Chapter 17 Hiltina, you look like a delicious red bean paste bun
At the junction of the inner city and the port area, Hiltina pulled out a slender sword from the heart of an Iron Cross, the gray-white body in front of her collapsing with a crash, a stream of black bl**d like ink splattering out.
Intense gunfire erupted behind Hiltina, the sound from a type of automatic rifle still in the experimental stage, not yet widely adopted in this era.
The enhanced physical condition of the Iron Cross made their shooting very accurate, and their timing was incredibly tricky, just as they ambushed Hiltina who was turned sideways against an oncoming Iron Cross, leaving her with no chance of defense, a certain d*ath by any reasonable standard.
But Hiltina still reacted. A brilliant silver light sparked in her eyes, and the slender sword in her hand was enveloped in a layer of silvery glow.
The movements of all the Iron Cross infected around her, the trajectories of the flying bullets, the rushing winds, the noisy cacophony… everything in Hiltina’s surroundings transformed into slow motion, the only constant was the silver sword in her hand.
This was the effect of her activating Night Blade; Hiltina’s Night Blade could imbue the concept of “weapon” to anything and gain complete mastery over it, even if a powerless child held a branch, they could wield it with the lethality of a skilled soldier handling a longsword.
And Hiltina was a swordswoman forged through countless battles, this slender sword named Flickering Morning Star had accompanied her through many fights in the Night World… thus when she activated Night Blade, the countless experiences of swinging her sword transcended into a whole new realm.
She entered a special flow state, the intersecting trajectories of bullets, the flaws in her enemies’ movements, the weak points in the encirclement formed by the Iron Cross… everything turned into a complex stream of information flooding into Hiltina’s mind, analyzed, judged, and became clear and traceable in an instant.
In the words of Rast from his previous life’s martial arts novels, this was what one would call “the heart of the sword is clear, the sword and the person are one.”
Ding ding ding ding, a series of crisp sounds, rapid thrusts flickering in a flash, intercepting all incoming bullets.
At the same time, Rast beside her also fired, Full Metal Jacket bullets spinning out.
The bullets’ landing spots were not aimed at the chest or head of the shooting Iron Cross; the steel diaphragm protecting vital points prevented them from being killed in one shot, and shooting a single-action revolver against an automatic rifle was meaningless; Rast aimed for the wrist holding the rifle.
In the gleam of gunfire, that automatic rifle, which had entangled the two for a long time, slipped from the hand and was immediately submerged by the incoming Iron Cross from behind.
Rast fired continuously to the sides, the bullets accurately hitting the gas pipes on both sides of the street, sparks from the impact igniting the leaking gas, a searing wall of fire sweeping across the entire street, temporarily hindering the Iron Cross’s advance.
But they still could not stop, as in addition to the direction they had come from, there were Iron Cross in all directions forcing their way towards Rast’s bl**d and the temptation of the evil god sculpture.
If one were to switch to an overhead perspective, then the Iron Cross masses in Deep Blue Harbor at this moment resembled a surging tide, and Rast and Hiltina had no time to return to shore before the tide rose, but could only be relentlessly pursued by the water, as if they were dying people on the verge of drowning.
The two rushed toward the distant port area, obscured in the distance; it was the final stretch, but they had to walk.
The big red horse that had previously carried them was no longer there; while jumping to evade the animal traps set by the Iron Cross, it was hit in the left leg by a stray b*llet mid-air. The only thing Rast could do was sh**t it in the head before it was submerged by the Iron Cross.
“Everyone will d*e.”
This was Rast’s murmuring at the time; Hiltina did not know if this included themselves.
…
Ten minutes later, Rast and Hiltina appeared in the port area, covered in bl**d.
Unlike the densely populated residents’ area of houses and apartments, the port area had far fewer people, filled with arms depots and steam factories.
Rast glanced at his watch and stopped: “Let’s take a break.”
Boom—
As soon as Rast’s voice fell, a thunderous sound erupted.
Hiltina instinctively looked up, only to see what had been a bright sunny sky just moments ago now covered with dark clouds.
Seconds later, torrential rain poured down, embodying the capricious climate of the coastal area to the fullest extent.
Rast bent down, bracing himself against the rain as he gasped for breath: “The Iron Cross primarily relies on scent to track, but the heavy rain will wash away the traces of bl**d; they won’t be able to find us in a short time.”
In Hiltina’s eyes, that silvery glow flickered and faded, her eyes returning to their original light brown hue.
These Iron Cross, who could use firearms and even pre-set traps, were far more difficult to deal with than the zombies in movies.
The physical exhaustion from this escape was secondary; to block the bullets, Hiltina had to keep her Night Blade activated, entering what Rast referred to as “Sword Saint mode.”
This state consumed her mental energy greatly; after consecutive use, her spirit was on the verge of exhaustion. At this moment, the tightly strung nerves relaxed, fatigue and drowsiness swelled over her like a tide.
However, just at that moment of daze and relaxation, an extreme brutal impulse suddenly surged in Hiltina’s heart.
She looked at Rast in front of her, feeling as if he were a neat and clean doll, an irresistible urge to tear him apart.
In her mind, the vision of Rast’s limbs being ripped apart, stuffing and mechanical gears scattered everywhere, surfaced… leaving only his handsome head hanging on a broken body, as she twisted his head counterclockwise three hundred sixty degrees with her own hand, creating a beautiful scene.
Hiltina jolted in shock, the Night Blade and Chariot Sequence Long Rank were automatically activated, a silvery flame igniting in her eyes, the pendants in her arms bursting with dazzling brilliance, gorgeous patterns appearing.
After some time, Hiltina barely suppressed the strange brutal impulse at the bottom of her heart, the silver fire in her eyes slowly extinguishing.
On her right arm, a pitch-black cross pattern gradually faded under the pounding of the rain, finally retreating from her fair skin.
Hiltina forcibly shifted her gaze away from Rast, who held a tremendous attraction to her, fearing that if she looked too long, the earlier impulse to twist off his head would turn into action.
“Rast, right now you feel like a beautiful doll to me, and I am like a mischievous child who just wants to rip the toy apart.”
“Normal phenomenon,” Rast replied without looking up: “Although there are no wounds infected, the lead box cannot completely seal that sculpture, there is still a slight pollution overflow, subtly affecting you.”
“However, it seems that your Sequence Long Rank is high enough, and your spirit is resilient enough, that the outbreak of the Iron Cross Plague can be temporarily suppressed without direct wound exposure.”
His voice remained calm in the rain: “By the way, Miss Hiltina, right now you seem like a delicious, tempting red bean paste bun to me…”
“Making it hard to resist the urge to crush the clean white outer skin and savor the delightful taste of sweet red bean paste bursting in my mouth.”
(End of Chapter)
