area51novel Page 600
Page 600
The moment Ahwins finished speaking, an even purer and colder killing intent, like a polar storm, suddenly locked onto his presence!
Loreleia Barthero's goal has changed!
She may have "allowed" the other's existence, but she would never allow it to become a stumbling block on her hunting path!
Deep within those icy, sapphire-clear eyes, two clusters of blazing white, star-like flames of destruction ignited, fixed firmly on the dead apostle before them—Ahwins!
"—They are his children."
Ahwins's voice, like a whisper before a death knell, clearly pierced through the pervasive smoke and killing intent.
boom!
This sentence, like a boulder thrown into a frozen lake of thought, instantly stirred up a tidal wave in Barthezmero's meticulously crafted mental landscape!
understand!
Absolute, cold understanding! Completed in a fraction of a second!
Immediately afterwards, the two "hunters" standing at the pinnacle of their respective existences seemed to have reached some kind of cold and efficient killing pact that transcended words, and their figures instantly parted ways!
Without the slightest hesitation or delay, it was like a precise dance step that had been practiced a thousand times!
Barthelon's figure transformed into a streak of icy blue light tearing through the air, following the direction in which the Dead Apostle Rubare's daughter fled in panic.
—The deep corridor connecting to the castle's highest spire—shot away!
And Ahaves's cursed shadowy form, in a way most consistent with its vampire nature—
Like a giant, death-inducing shadow lizard, it clung to the castle's cold outer walls, its sharp claws tearing through the bricks, climbing towards the same goal—the spire—at inhuman speed!
Barthezmero's decisions are as swift as lightning and as precise as a scalpel!
She possesses a near-ruthless foresight that would put any strong person to shame, enabling her to completely abandon pointless pride and fighting frenzy!
Barthezmello is currently tracking Rubare, who is his daughter.
The Rubare that Ahavens was just hunting is his son.
Loreleia instantly assessed the situation:
Hunting down these newly empowered, still-infant inheritors one by one? That's inefficient and only increases the chances of things going wrong!
The real threat at its core has always been their father—Rubarez himself!
If these two newborn offspring can successfully reunite with their father...
Even if it's just a brief fusion, the power it generates is far more than a simple addition!
In the bloodline laws of vampires, once separated "blood" flows back together, its power will expand exponentially—multiplicatively!
At that time, the power that gathers will be infinitely close to the destructive power that Barthelero is currently displaying, which is enough to shatter the forbidden red moon!
The cold, hard scales of priority tipped in an instant!
now!
Rather than engaging in a fierce and unpredictable showdown with this enigmatic and vengeful demon before me...
The dying apostle, Rubalé—
Before it completes its final fusion, it must be thoroughly and permanently "purified" from the root!
This is the absolute priority that cannot be questioned and overrides everything else!
Chapter 633 Outside the Clock Tower "4" (4.5k)
Lord Barthelon—Loreleia Barthelon—stepped into the spire that stood like a cursed tombstone.
She had accepted the fact that the "hunt" had escalated into a "battle" due to the unexpected intervention of Ahwins, but this did not shake her determination to pinpoint the ultimate culprit.
The secret chamber at the top of the tower.
There, the scene that met her icy blue eyes was neither the stubbornly resisting vampires she had imagined, nor the terrifying ritual of bloodline convergence.
"--……Why?"
A very faint sigh, almost unlike her own, carrying a hint of pure confusion, dissipated in the deathly still air.
That is……
The remains of three dead apostles.
They were pressed together in a chilling yet serene manner, as if they had fallen into an eternal slumber.
There was no splattered blood, no trace of painful struggle.
There is only one absolute and thorough "cutting"!
The torso and limbs, torn to pieces, were as if "dissected" by the most skilled anatomist or the most ruthless scissors of fate, with a precision and cruelty that transcended the laws of physics.
It was tragic, yet it also conveyed a strange sense of "completion".
They were already completely and utterly dead. A chilling testament to the extinction of the Rubare clan's bloodline.
Rewind to three hours earlier—when Barthezello's army reached the lakeshore.
A prophecy, carried on ancient parchment and marked with the imprint of a withered rose on its edge, was quietly delivered to the Dead Apostle Ruballey by an unseen force.
