Chapter 586: Chapter 502: The Enemy Blocking the Way
Jeming’s injuries did not further worsen, all thanks to the Body Refining Technique’s Adaptive Evolution stubbornly operating, allowing this body and the remnant soul to gradually "get accustomed" to this broken state.
The only fortunate thing was that the expected pursuers did not appear.
Whether it was because the Patroller’s diversion had worked, or the frontal battlefield had pinned down the enemy’s top forces, it gave him a chance to catch his breath.
According to a rough estimate, there should be only about two days left to reach the Nolun Workshop defense line.
"Hopefully... nothing unexpected happens again..." Jeming thought weakly, his chapped lips moved slightly.
However, as if to respond to his ill-timed prayer...
Far to the side ahead, a wave of malice-laden spiritual power, like a stone thrown into a calm lake, suddenly intruded into Jeming’s perception range, which had become dull and blurred due to soul damage.
It was a wizard squad of about five people, their energy fluctuations clearly indicating all were of the Fifth Level.
They obviously also noticed this isolated, abnormally... even disastrously bad "unknown unit" that was Jeming.
You could say this squad was racing towards Jeming’s location with undisguised hostility!
Jeming’s heart sank heavily.
He did not stop, nor did he turn his head to look.
He just silently increased the output power of the Talisman Witchcraft at his leg side by one level.
The Acceleration Force Field of Void Step emitted a slight hum, bringing his slightly staggering figure, continuing to dash madly towards the direction of the camp.
But he was still severely hampered by his injuries, slowing him down.
Even though Jeming had pushed Void Step to its current limit, that staggering figure was eventually intercepted by the five streams of light chasing from behind.
The five wizards spread out into a semicircular formation, faintly surrounding him.
Jeming stopped his steps, his gaze sweeping over the enemies, and a strange sense of dissonance arose.
Their configuration was typical of a five-person squad, yet it exuded an aura at odds with the wizard community.
The five wizards were all dressed in Chaos Secret Sect style deep red-hemmed wizard robes, and four of them were female.
And the stance and positions of these four witches subtly shielded the male wizard at the center.
It wasn’t the coordination or cover among comrades, more like... attendants protecting their master.
In wizard society, status differences naturally exist, but those differences often stem from overwhelming power, knowledge gaps, or disparities in research fields.
One wizard reveres another, either because the other can control his life and death or because the other is a beacon on the path forward, or because he covets the wisdom in the other’s mind.
But even the most humble apprentice facing an Official Wizard seldom naturally displays such an almost "servant-like" sense of obedience.
Yet these four witches, with their faces mixed with reverence, obedience, and even a trace of fanaticism, and their instinctive posture of placing the central male wizard at the protection core, made Jeming feel particularly strange.
His gaze fell on the "Saint Heir" being clustered around.
He was an extremely handsome male wizard, with blonde hair and blue eyes, fair skin, and features so exquisite like a sculpture.
But wizards are seldom ugly, and changing one’s appearance is quite ordinary.
What truly made Jeming squint was the undisguised, seemingly innate arrogance in the other’s eyes.
Even though both parties ostensibly had the same Fifth Level Wizard ranking, he could still clearly feel a sense of condescension, akin to examining a lesser creature, when the man looked at him.
Under such a gaze, Jeming felt not much rage, but instead, a slight sense of absurd humor arose.
Confronting Jeming, who was in a clearly poor condition yet remained vigilant, the "Saint Heir" appeared extremely relaxed.
He even casually floated forward until the distance between them shrank to less than a kilometer — which was no different than face-to-face for a Fifth Level Wizard.
The Saint Heir himself did not speak, merely slightly lifted his chin.
A red-haired witch on the left immediately stepped forward half a step, chin slightly raised, and said to Jeming in a superior tone, "State your identity, which side do you belong to? If you can provide valuable information, you might be left with an intact corpse."
Jeming looked at her like one would look at a fool, his gaze inadvertently including the indifferent-looking Saint Heir behind her as well.
The red-haired witch’s anger instantly surged.
But Jeming keenly sensed that her fury seemed more derived from his "looking at a fool" gaze inadvertently encompassing the Saint Heir, rather than mere contempt.
The Saint Heir finally made a move.
He waved his hand gently, as if brushing away non-existent dust, his tone lazy and impatient, "Alright, Lina. Why waste words with such an insignificant ant? Just dispose of him. Don’t forget, our trip is to visit the newly famous ’Martial God.’ If we arrive too late, the other might escape again."
The red-haired witch Lina immediately restrained her anger, turned around and bowed deeply to the Saint Heir, her posture extremely submissive, "Yes, Your Highness the Saint Heir!"
Jeming: "..."
He watched this group of people decide his "disposal" method all by themselves, completely ignoring him, the main character, unable to help but shake his head internally.
Indeed, living long enough, you can encounter all kinds of oddities.
Listening to these people’s words, he almost wondered if he had crossed over again, arriving in some feudal world.
