The five attackers carried the unconscious deacon into the crowd. After a few twists and turns, they vanished from the chaotic square.
They avoided the main roads, choosing instead to weave through narrow alleys and backstreets.
These attackers were so familiar with the terrain of Dusk Island that it seemed unlikely this was their first visit.
After winding through several more paths, the surroundings grew increasingly desolate. Moss crept up the walls on both sides, the ground became slick, and a musty smell hung in the air.
Places where sunlight never reached were always like this.
Filthy and dim, like a corner forgotten by the entire world.
Finally, the lead attacker stopped.
This was a dead-end alley surrounded on three sides by high walls covered in unknown vines.
Beneath the vines was a thick layer of green moss that felt spongy underfoot, letting out a disgusting squelch.
He lowered the deacon from his shoulder and propped him up against a wall.
The other four dispersed, sealing off the alley's only exit.
The deacon slowly opened his eyes.
His neck still throbbed, but there was no trace of panic on his face.
He surveyed his surroundings, looked at the five men, and finally fixed his gaze on the leader.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
The lead attacker crouched down to meet the deacon’s eyes and spoke calmly. “Don't worry about who we are.”
“What we want is simple: the 《Secret Scripture of the Seven Chapters of Xuanjun》 from the Sect of Deliverance.”
“Specifically, we need the sixth volume, the 「Phantom Realm Spirit-Walking Ascension Record」.”
The deacon's eyebrows twitched slightly.
The lead attacker continued, “Hand over the Ascension Record, and you can leave safely.”
“Rest assured, we’ve never been fond of unnecessary violence. I prefer a fair trade, and I respect your faith. Once the item is in our hands, your safety is guaranteed.”
The deacon was pragmatic. He didn't resist, curse, or even show a negative expression.
He simply remained silent for a few seconds, as if composing his thoughts, before speaking.
“The Sect of Deliverance is famous for its resurrection arts. I assumed you wanted the first volume of the scripture, the 「Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Record」.”
“Why do you want the sixth volume? The content within isn't meant for human eyes.”
The lead attacker smirked. He stared into the deacon’s eyes and spoke deliberately. “You of all people should know exactly what kind of monstrosities are brought back by the Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Record.”
“In this world, there is no such thing as a perfect resurrection.”
The deacon said nothing.
“So, compared to the Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Record, we’d much rather have the sixth volume. Isn't it better to ascend the heavenly gates and become an immortal ourselves?” The leader stood up, looking down at the deacon.
The deacon remained silent, but his gaze turned subtle.
The lead attacker’s patience seemed to reach its limit.
“Alright, Mr. Deacon, let’s stop wasting each other’s time.”
He stepped to the side and gave a slight nod.
Another attacker, who had been silent until now, immediately drew a pistol from his waist. He flicked off the safety and aimed the muzzle at the deacon’s head.
The sound of a round being chambered was exceptionally sharp in the quiet alley.
The deacon looked down at the black void of the barrel and said slowly, “The Sect of Deliverance only possesses the Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Record.”
“As for the 「Phantom Realm Spirit-Walking Ascension Record」 you seek, you might want to try looking among the other sects on the island.”
“Besides, even if I had it and gave it to you, you wouldn't be able to handle it.”
The lead attacker's gaze turned cold.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Do you really think just any random nobody can understand the secret scripture?” The deacon leaned back against the wall, his posture so relaxed he didn't look like a man with a gun to his head.
The lead attacker frowned.
He made a gesture.
The attacker with the gun stepped forward, pressing the muzzle against the deacon’s brow.
The touch of cold metal would have made anyone else stiffen.
But the deacon didn't flinch; he even leaned forward slightly, making the contact firmer.
“Take a guess... why did I come along with you without resisting at all?”
The leader's expression shifted.
The deacon chuckled. “There were too many people back at the church. It wasn't a good place for me to cut loose.”
“But now, it’s perfect. You’ve gone through the trouble of bringing me to this quiet, secluded spot.”
He slowly stood up, ignoring the gun at his forehead. He cracked his neck with a series of audible pops and scanned the five attackers, his smile widening.
“To dare disrupt the Resurrection Festival... you truly deserve to die!”
The moment the words left his mouth, he moved. He slammed his forehead into the gun, knocking the barrel upward. A shot rang out, the bullet burying itself in the nearby wall and spraying stone fragments.
Before the gunman could react, a hand had already clamped onto his wrist.
Crack.
The sound of the wrist bone snapping was sickeningly clear.
The pistol fell from his grip, hitting the ground.
The attacker screamed, clutching his broken wrist as he stumbled back.
But before he could take two steps, a foot slammed into his chest. He was sent flying, crashing into the wall at the end of the alley before sliding down, motionless.
From the gunshot to the man’s collapse, barely two seconds had passed.
The remaining four finally snapped out of it.
“Kill him!” the leader roared.
The four lunged at once.
The deacon stood his ground, making no move to dodge.
He simply raised his right hand, fingers splayed, and made a pressing motion toward the first man to reach him.
Thud!
The man was blown backward as if hit by an invisible force, knocking over his companion behind him.
The leader's pupils shook with shock. In the next heartbeat, the deacon’s figure vanished.
When he reappeared, he was standing behind another attacker.
“You—” The man only managed a single word before a sharp pain hit the back of his neck. His vision went black, and he slumped to the ground.
The remaining two attackers stood back-to-back, scanning the area warily.
Silence returned to the alley, save for the dampness of the moss and their heavy breathing.
“Looking for me?”
The voice came from above.
The two looked up.
The deacon was crouching on the wall above the alley, looking down at them with a bizarre smile.
He slowly stood up. “During the Resurrection Festival, I should have been standing beside the priest, receiving the worship of the faithful.”
“Instead, I was disturbed by a few pieces of trash like you.”
“Now, it’s time to settle the bill.”
With that, he leaped down.
Screams echoed through the alley.
Five minutes later, the lead attacker was leaning against the wall, gasping for air.
His left arm was bent at a grotesque angle, his face was covered in blood, and his vision was blurring.
He saw the four men he had brought with him lying on the ground, their status unknown.
And the deacon was walking toward him, step by deliberate step.
Each footfall was steady, like an old cat toying with a mouse it had already caught.
The leader gritted his teeth and pulled a small black sphere from his waist.
It was a smoke bomb, capable of creating a massive cloud of thick smoke instantly to cover a retreat.
He crushed the sphere.
With a pop, thick smoke exploded, filling the entire alley.
He turned and ran.
The deacon's voice drifted through the smoke, reaching his ears with perfect clarity: “Tell the people behind you... next time, remember to send someone competent.”
The attacker didn't dare look back, stumbling blindly until he vanished at the end of the alley.
The smoke cleared.
The deacon stood where he was, making no move to pursue.
Rate on N.U.
