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墨書 Inktalez
"Th-this... this..." Locke was stunned by the miraculous scene before him, stuttering as he spoke, his dagger trembling in his hand. The sharpness of it made Benson's face turn pale, and he cursed inwardly, "Unfading God, his whole family! Is there any need to torment someone like this?"
"Master, are you feeling any better?" Locke asked excitedly, trembling all over. He spoke softly, as if afraid that raising his voice even slightly would cause Bu to meet his end.
Rolling his eyes, Bu glanced at Benson being held by Locke and weakly rasped, "Locke, bring this damned Fellow closer to me. Can you see the fangs in my mouth?"
It was extremely difficult for Bu to say this. With each word he uttered, it felt as if a fire was burning in his throat, accompanied by an increasingly suffocating sensation, as if all the oxygen in the bottle had been consumed by flames.
"Yes, Master, I see them," Locke replied, filled with many questions. He looked at Bu's sharp and fierce fangs, which only added to his confusion. However, he knew that this was not the time to ask questions and buried his curiosity deep within.
"Align this Fellow's neck with my fangs... I've lost too much blood. I need to drink his blood to recover quickly."
Bu spoke in a fragmented manner; the pain in his lungs felt like fire burning him from within. This was the sensation of oxygen running out, yet he dared not breathe deeply for fear of tearing open his wounds.
After hearing his master's bizarre request, Locke was momentarily stunned. What kind of healing method is this? Bloodsucking for recovery?
Benson felt a chill in his heart. He had already found this Brent character somewhat strange, but now hearing that the other party wanted to drink his blood sent shivers down his spine. The eerie request made Benson tremble with fear; half of his face hidden behind the Metal Mask turned pale.
He did not fear death; being injured to such an extent meant he was already half in the embrace of death—he would die sooner or later. However, dying in such a bizarre manner—having one's blood drained—was something he could hardly accept.
Locke snapped back to reality. Although he found Bu's command perplexing, he still complied.
He held Benson's body and disregarded Benson's weak struggles and terrified expression as he slowly aligned Benson's neck with Bu's open mouth, where a pair of wolf-like fangs awaited.
Benson was filled with dread; his entire body resisted fiercely. He cursed incessantly, spitting blood mixed with saliva everywhere. It was a mystery how his broken neck managed to hold on.
It was quite ironic that a powerful thief at Intermediate Level was being held by a low-level Level 1 thief and was about to be sent to the grave.
The powerful side could only curse like a shrew, unable to resist; the weaker side remained expressionless, as if about to crush an ant.
This is the difference between success and failure, with no talk of fairness, regardless of whether the means are righteous. The facts speak louder than words.
When the defeated perish and turn to dust, how many future generations will remember them? How many will know the truth of their demise? The truth of reality lies solely in the hands of the victors.
Benson's fragile neck was positioned before Bu's mouth, and the hot breath he exhaled in fear formed a ring of white mist at his nostrils.
Coldness—he felt a bone-chilling cold, a fear of death.
Throughout his life, he had lost count of how many people he had killed, accepting missions from others to take lives for money. This was his way of life; killing had become a habit.
He remembered many nights like this one when he had taken lives, relishing the fear in others' eyes as their blood flowed joyfully, sending their souls back into the embrace of death.
But now, winter had just arrived; he hadn't even seen the snowflakes of this year before he was to die here. On this night, it was not him watching others die but rather observing the flower of his own life about to wither.
"Is this what they call karma?" Beneath his grotesque half-Metal Mask, Benson wore a smile of relief.
With a hiss, sharp fangs pierced Benson's fragile skin, like two steel needles plunging into his neck, reaching his blood vessels.
It was unimaginable agony, yet Benson laughed maniacally through the pain. His features began to stiffen; once plump flesh started to shrivel, blue veins bulged beneath his skin, his body grew cold, and his gaze became vacant.
A vampire. Bu fed for the second time but this was his first taste of human blood.
He felt the wound on his neck healing rapidly, strength gradually returning to his body. Yet he couldn't feel joy; instead, he was overwhelmed by intense nausea and revulsion.
But he had no choice; he had to continue. This was a world that devoured people.
A person who has never been in such a situation cannot truly understand. Bu felt helpless; he did not want to drink blood. Although he was a vampire, that was not an excuse.
However, he needed to survive. Sometimes, many things cannot be controlled by one's desires. There are many situations completely beyond his influence. He did not possess the power to resist because resistance would mean his death, and a death without value—neither for dignity, nor for obsession, nor for ideals.