Jeming quickly sympathized with these folks; after all, every Wizard Influence controls hundreds or thousands of planes, and it’s normal for different planes to develop different customs.
...Probably.
Additionally...
Saint Heir? Martial God?
What on earth are these?
A group of freaks at least a few hundred or even a thousand years old, and their names are still so childish?
However, on second thought, Jeming found it reasonable.
In the Wizard World, having power is the key.
Without power, being childish is a joke; with power, being childish becomes an awe-inspiring title or nickname.
Someone like him, without any prominent nickname, is actually rare among Fifth Level Wizards.
...Probably because the chance of any survivors when he makes a move is not high.
Due to soul damage leading to a decline in control over his thoughts, his mind swirled with these chaotic ideas, yet Jeming’s actions were without hesitation.
Just as the red-haired witch Lina was bowing to take orders, yet to fully turn around, Jeming’s right hand, which had been naturally hanging by his side, suddenly lifted.
On his arm, a witchcraft artifact embedded in a specially-made bracer flickered slightly.
Buzz!!
The dark golden light burst forth from his fingertips without any sign of gathering power, like lightning tearing through dark clouds!
"Watch out, Your Highness!"
"How dare you!"
The angry, furious shouts erupted almost simultaneously from the mouths of the other three witches.
Their reactions were impressive; instantly, chains of curses, energy shields, and psychic shocks intercepted toward Jeming and that dark golden beam.
But the speed of the Fire Extinction Divine Light is the speed of light.
Splurt!
A faint sound.
Before the others could react, the dark golden light pierced through the crimson shield hastily condensed by Lina at her side, precisely entering her left chest.
The light shot through, leaving a bowl-sized, smooth-edged charred hole.
The annihilating power carried by the Fire Extinction Divine Light continuously punctured her heart, further shattering the soul within.
The shock and anger frozen on Lina’s face faded rapidly like extinguished candlelight.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but only a gush of black blood mixed with visceral fragments surged out, and she fell straight from the sky.
One-hit kill.
A Fifth Level Wizard, despite being on guard, killed in a single strike.
However, what surfaced on the faces of the remaining three witches was not the sorrow or fear of a comrade’s tragic death but a more intense, nearly twisted rage!
"How dare you... act so rudely in front of the Saint Heir!" screamed a purple-haired witch, her voice trembling with extreme anger.
"Filthy ant! You’ve tainted His Highness’s sight!" spat another silver-haired witch through gritted teeth, her eyes boiling with murderous intent.
Their fury did not seem to focus on Lina’s death, but on Jeming’s act of "killing in front of the Saint Heir," perceived as an unforgivable desecration.
Jeming’s face turned dark upon hearing this.
"You’re insane!" he couldn’t help but curse out loud.
The ongoing searing pain deep in his soul became even more unbearable due to this absurd rant and the loud jeering, an indescribable irritability surging up in his chest.
He just wanted these noisy flies to shut up quickly.
Without any hesitation, the dark golden light at his fingertips flared again, this time aiming at the loudest of the witches, the purple-haired one.
But this time, the attack did not succeed as expected.
Just as the Fire Extinction Divine Light was about to hit the purple-haired witch, a seemingly thin yet multicolored shimmering semi-transparent barrier suddenly appeared before her.
Shiii!!!
The dark golden light slammed into the multicolored barrier, causing a fierce energy wave!
The highly condensed destructive energy fiercely clashed with the multicolored barrier, emitting a screeching annihilation sound, violent energy currents erupted in all directions, carving deep trenches into the ground.
After a moment’s stalemate, the multicolored barrier finally broke under the heavy load, collapsing into countless light fragments.
But the power of the Fire Extinction Divine Light was mostly neutralized, the remaining light grazed past the terrified purple-haired witch, leaving a charred scorch mark on her arm.
Jeming frowned, shifting his gaze toward the source of the multicolored barrier—the "Saint Heir."
The Saint Heir had at some point lifted his right hand, palm forward, with faint specks of multicolored light still lingering at his fingertips.
The lazy arrogant expression on his face finally changed slightly, as he looked at Jeming with a touch of surprise, and... even more interest.
"Oh? Interesting," the Saint Heir gently clapped, as if witnessing a new intriguing toy, "No wonder you dare act so rampantly. Your attack... barely has enough power."
He sized up Jeming, particularly lingering on Jeming’s face as pale as paper and slightly unsteady breath, a playful curve forming at the corner of his mouth: "However, judging by your condition, you’re at the end of your rope, aren’t you? To launch such an attack in this state... This Saint Heir is quite interested in your secrets."
As he spoke, the remaining three witches, like receiving a command, swiftly adjusted their positions, once again positioning the Saint Heir at the center, their gaze towards Jeming not only filled with anger but possessing a more cautious and wary respect.
Being able to break through His Highness’s "Rainbow Protection" with one strike, this bizarrely conditioned enemy needs to be reassessed for their danger level.
Jeming said nothing, simply standing quietly in place, the damaged soul within him screaming in agony, but his eyes growing only colder.
These maniacal flies seem to be... harder to swat than expected.
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