“Elias, Bloodsong, go light the tower lamp!”
Old Crowley barked his orders in a low voice, his eyes locked on the cultists ahead.
“Malcolm, organize the men and kill these damn fish!”
“Aye, Captain!”
Malcolm roared back at the top of his lungs.
“Boys, did you hear that?!”
“Aye!”
The sailors erupted into a collective roar, immediately training their weapons on the nearby monsters.
The battle was on the verge of erupting.
Keeping his stance low, Elias followed Bloodsong as they crept toward the lighthouse door, grumbling in his mind.
Wait, Old Ed, how did the two of us end up looking like his subordinates?
Old Ed chuckled.
Aren't you?
Think about it. You are a legitimate keeper of the Wayland Shipping Company, and he is the supply captain. You have to listen to him.
And this little Dvorin kid next to you is a member of the Resurrection Society.
That Old Sea Dog is one of their higher-ups, so he has to listen to him too.
Old Ed concluded.
It makes perfect sense.
“...”
For a moment, Elias found himself unable to argue.
So, he stiffly changed the subject.
“If those flying ones from earlier are called flying-fin fish-men, what are these called?”
Elias asked in a low voice.
“I mean, their official name.”
Tide fish-men,
Old Ed replied briefly.
That's what the fishermen of Moon Bay call them.
They've seen these things come ashore before.
Just then, the Mist Veil Society cultist raised his hands in a seemingly non-threatening gesture and spoke to Crowley.
“Hey, old man, let's make a deal.”
“Why don't you just head back and report that everything is done?”
“Just say the lighthouse is completely normal, how about that?”
The cultist's lips peeled back in a grotesque grin, revealing blackened teeth.
“You're with Wayland anyway, and we were already partners to begin with.”
“Everyone gets what they want. Wouldn't it be better if we both took a step back?”
“No.”
Old Crowley's rejection was swift and decisive.
Upon hearing this, the hypocritical smile on the cultist's face instantly vanished, replaced by a sinister glower.
“The sea-folk have caused enough deaths tonight.”
“There is no need for anyone else to die here.”
Old Crowley said calmly, puffing on his pipe.
“So, there's nothing to discuss?”
The cultist sneered.
The murderous intent in his eyes instantly solidified.
Old Crowley didn't bother to reply; instead, he responded with direct, decisive action.
A violent suction force erupted out of thin air from the flintlock pistol in his hand.
The howling wind and thick fog around them were frantically sucked into the barrel.
For a moment, the resulting negative pressure even swept up the dirt and gravel from the ground.
The air within a radius of several meters was momentarily vacuumed.
In the blink of an eye, Crowley ruthlessly pulled the trigger.
“Boom!”
A deafening explosion roared.
A round bullet shot out, warping the surrounding air and dragging a visible white wind line behind it.
The sound of the tearing air currents was so sharp it felt like it was slicing through their eardrums.
The cultist's reaction was just as swift.
Faced with this violent strike, he clawed wildly at the air.
A thick wall of flesh, composed of countless writhing layers of meat and fat, sprouted from the ground before him.
Crowley's bullet slammed heavily into the wall of flesh.
The immense kinetic energy produced a dull thud, embedding the projectile deep into the very center of the wall.
Upon impact, the flesh on the wall's surface began to writhe frantically.
Immediately after, a piercing, agonizing shriek erupted from the wall of flesh.
“Damn it!”
Elias's head buzzed, his eardrums on the verge of rupturing from the sound wave.
But the shriek did not last long.
The bullet Crowley had fired suddenly exploded from within the wall of flesh.
It was not a gunpowder explosion, but a release of sheer, concentrated wind pressure, the immense kinetic energy shredding the wall of flesh from the inside and obliterating most of it.
“A wind-pressure bullet.”
Bloodsong slowly lowered the hands covering his ears and glanced at the battlefield.
“I didn't expect that thing to be so powerful.”
“It can even penetrate a 【Screaming Flesh Wall】.”
Elias shook his dizzy head, staring at the ruined wall of flesh that could no longer provide any defense, and mentally assessed the power of that shot.
That shot could probably inflict significant damage even on a mountain of flesh.
He turned to Bloodsong and pointed at the mangled remains of the wall.
“Is this a spell from the Mist Veil Society?”
“Yes.”
Bloodsong nodded, his expression grim.
“Then how come I've never encountered it before?”
Elias frowned.
If those beasts in the sewers had used something like this, he would have probably kicked the bucket long ago.
“Because spells of the Mist Veil Society can only be obtained by mid-level believers through their connection with their ‘Lord’.”
Bloodsong explained quickly while keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings.
“Ordinary peripheral members don't have the right to access them.”
“But to be honest, anyone who can wield this kind of power has basically gone mad.”
Bloodsong curled his lip.
“Though, I've only ever heard the higher-ups mention it.”
“Today is my first time seeing it in person.”
Suddenly, his pupils dilated, and he froze in place as if struck by a Freeze spell.
Elias was quick to notice his shock.
He followed Bloodsong's gaze.
Once he saw what was happening, his heart skipped a beat as well.
All around them, the sailors who had been holding their firearms and cutlasses, preparing to fight the tide fish-men to the death, suddenly threw down their weapons in perfect unison.
Steel blades clattered sharply against the stone ground.
The sailors' eyes were hollow, their faces wearing eerie, blissful smiles as if they were sleepwalking.
It was as if they had laid eyes on an incomparable beauty, or had returned to the warmth of their homes.
With stiff, mechanical steps, they actually began walking toward the razor-toothed fish-men of their own accord.
Elias watched in horror.
One of the sailors walked defenselessly right up to a tide fish-man.
Without a shred of hesitation, the monster bared its fangs and tore the sailor's body open with its sharp claws.
Blood splattered everywhere.
Yet, even as the sailor died, that hair-raising smile remained plastered on his face, and he didn't utter a single scream.
“What's going on?!”
A chill ran down Elias's spine.
“It's the fog!”
Bloodsong's face was pale.
“The fog has hallucinogenic properties!”
“These sailors have absolutely no way to resist enchantment effects of this caliber!”
“What do we do?”
Bloodsong whipped his head around to look at Elias, a trace of despair in his eyes.
“We need to hurry up and light the tower lamp.”
The battlefield was a scene of utter carnage.
The fish-men had already begun their bloody slaughter.
Only Malcolm was barely managing to stand.
His cutlass was wedged into a crevice in the reef. Grasping the hilt with both hands, he knelt on one knee.
Sweat and blood poured down his forehead.
His eyes were bloodshot, and he panted heavily, fighting a life-or-death battle against the hallucinations in his mind through sheer physical willpower.
But from his posture, it was clear he wasn't doing well either, and could succumb at any moment.
Yet Elias stood there, completely unaffected.
He felt absolutely nothing.
Just like the siren's illusions, the fog's influence could not touch him.
Old man, why is this Dvorin fine too?
Elias looked at Bloodsong, who was frowning nearby, and asked Old Ed quietly in his mind.
I don't know what bloodline he carries.
Old Ed analyzed, observing Bloodsong's condition.
But judging by his enchantment spells, his bloodline likely grants him high resistance to enchantment magic.
Only then did Elias understand.
No wonder besides the two of them, Malcolm, and Old Crowley, everyone else had lost their ability to resist in an instant, becoming sheep for the slaughter.
“Before the fish-men kill any more of our men, we had better move fast.”
Elias said.
He tightened his grip on the newly enchanted revolver in his hand, preparing to drag Bloodsong toward the lighthouse.
But very quickly, he saw Bloodsong stop in his tracks, staring at him with a bizarre expression.
“Why are you unaffected?”
Rate on N.U.
