529 Irrational
529 Irrational
His body began to fade, growing more transparent, as if he had transformed into a being from the spirit world—difficult for ordinary people to perceive.
In the blink of an eye, the Demon Warlock vanished.
Lumian made no move to intervene or evade potential attacks. Calmly, he retrieved the Flog boxing gloves adorned with iron-black spikes from his Traveler’s Bag and wore them.
Completing this preparation, he suddenly knelt on one knee, pressing his hands to the ground.
Crimson flames erupted in all directions from Lumian’s body, accompanied by a series of explosions.
Amidst the rumbling, flames surged, dominating the grayish-black wilderness. Burman’s black-robed figure materialized in midair.
He slowly floated towards Lumian, narrowing the distance between them.
Lumian’s figure abruptly vanished, reappearing behind Burman.
Spirit World Traversal!
Without hesitation, Lumian, holding a crimson fireball in his left hand, harrumphed.
Two beams of white light shot out from his nose, targeting Burman.
Floating in midair, Burman didn’t lose consciousness as before. His body swayed, forcefully turning around to observe Lumian descending into the sea of flames on the ground.
An illusory vertical eye, dark purple and nearly black, materialized between Burman’s brows, reflecting Lumian’s figure amid pale-white patterns.
Almost simultaneously, a lanky black shadow emerged from within Burman’s body. Nearby, arms made of bones or decayed flesh and pus extended from the void, encircling Burman’s transparent and thin form.
He hadn’t used witchcraft to quietly approach Lumian and strike. Instead, he had clandestinely swapped his spirit with the undead under his command, setting a trap to entice the enemy into deploying that peculiar spell to attack his body.
In such a scenario, the absence of one’s Spirit Body meant immunity to abilities targeting the Soul Body!
Burman could then seize the opportunity to use the Eye of the Spirit to intimidate the enemy and create an opening for the manipulated undead.
This time, he refrained from delving deeper into the secret of the other party’s Spirit Body. His goal was to uncover its vulnerabilities, strike with a lethal blow, and absorb the corresponding mystical knowledge!
Having suffered greatly from the Spell of Harrumph the previous night, he had used this ability as a breakthrough from the beginning.
Simultaneously, Lumian experienced once again the sensation of his spirit being intimidated and suppressed, as if frozen. Terrifying arms covered in festering warts or with eyes extended from the void, reaching out for his body.
Boom!
The explosion’s force was mostly mitigated by the Flog boxing gloves, but since they weren’t fully covered, the exposed part of Lumian’s left palm was turned into a bloody mess.
An intense and familiar pain shot through his brain and Spirit Body, bringing him back to awareness.
Seizing this moment of clarity, Lumian activated the black mark on his right shoulder again, vanishing above the sea of flames and disappearing from the strange undead arms extending from the void.
Likewise, he remained vigilant against Burman’s Eye of Illusory.
The crimson, nearly white fireball in his left hand was structurally unstable. He had to divert his attention to maintain it, and he couldn’t sustain it when affected by the Eye of Illusory, leading to its natural disintegration and a self-
inflicted awakening.
If this failed to disrupt the Eye of Illusory’s intimidation, the sea of flames below served as Lumian’s second preparation. The residual aura of the Blood Emperor in his right hand was his last resort.
Upon vanishing, Lumian reappeared behind Burman once more.
Prepared, Burman raised his hands and scattered a tree-like powder.
Crackling sounds followed as silver-white lightning struck Lumian’s head, as though a storm ruler had unleashed divine retribution from the sky.
For most Beyonders, this would be enough to paralyze and make them tremble incessantly. Yet, Lumian showed no such signs. Instead, he appeared like a reflection in the water, shattered by the lightning.
The real Lumian was curled up at the bottom of the figure. Burman had struck the phantom created using the Niese Face!
The Niese Face was essentially an illusion, but it couldn’t be cast on others or items. Lumian had to rely on himself, pretending to be a root system with branches and flowers above, forming a derived illusion.
There was no fundamental difference between this and using the Niese Face to make himself taller and bulkier.
Amidst the crackling lightning, two crimson fireballs materialized beneath Lumian’s feet and behind him.
Rumble!
The fireball exploded, propelling Lumian towards the levitating Burman.
Burman, being close proximity, couldn’t dodge the swift Lumian in time. He could only slightly turn his body as a bone spear sprouted from his shoulder, its tip unusually sharp.
A grin spread across Lumian’s face. He didn’t evade, allowing the bone spear to pierce his right chest.