It bears only a single, cold, epitaph-like inscription:
"—Tonight, death will descend."
In the long and bloody history of the twenty-seven ancestors, a history of mutual tearing and devouring yet miraculously maintaining a strange balance, one crucial reason for their continued existence is—
There exists an ancestor who specializes in "prophecy"!
Legend has it that this mysterious ancestor would foretell the death of his kin in incomprehensible ways.
It wasn't about saving them, but rather a cold reminder:
"It's time to quietly create a successor."
Placing this ominous letter of prophecy before him, Rubalé—this self-proclaimed "the transcendent among the transcendent"—a dead apostle nobleman—
The initial reaction was a soft laugh mixed with arrogance and mockery.
“Ah…I see.” His crimson pupils swept across the CLONE team’s figures, which were looming over the lake shore outside the window, like ghosts surrounding them.
“Those magicians in Barthelon… are indeed not to be underestimated. If the situation turns truly unfavorable, it may very well be us who are wiped out.”
However, this realization did not bring fear.
"But this prophecy... is by no means an unavoidable, absolute death!"
A smug smile played on Rubare's lips, as if he had seen through the tricks of fate.
"It seems that even the legendary 'Rose Prophecy' can fail to come true."
With this disdain for the prophecy and a blind confidence in his own strength and preparation, Rubalé calmly ordered his most beloved children to prepare to "welcome the distinguished guest."
At the same time, he walked into the deepest part of the spire, an absolute secret place that even his children had never set foot in.
There lies his last trump card, his last hope, and his last madness, which he had secretly kept hidden for five hundred years.
Because, deep within Rubald's soul, a cold truth that even he himself refused to confront persisted:
He never truly believed that he possessed the absolute talent befitting the title of "Twenty-Seven Ancestors," the talent that belonged to a "monster"!
For the sake of that illusory glory of claiming to be the "ancestor," Rubalé knew that he still needed at least two hundred years of accumulation.
To pass the long hours, he devoured the magicians' treasures like the most greedy glutton—magical costumes that contained wisdom and power, and weapons that touched upon the realm of concepts!
The result is a forbidden treasure trove piled up in this spire's secret chamber, enough to make the soul of any peeper tremble!
The power contained in one of the artifacts is so terrifying and profound that even the legendary Solomon, known for commanding demons, would probably cast a jealous glance at it!
Rubare stroked the cold relic, a twisted confidence gleaming in his eyes:
"With this... crushing a girl of that caliber will be as easy as snapping a finger!"
"--Oh?"
Sensing the unusual movement of the barrier surrounding the castle, Rubare smiled silently, a smile like a venomous snake coiled in the shadows. He habitually stroked his meticulously trimmed beard, his crimson pupils peering through the castle's "eyes," gleefully "watching" Barthelero's solitary figure step into the demon's lair.
"I thought they would adopt a safe encirclement tactic... but I didn't expect them to be so arrogant as to enter the city alone?"
His voice carried a condescending mockery, as if he were commenting on a farce destined to fail.
"Such arrogance will easily cost you your life, little girl of the Bartholomew family."
He seemed to have already foreseen the ending:
"First you destroyed the barrier... but little did you know, this was precisely the first step that led you into the abyss! The trap has been set, and you are the prey who have walked right into it..."
however!
Just as he was reveling in this twisted pleasure—
A breeze that shouldn't have been there gently brushed his cheek, like the coldest fingertips of a lover.
wind?
In this completely sealed room, absolutely isolated from the outside world?
How can it be!
Om-!
The survival instinct, which transcends the limits of thought and belongs to the vampire aristocracy, screams wildly!
Rubalé—this "young" yet truly deserving of the title of a great nobleman—displayed an extraordinary reaction speed befitting his arrogance! Before he could even form a question, his body was pulled backward at an incredible speed, as if by an invisible force, tearing through the air!
shhh-
The next instant, his body landed lightly on the cold floor of the secret chamber.
Her movements remained elegant, as if she had everything under control.
however--
This elegance lasted for less than a moment.
His lower body, from the waist down, slid off silently and laterally in a smooth, almost eerie way, like a building block that had lost all its support!
His upper body crashed to the ground, and as he tumbled, his vision settled on his own legs, still standing in the distance...