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墨書 Inktalez
With a desperate gamble, Freyr charged forward, plunging into an endless frenzy.
The Broken Back Flame Centipede roared and writhed, unable to shake off the figures clinging to its massive body.
The ground shattered under the strain of its frantic struggles, and the centipede's back was split open, revealing blood-red flesh that looked like a fruit sliced in half, exposing its soft, pulpy interior.
Beneath its skin, blood vessels burst, muscles and bones were severed, as the Crimson Sun Sword meticulously separated flesh from bone.
Despite this, the Broken Back Flame Centipede appeared far from dead; as long as its central nervous system remained intact, it could still thrash its enormous body in furious defiance, quickly attempting to break through the earth beneath it.
It resembled a prisoner in chains, the paralyzed creature desperately writhing to shake off the pain coursing through its body.
Suddenly, the massive form of the Broken Back Flame Centipede froze momentarily as a figure leaped down from above, gasping for breath.
He landed smoothly and quickly lifted the Old Hunter, John, hoisting him onto his shoulder and running with great effort.
At the moment he relaxed his focus, time resumed its flow.
The Hunters regained their ability to move, but in the next instant, disbelief washed over their faces as the colossal centipede crashed down heavily.
In that moment, the Hunters scattered in fear; they dreaded being crushed by the immense weight of the Broken Back Flame Centipede. They did not want to share John's grim fate and suffer debilitating injuries.
They were still unclear about what had transpired; this brief period felt incredibly short—just a few seconds—during which they could only stare at the centipede as a green light flickered across its body. They knew this was no miracle.
A thunderous crash echoed as the Broken Back Flame Centipede fell heavily into the pit it had created. Its still-moving limbs splintered apart while blood vessels ruptured one after another. A torrent of green fluid gushed forth from within. At least for now, it had not completely perished. It was easy to imagine just how formidable this creature's vitality truly was.
After all, a human would never survive such grievous wounds.
The Broken Back Flame Centipede was indeed not dead; its central nervous system had been severed, and its muscles cut open. Despite such severe injuries, it had not died immediately, indicating a remarkably strong vitality.
"Should we kill it? We almost faced total annihilation," someone questioned.
"Forget it, let it live," spoke a knowledgeable young hunter. "It won't survive like this anyway. Let's mark the coordinates and have the team come to take over. A living Broken Back Flame Centipede might be a valuable specimen for research. At least I think it's more valuable than a dead body."
"That's a disgusting thought, but I like your suggestion."
"Alright then, it's settled."
The other Hunters murmured among themselves but quickly reached a consensus.
Soon, the knowledgeable hunter approached Freyr, looking at him with a strange expression. "Where did you go just now? I didn't see you." In Anis's eyes, Freyr was indeed suspicious; no one really knew what his Ability level was. Clearly, he seemed like a liability—wherever he went, things never went particularly smoothly. If they encountered problems on the way, someone always had to explain things to him.
However, Anis did not share that view.
As the saying goes, appearances can be deceiving. Anis was not the type of hunter who particularly glorified violence; while fighting and killing were synonymous with being a hunter, he preferred to study combat without overly exposing his Ability. This made other hunters wary of him. Apart from his knowledge and strategies, they had no choice but to rely on him, even if he was often underestimated in battle.
Freyr forced a smile and said, "I was right in front of you." He disliked being in the spotlight; his low-key personality made it difficult for him to coexist with the more experienced members of the team.
Though he could express his opinions, there were times when he had to remain silent for the sake of team harmony. Tolerance was also a form of acceptance.
The other Hunters gathered closer, realizing that something was amiss as they listened to him.
Upon seeing the unconscious Old John on his back, a look of astonishment quickly appeared in his eyes.
The Hunters were caught in a chaotic battle. In the midst of the fight, when they saw their companions in danger, they should have reached out to help.
However, at the crucial moment, no one stepped forward to lend a hand, so there was no room to blame Freyr for always being absent during the fight.
It seemed they had almost forgotten about the Broken Back Flame Centipede, which lay buried in the deep pit behind them, gradually stiffening into a corpse.
No one connected the perfect kill to this newly initiated Hunter. As for Old John, who was losing blood rapidly, his lower body had been hastily bandaged.
A rough knot was tied around his pant leg, temporarily stopping the bleeding. The excessive blood loss and overwhelming pain had caused him to completely lose consciousness.
To fully recover would take much longer. The reattached Extra Limb needed time to regain mobility and stop rejecting it before he could be considered fully healed. At least a month in bed would be required, which for an Old Hunter of his age could mean the end of his career.
The golden years of a Hunter had passed, and with such severe injuries, even if he recovered completely, returning to his peak would be very difficult.
“Let’s go, Freyr. You carry John,” said a seasoned Middle-Aged Hunter, stepping forward as the Team Leader to make the decision.
Originally, the team was supposed to continue searching other targets, but with Old Hunter John injured unexpectedly, their formation was disrupted. Heading directly to the next destination for search operations without ensuring the injured's safety would be irresponsible.
At this point, they could only take the wounded John back to regroup and then select new Hunters to prepare for the next mission.
“Let’s move; don’t dawdle,” the leader turned back and saw Freyr panting heavily. Angered, he snapped at him to hurry up but then noticed that Freyr also looked unwell. The Gentlemanly Young Hunter beside him pulled John's arm.
With a swift motion, he hoisted John onto his back, prompting a wave of emotion from Freya as she watched.
"I know, you killed it." The Gentlemanly Young Hunter smiled mysteriously and continued, "This is a secret between us; I won't tell anyone."
"Oh, thank you," Freyr hurriedly replied.
He didn't do much; it was just a habitual response that slipped out.
The young man with a gentlemanly demeanor carried John on his back as if he were a bundle of cotton, feeling no weight at all.
Ahead, there were sounds of urging from the crowd as they moved away from the abandoned Farm.
As they walked away, a strange figure suddenly descended, and a dark purple light shattered the lifeless centipede.
The figure bent down, picked up the severed limbs of the centipede from the ground, and began to chew on them vigorously.
"Not enough, not enough, I want more, I need more!" came the intermittent voice.
At that moment, a loud noise suddenly erupted in the air not far away. The shadow looked up, its purple eyes narrowing to the size of pinpoints.
"They're coming, more are coming—" The shadow crushed the centipede's head underfoot, the tough flesh squished beneath its weight. A strange substance fell out from the severed head of the centipede, a dark mass landing at its feet.
It picked up the dark mass and swallowed it whole.
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