With a resounding thud, he swung his left fist, delivering a powerful blow to the side of Burman’s face. The Demon Warlock’s head twisted, revealing deep blood-stained, pus-filled holes on his face. His eyes burned with rage, as if he were witnessing the murderer of his wife!
The black mark on Lumian’s right shoulder emitted a dim light once more.
His figure vanished beside Burman, dissolving into the encircling lanky black shadows and other undead creatures, leaving behind the bone spear stained with his blood.
The wound on his right chest was grotesque, blood dripping from it. In his hand appeared a dark-red bone flute with a hole in it.
Symphony of Hatred!
Lumian brought the bone flute to his lips. As he retreated, he played a mournful and haunting melody.
Once again invoking the Eye of Illusory, Burman, who was on the verge of catching up, was frozen in astonishment. Even the undead ceased their movements.
Suddenly, blood and pus seeped from Burman’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, as if a muffled and invisible explosion had occurred within him.
His anger, paranoia, and thirst for revenge were fueled by the Symphony of Hatred.
This inflicted a severe blow on him.
Lumian refrained from playing the Symphony of Hatred from the outset because Burman differed from other Beyonders. Others needed to identify the problem, but with Burman, there were too many uncertainties.
His mental state was extremely unstable, burdened by severe psychological issues. His overwhelming desire to revive his wife and seek revenge on the Islander swindler was palpable. His body had undergone modifications from the Death domain, and Lumian had inflicted significant injuries on him the previous night. There were substantial hidden dangers…
Faced with such an adversary, Lumian himself was uncertain about the outcome if he were to unleash the Symphony of Hatred through the shepherd’s flute. It might be manageable if it only triggered desires and emotions, but if Burman’s mental state lost even the most basic restraints, the Demon Warlock could potentially lose control on the spot, transforming into a monstrous entity with mixed abilities.
Such a monster would likely be even more challenging to deal with than Burman!
Hence, after the Spell of Harrumph failed, Lumian promptly shifted to using Flog boxing gloves to kindle Burman’s corresponding desires and emotions. This strategic approach increased the likelihood that when Lumian eventually used the Symphony of Hatred, it would exploit the target’s emotions and desires, inflicting severe harm.
Observing Burman descend into the sea of flames amid the eruption of emotions and desires, Lumian executed another Spirit World Traversal, appearing in front of him in an instant.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He extended his arms, unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks on Burman’s body.
On the surface of his Flog fists, a crimson fireball, almost white, compressed layer by layer.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Flog tore at Burman’s flesh like a two-headed python.
Rumble!
Crimson fireballs erupted around Lumian, with no concern for waste. They formed a barrier, preventing the lanky figure, strange arms, and other undead from interfering.
One punch, two punches, three punches. Lumian’s eyes were fixed on the mangled Burman.
At that moment, he reflected on the village destroyed by Burman and the innocent lives lost because of him.
How many were beloved wives, waiting husbands, dependent parents, and cherished children?
Cordu had been annihilated due to the ambitions of the evil gods. What about the innocent?
Lumian’s eyes gradually turned crimson as he clenched his fists.
This time, he didn’t empathize with Burman. Instead, he placed himself in the village he had destroyed and the lives he had taken.
Wasn’t Cordu like this back then?
The ambitions of these evil gods are to blame!
In just a few seconds, Burman snapped out of his pain and emitted an evil, cold, and incomprehensible voice.
The sound seemed to peel away Lumian’s flesh, exposing his Spirit Body to the perilous sunlight and the grayish-black gravel.
Lumian’s movements slowed, and the grotesque arms finally reached in, dragging Burman away from the area.
Phew… Lumian exhaled and recovered.
He didn’t pursue. Instead, he gazed silently at the void ahead, raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers.
Rumble!
Amidst the sudden eruption of intense flames, Burman’s body materialized, shattering from an explosion.
Fire Infusion!
Hunter’s Fire Infusion!
In truth, Lumian hadn’t acted rationally. His optimal strategy would have been to seize the moment when Burman’s emotions and desires were ignited and strike at his vital points with the Symphony of Hatred, delivering a decisive blow. However, he yearned to repeatedly pummel the “hidden” version of himself that terrified him!
With a thud, Burman’s head clattered to the ground.
In his daze, he caught sight of a slender figure with black hair, blue eyes, and a delicate face.
It was his wife, Helen.
Y-you’re back? Burman couldn’t help but smile and extend his arm.
He no longer had an arm.
Gradually, he lost consciousness. Darkness enveloped his vision, as if sunlight lurked deep within.
Demon Warlock Burman—dead.
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