"It's him!"
"You're dead this time!"
Gerard turned his gaze to see a masked figure break away from the blessing line, bolting toward the camp entrance.
"Stop him! He's one of the fugitives!" a nearby adventurer shouted.
Gerard's eyes narrowed. "Bass!"
His command was sharp and immediate. A Blood Saint beastman named Bass—one of the hunters assisting Gerard—responded without hesitation. Drawing his sidearm and unlocking the safety, he charged forward, leaving a crimson blur in his wake.
Gerard, however, remained seated atop the high platform. He knew all too well that as long as he held the line at the Void Realm portal, Ash Heath would never escape the Blood Moon's grasp.
The fleeing figure? Almost certainly not Ash himself. Gerard had fallen for decoys before and wasn't about to repeat the same mistake. This was likely another of Ash's tricks—a mere pawn to be dealt with swiftly.
As Bass pushed through the adventurers, something unexpected happened. Every person in the crowd—including Bass himself—had their light screens automatically activated, flashing two ominous red warnings:
"WARNING: You are currently in an attack-restricted zone."
"WARNING: You are currently in a movement-restricted zone."
Bass halted abruptly, as immobilized as the rest of the crowd. Even his superior physiology as a Blood Saint couldn't override the chip's control.
Before he could fully process what was happening, chaos erupted. Adventurers began collapsing, blood pouring from invisible wounds. Screams filled the night as panic took root.
"They're slaughtering us!"
"They've hijacked our chips to make us sitting ducks!"
"Gerard is violating the sanctuary! He's going to kill us all!"
Fear spread like wildfire. Amid the chaos, the restrictions on movement were abruptly lifted, and adventurers found themselves free to act again.
"Run!"
No one hesitated. They bolted for the camp's perimeter, like startled rabbits fleeing a predator.
"Push through!"
"Flame Squad, with me! Cut down anyone in our way!"
"Ahhh! I've been hit! I'm hit!"
"Don't trample me! No, stop—ahhhh!"
The deafening cacophony of panic and despair filled the air. Some adventurers, unable to move quickly enough, were crushed underfoot by the stampede, their cries of pain mingling with the chaos.
Gerard, sitting on the high platform, watched the pandemonium unfold with an unsettling glint in his ruby-red eyes.
Chaos. Manipulation. Stirring the darkness in human hearts. Controlling people like puppets.
Yes, this was it. This was the essence of the Cult of the Four Pillars.
It had to be Ash Heath.
Although the initial shouts had come from various parts of the crowd, Gerard's keen eyes quickly honed in on one masked figure moving stealthily through the chaos.
The adventurers swarmed toward the camp's gates, overwhelming the guards stationed there. These guards—mere civil servants—had no intention of risking their lives for this chaos. They allowed the adventurers to break through, scattering into the night.
Gerard remained unshaken.
He brought his hands together in a prayer-like gesture, summoning a miracle. His form blurred, transforming into a beam of crimson light as he leapt over the panicked crowd, closing in on the fleeing figure like a white wolf on the hunt.
From afar, he unleashed his chain sword. The weapon fragmented into serpentine links that shot toward the masked fugitive.
"Sorry, Ash," Gerard whispered, his eyes alight with unhinged glee. "But if you're going to die anyway, let me enjoy this."
Swordblood Miracle: Maiden's Dirge of Despair.
The chain sword was no mere weapon—it was a machine of pure carnage. Once it ensnared its target, it would shred flesh and bone into an unrecognizable pulp, even tearing at the victim's soul. It was less an attack and more a divine punishment.
But when the chains reached the masked figure, they found nothing.
The figure vanished like a mirage, leaving only a pair of familiar objects behind: recorders.
It was a cruel, mocking joke—a punchline to a long con.
Another decoy.
Gerard froze as realization struck. He turned his gaze back to the first fleeing figure, now sprawled on the ground, clutching a bullet wound in his leg. His scaly face marked him as a fishman—clearly not Ash Heath.
The first decoy had been a distraction. The second was a diversion.
Gerard's eyes darted toward the high platform. His hunters had been incapacitated, and several bloodied adventurers were now rushing toward the Void Realm portal.
Damn it!
In his mind, he replayed the chaos. Some adventurers had fallen, seemingly hit by stray bullets. Gerard had ignored them, assuming they were irrelevant casualties of the panic. But now he realized they had been planted—sacrificial pawns to create an opening.
The same strategy again. I fell for it. Again.
Weariness washed over Gerard. His chain sword felt heavy in his hands. He knew it was too late. The Void Realm portal restricted entry to two-winged practitioners and below, meaning he couldn't chase Ash through.
Unless someone stopped them…
Bang!
A sniper's shot echoed through the night.
On the high platform, Ash plunged Honeyed Sword into the ground, forming a radiant golden barrier. The barrier held for an instant before shattering under the force of the sniper's bullet.
The shooter was a beastman hiding near the camp's entrance, his heavy sniper rifle glowing faintly with miraculous energy.
Gerard recognized him. So did Ash.
Grasas Dov, a two-winged practitioner and the current leader of the Woodpecker Gang. More importantly, he was one of Shearing's most loyal followers.
His final mission: eliminate Ash Heath.