Legacy of Hatred

Chapter 352: Posters

Dominic was in no condition to dodge, summon techniques, or defend himself. The barrage of bullets crashed into his figure, and he could only endure it with whatever resilience his body still possessed.

And Dominic’s body didn’t have much of that left. His cultivation stage might have turned his flesh into a rank 3 material, but the battle had broken him in more ways than one.

The bullets crashed and exploded, piercing, shattering, and breaking anything they hit. Layers upon layers of Dominic’s body exploded, the damage even affecting his bones, and his figure began to fall once the assault ended.

Yet, Dominic didn’t fall, although he had nothing to do with the matter.

A debilitating blow hit Dominic’s chin, forcefully lifting his head, allowing him to see the new rooting expert standing in front of him. He was burly, with short and wild black hair, wearing a sleeveless, worn-out robe, his small eyes shining with pristine concentration.

Dominic struggled to follow the next attacks. Robert delivered swift, devastating blows in precise areas of his burned torso, each one releasing shockwaves that deprived him of any ounce of control he attempted to muster.

Robert’s first palm strike sent torrents of blood into the hole in Dominic’s chest. A punch to Dominic’s belly lifted him from the ground, followed by a kick that impaled him in the air.

The moment Dominic had been dreading arrived. As magical as the Qi was, an expert’s cultivation was no different than an additional organ, one that couldn’t remain healthy inside a corpse.

Dominic felt cracks appearing in the power he had nourished for decades before the breaking point came. His cultivation shattered, releasing what was left of his superior Qi, blowing it as if it were mere wind.

What was left of the mist vanished. Dominic fell, crashing among bent grass and cracked soil, barely managing to lift his face in that dying moment, capturing one last scene.

Black and red trails were converging on Dominic from opposite directions. Liam and Lancelot were coming, enveloped in poisonous Qi and flames, resorting to the most basic attacks their terrible predicaments allowed them to unleash.

Dominic died before the black and red punches crashed on his head, blowing it apart.

Liam and Lancelot found themselves standing in front of each other, the now-headless corpse that marked their incredible feat at their feet, only to be too injured and spent to appreciate the event.

Deactivating the Primal Urge made all that more real. Everything Liam had endured through the immense physical empowerment the Demonic Art had provided came crashing down on him.

Flesh that had begun healing through the rank 2 pill escaped Liam’s control, opposing that recovery. The auditory hallucination became unbearable without the Demonic Art’s louder urge, turning the hisses in his mind and his itching forearm into torture.

The only silver lining was that the Core-Sheltering Pill had done its job. Liam’s cultivation had endured the Primal Urge’s drawback, quickly bringing his Qi under control, which did little to stop him from attempting to collapse.

Liam and Lancelot fell at the same time, having long reached their limits, only for their mangled bodies never to reach the ground. Someone caught them, swiftly placing them on their backs while running West.

Despite the exhaustion, Liam couldn’t sleep. The auditory hallucination prevented that, forcing him to hear the complaints of the one carrying him.

"You two are crazy!" Robert cried. "You hear me? Utterly mental! Who in their right mind gets into a fight with a branching expert?"

The bickering didn’t stop there because Lancelot also refused to collapse.

"Sister, I’m in love," Lancelot laughed, wrapping his arms around Isabel’s neck.

"Young Master," Isabel said, running while carrying Lancelot, not forgetting to warn him. "If I feel anything poking at me, or just as little as a snuggle, I will squash them."

"Didn’t I say that we should have been silent?" Robert continued with his complaints. "How is that even remotely silent?!"

The healing pill finally brought Liam’s writhing flesh under control, so he opened his mouth, hissing a few times before voicing his gripe.

"Go ... back," Liam whispered weakly. "Loot the ... Corpse."

"Sister," Lancelot whined. "I want to marry him."

"Master William is taken," Isabel calmly pointed out. fгeewebnovёl.com

"Who is going back where?!" Robert snorted. "You should kiss your good fortune that the Church’s forces aren’t already here!"

And Robert was right to worry. Typically, the Church would have already surrounded the area. After all, the battle had been loud enough to attract attention, but there was a reason behind those forces’ absence.

Priest Elmer stood at the edge of the flowery tomb, his long sleeves wrapped behind his back, nothing even close to a smile on his stern face.

A foundation expert had exited the inheritance not long ago to update the Priest. The outsiders had been reported to have created problems, but the Church’s forces were also close to claiming the final rewards. They were allegedly moments away from that goal, even.

That was why the Priest hadn’t moved from his position despite the sensations that touched his perception’s edge. He felt the battle happening at some distance from the garden, even connecting it to the Shrouded Desert Sect’s Elder from weeks ago, but the inheritance still took priority.

And yet, the alleged moments turned into minutes, and then hours. Even after the distant battle was long over, the tomb still showed no reaction. No one else left the inheritance, either.

Nevertheless, before Priest Elmer could change his mind, a reaction finally unfolded. A flower wilted, then two, and then a hundred, until the entirety of the garden around the wooden pillar was no more.

Then, the pillar itself joined that trend. A crack appeared on its surface, expanding until its upper half fell into the bed of wilted flowers.

Priest Elmer knew what that meant. The energy that fueled the inheritance was no more. After centuries, someone had finally claimed what the legendary Archbishop Ignatius had left behind.

A series of figures suddenly materialized in the wilted garden. Teams of white-wearing cultivators filled the previously multicolored area, featuring both foundation and rooting experts, but donning expressions that told a grim truth.

One of the rooting experts mustered the strength to perform his duty after understanding where he was. He approached the Priest, bowing, lowering his head to report the shameful news.

"Priest Elmer, we successfully reached the inheritance’s heart," The rooting expert explained, "But it was empty. We attempted to leave, but the inheritance used its remaining energy to delay us."

’Your Excellency,’ Priest Elmer sighed internally, ’Was your disapproval of the Church so deep as to resort to such extreme methods?’

The Priest didn’t say any of that. It wasn’t for his underlings to know, but something among those teams soon claimed his attention, and the rooting expert didn’t hesitate to explain the matter.

"We captured one of the outsiders," The rooting expert exclaimed, straightening, stepping aside while uttering an order. "Bring him here!"

Two rooting experts from the backlines advanced, dragging a third figure with them. The latter was an old man with large patches of missing hair, his few remaining strands long and grey, barely able to hide his sickish, wrinkled face.

Shackles made of golden light stood around the old man’s neck, feet, and remaining arm, suppressing his cultivation. He looked to be a rooting expert, but his presence was extremely faint, seemingly unable to remain at that level for long.

Priest Elmer threw a glance at the gory inscriptions all over the old man’s body before uttering a deal. "Outsider, your companions left you behind. If you reveal their identity, the Church will spare your life and even save you."

The old man was none other than Julian. His current state was the result of what he had to sacrifice to survive Liam’s poisons. He was even in the Church’s grasp now, and delusions of loyalty had left him long ago.

"Lancelot of the living fire," Julian coughed, his head hanging weakly from his neck. "Secret Jade Sect. Isabel, core disciple, Secret Jade Sect. Robert, lone cultivator ..."

Another cough afflicted Julian’s throat, but he cleared it multiple times until two more names left his mouth. "William, alchemist, partner of Chief Grace of the Merchants Guild."

There were many troublesome names in that list, mainly coming from the forces aligned with them, but Priest Elmer’s response remained unwavering. "Issue the wanted posters. Hang them in every Church in the eastern region."