Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1320: Chapter 1318: To Frame A Charge

Death descended from the heavens, crushing all beneath.

A sudden and unexpected stomp shattered the foul creature, and seemingly silenced the voices of every onlooker.

The circular crater on the ground was like a punctuation mark, halting the chain of escalating screams in an instant.

Even their breaths seemed frozen.

When Fu Qian pulled his slick foot out from the center of the pit, still, no one dared to take their first breath.

Some of the people who had turned their backs on the square, attempting to flee amidst the chaos, found their movements equally frozen—they dared not continue running, nor did they dare to turn back, fearing any noticeable motion would draw attention.

This rigid posture spared them from having filth splatter onto their faces, instead relegating the mess to their backsides.

The oppressive silence lasted nearly ten seconds, until Fu Qian turned his back to the crowd and began ascending the steps to the small chapel. Only then did someone come to, frantically swiping at the fluid that had splashed onto their body.

Given the earlier scene, there were already two cautionary tales; no one wanted their neck subjected to such horrors again.

Yet in their frantic panic, as they tore at their clothes without regard for appearances, they quickly discovered that the substance—though slightly warm—really did resemble mud.

Sullen, decayed, and rotten, but utterly inert, devoid of the devouring pulsation it exhibited before.

One stomp, and it completely lost its vitality?

Realizing this, the spectators couldn’t help but cast their gazes again at the slick heel of his foot and the pale cracks eclipsing from its surface.

What kind of person is this…?

Baffled, they felt the words he spoke upon his descent replaying easily in their minds.

Originally, he was merely seated, watching the events unfold. Yet when the creature bloated itself to match his height, had he felt affronted?

It was an oddly unconventional explanation, but coupled with his overbearing demeanor, there was an unmistakable conviction to it.

…

As though sensing the eyes upon him, the figure on the steps paused briefly before slowly turning around.

“It looks like the tide is rising.”

Yet Fu Qian paid little mind to most of the crowd. Instead, he flashed a charlatan’s smile and casually greeted the three members of The Sect.

Amila and her group bore the brunt of the splatter, given their proximity.

But compared to the others, the trio seemed far calmer.

Even Amila, who possessed nearly a hundred piercings across her body, showed no urgency in cleaning herself of the filth.

Clearly, their expertise told them the substance had already lost its vitality.

However, their lack of expertise meant they didn’t realize the loss of vitality was only temporary.

Fu Qian, as the one manipulating the force, could faintly sense that the energy making the substance “different” wasn’t truly struck down—it was merely disrupted in a way akin to severing a connection.

If these three were prudent, they might have cleaned themselves up a little.

But it wasn’t of much concern—after all, The Sect’s control over matters was absolute.

Besides, this nightmare wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

…

The Sect’s members exchanged complex glances in response to Fu Qian’s greeting.

At least Amila and Reginald did. As for Hunter Simon, only his eyes were visible, as even his eyelids were covered in filth, rendering his emotions indecipherable.

“How did you manage that?”

The “rising tide” remark was somewhat comprehensible, seemingly referring to the creeping shadows outside the town. However, non-combatant Amila’s focus was clear—impressed by what she had witnessed, she ignored the pain wracking her body to ask about the earlier scene.

She managed to see the essence of it—that the creature, which was incomparably troublesome for the Hunters, had been annihilated with a single stroke.

Anke, the young man she had identified as the victim of the nightmare, now seemed increasingly alien—slowly transforming into something else with each step.

“My eyes have opened.”

Unfortunately, though Fu Qian responded, his overly charlatan tone—coupled with the gesture of pointing to his eyes—left no one knowing how to reply.

“Sir Simon appears to be even more unwell.”

Thankfully, no response was needed. In the next moment, Fu Qian shifted his focus to Simon.

…

Simon didn’t respond to Fu Qian’s remark, instead lowering his gaze to his weapon.

But his reaction sent Amila and Reginald’s hearts racing as they recalled similar assessments from before.

Following Simon’s line of sight, they noticed that the black fluid on the Broad Sword had unknowingly begun creeping up his hand, slipping into his sleeve.

“Sir Simon, quickly discard the weapon!”

Amila’s scalp prickled with horror when she realized the fluid’s invasive nature and urgently reminded him, voicing her fears that he was reluctant to part with his sword.

Regrettably, Simon did indeed appear unwilling.

He didn’t even glance up at Amila, instead tightening his grip on the weapon.

“Your analysis is overly subjective.”

The Dark Moon’s Seventh Apostle standing nearby murmured with a sigh, interrupting.

“Look again—does this really have anything to do with the sword?”

What did he mean?

Both Amila and Reginald were momentarily baffled but instinctively followed his suggestion to look more closely.

Wait a second… something wasn’t right!

The fluid wasn’t seeping into the sleeve—it was flowing outward!

In the next instant, their hearts were thunderstruck, realizing their prior assumptions were mistaken.

“Sir Simon…”

Staring at Simon’s hand clutching the sword, Amila couldn’t bear to imagine what might lay beneath the surface.

How could this be? His body had already undergone transformation!

“Sir Simon, how do you feel?”

Another inquiry came forth, laced with a tone that was almost sinister in its sincerity—a concerning blend of genuine concern and potential schadenfreude from the Dark Moon Apostle.

“Not well.”

Under the barrage of questions, Simon finally lifted his head slightly, coldly admitting the truth.

“That’s good.”

Fu Qian nodded, satisfied to see yet another of his hypotheses confirmed.

Hunters, as expected, were truly susceptible.

Even Reginald, the primary target of the earlier confrontation, who emerged from it after a mutual destruction, seemed outwardly unchanged.

Instead, Simon, who avoided direct contact throughout the ordeal, displayed unmistakable signs of transformation.

Apart from latent pollution collecting around him, it was difficult to identify any other viable explanation.

The irregular change following the defeat of the monstrous intestine was similar in nature.

This chaotic nightmare was simply too overwhelming for Hunters’ physical constitutions.

“Anke, what are you planning?”

Before Fu Qian could say more, his smile prompted Amila to grow visibly anxious.

It was unavoidable—his abnormal remarks, coupled with that calm yet unsettling grin, inevitably reminded her of the earlier ferocious stomp.

“Don’t worry.”

Fu Qian waved his hand dismissively, signaling Amila not to leap from one extreme to another, from presumptions to outright paranoia.

“How do I feel?”

In the next moment, he pointed to himself and posed a baffling question.