hidden in the back and seemingly up to something. Having suffered a major loss to such a foe before, Dismas reacted almost reflexively, drawing his gun and firing the instant he saw her.

The next second, a spray of blood erupted from the Heretical Witch’s chest, and her spellcasting ritual was interrupted. Dismas hadn’t aimed for her head—not because he didn’t want to, but in his haste, he had no time. His priority was to interrupt her casting, so he fired regardless of where the shot landed.

Dismas knew this wouldn’t kill the Heretical Witch. He immediately gripped his Short Sword and charged, intending to end this menace once and for all.

However, he didn’t know the bizarre methods these people employed. Even with a bullet wound, the Heretical Witch managed to raise her Magic Wand and wave it. An indescribable magic circle materialized before her, filled with twisted script and emitting a strange, ominous glow that exuded an inexplicable sense of danger.

Dismas’s charge faltered. Even a fool would know that thing spelled trouble. But by then, it was too late for him. The Sorcery was nearly instantaneous. It gave him no time to react before he saw the magic circle tear through space, and arm-thick, purplish-black tentacles erupted from it, slamming into his body.

The immense force of the blow sent his entire body flying backward. Taken completely by surprise, Dismas couldn’t mitigate the impact and crashed heavily to the ground. An ordinary person might have died on the spot. Fortunately, Dismas had been Strengthened by Lance, and his enhanced constitution allowed him to barely survive. However, after such a heavy blow, his body was certainly not faring well. Upon landing, he instinctively rolled and doubled over as a sweet, metallic taste rose in his throat. His consciousness remained relatively clear, though his entire body felt like it was about to fall apart.

The Heretical Witch had gravely injured Dismas with a single move. However, the cost of forcibly Casting the Spell was clearly enormous for her, as the grievous wound to her heart had not yet healed. This demonstrated how terrifying the ancient one’s Power of Flesh and Blood was; its wielders essentially had no significant physiological weaknesses. But this resilience was predicated on an ample supply of Supernatural Power within them. If their internal power faltered, even the most miraculous rituals would lose their efficacy.

After Dismas hit the ground, the Heretical Witch’s figure swayed. Having exhausted the last of her strength, she collapsed limply backward.

My child, Mommy’s coming...