Benson could strike at him without hesitation, always wanting to take his life. Could he just stand there and let the other kill him?
If you want my life, then I will drink your blood. The law of the jungle prevails.
As the blood flowed away, Benson's breath grew weaker until finally, his entire body trembled as if in a spasm, his shriveled form resembling a corpse, completely dead.
Locke witnessed the entire process of Benson's death. A chill began to creep up his spine. The manner of death was too bizarre and cruel; he looked at Bu with a hint of awe in his eyes.
With a chime, the System Notification Sound echoed.
At this moment, the wound on Bu's throat had healed significantly, and the blood he had lost was replenished. His pale face gradually regained some color, and he felt warmth returning to his cold body as his heart began to beat strongly.
Focusing on the information module, he found it filled with numerous System prompts.
“System Prompt: Passive trigger of Racial Gift—Blood Baron transformation.”
“System Prompt: Body condition has entered near-death at 10%. Please seek timely treatment.”
“System Prompt: Body condition has entered near-death at 7%. Please seek timely treatment.”
“System Prompt: Body condition has entered near-death at 5%. Please seek timely treatment.”
“System Prompt: Over-level kill of human Intermediate Level Blood Shadow Thief—Benson?? Benson the Shatter. Experience doubled; total experience gained: 800 points.”
Upon seeing the previous System notifications, Bu Xin was filled with dread, cold sweat breaking out all over his body. He hurriedly accessed his personal attribute module and checked his current physical condition, letting out a sigh of relief at the results.
Fortunately, he had escaped the brink of death and had recovered to a weak 1%.
It seemed that the vampire's formidable recovery ability was not infallible. For instance, after having his throat cut by an enemy, he found it nearly impossible to recover quickly. If it weren't for Bu Qiang sustaining himself long enough to drain the enemy's blood, he might have already been dead.
For a vampire, bloodsucking was not only instinctual but also a powerful skill necessary for survival.
Bu then noticed the System notification received for killing Benson.
Killing an Intermediate Level enemy granted a substantial 800 points of Experience. Indeed, the stronger the opponent, the greater the reward in Experience.
If he could kill a High-Level warrior now, the generous Experience reward would likely allow him to level up several times.
He chuckled bitterly and sighed.
An Intermediate Level Fellow had almost cost him his life; if it weren't for triggering his Racial Gift, he would have been reduced to nothing. And as for a High-Level opponent, if they were to attack him, even ten of him combined wouldn't stand a chance against a single strike.
Struggling to rise from the ground, the duration of his Blood Baron transformation had ended. His eyes gradually regained clarity as the blood color faded; his sharp fangs shrank down to two canine teeth; and his blade-like fingernails slowly retracted back to their normal state.
Locke stepped forward to support Bu, though he had many questions in his mind, he chose not to voice them. If his master wanted to tell him something, he would do so naturally; if not, asking would be futile.
Despite having escaped life-threatening danger, Bu still felt extremely weak, with only about twenty percent of his full strength remaining.
Given the severity of his injuries, even with his recovery ability, it would take at least two days for him to fully recuperate.
Fortunately, the finals of the Sparta City Qualification Challenge were scheduled three days later, providing him ample time to recover to peak condition.
Bowing his head, Bu looked down at the ground where Benson's shriveled corpse lay quietly. His brown, fluffy long hair was disheveled, and the Metal Mask on his face glimmered with a cold light under the moonlight.
Bu Jing stood for a moment, deep in thought. He bent down to remove the Metal Mask, revealing Benson's entire face.
Ugly and disgusting, that was Bu's first impression.
The man's face displayed a stark contrast; one half was indistinguishable from that of a common person, merely a bit darker in complexion. However, the other half, concealed by the Metal Mask, resembled a mass of repulsive maggots gathered together, completely lacking any facial structure, as if it were just a pile of rotten flesh.
Bu frowned and discarded the Metal Mask.
"Locke, don't worry about me; I'm fine now. Please tidy up here while I head back to my room to rest." Bu gently removed Locke's hand and smiled at him before slowly walking toward his room.
"Understood, Master." Locke bowed slightly to Bu's figure and then began to clean up the chaotic battlefield after the battle.
After this incident, Locke had started to accept Bu's identity from the bottom of his heart. Unlike before, when he only held respect for Bu, he now felt an additional sense of awe towards him—a reverence for strength.
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