Chapter 371 - 371 Wax Statue
371 Wax Statue
A figure emerged slowly from the blood-stained river.
Lumian’s mind seemed to freeze momentarily for some inexplicable reason as he observed the figure crawling ashore. Instead of an immediate attack, he watched the figure climb out of the water.
The unfamiliar man’s face bore an eerie stiffness, and his clothes clung to him from being soaked in water. The latter seemed to merge with his flesh.
It was a wax statue, a wax statue that came to life!
Crimson blood seeped from the waxen figure, mixing with the river’s flow before smashing against the wild grass along the bank.
The wax statue’s light-blue eyes shifted slightly within their white sockets, casting a vague reflection of Lumian.
Meeting that gaze left Lumian feeling overwhelmed, unable to resist mentally or physically. Instinctual fear surged within him, drowning out all other emotions.
Suddenly, Lumian’s survival instincts kicked in, fully erupting and overpowering all other emotions and states.
Lumian’s vision was restored.
The wax statue, with its cold, unyielding eyes, was now less than a meter away. Its pale-white hand, dripping with blood, extended its fingers like deadly blades, thrusting toward him.
Lumian had no time to react. He raised his right palm to shield his face, and there was a resounding impact as the wax statue’s razor-sharp finger collided with his iron-black Flog boxing glove, adorned with short thorns.
Where the boxing glove fell short, the wax statue’s finger pierced Lumian’s palm, leaving a conspicuous wound on his face.
Had he not shaken off the initial intimidation, the blow might have punctured his skull and reached his brain.
The familiar searing pain jolted Lumian awake. Clenching his left hand, he conjured a blazing crimson flame and launched a powerful punch at the wax statue’s face from the side.
Simultaneously, with a smile, he tightened his right palm, using his own flesh and blood to hinder the wax statue’s right hand, preventing it from evading his fiery strike.
Bang!
The Flog boxing gloves knocked the wax statue’s head askew, and the iron-black thorns on their surface etched exaggerated scratches onto its unyielding face, the wounds shifting from deep to superficial.
Despite the vivid flow of bright red blood, there was no flesh-like texture to the injuries, only layers of wax that seemed to melt under an invisible fire.
In response, blood-colored capillaries extended from the wax statue’s light-blue eyes, exuding an intense, bloodthirsty desire that lent it an eerie vitality, making it resemble the living.
Lumian had chosen the Flog boxing gloves for its potency, a mystical weapon of utmost power, especially against the creature that Termiboros had labeled as dangerous. He couldn’t afford to be careless. However, he never expected his enemy to be a wax statue rather than a living being.
It rendered the Flog’s ability to evoke specific desires or emotions ineffective; it could only serve as a defensive tool.
If not for the bizarre intimidation, Lumian would have discarded his boxing gloves and opted for the Decency brooch. Now, with his adversary before him, he had no choice but to stick with the Flog gloves, focusing instead on Fire Infusion.
To his astonishment, his punch had ignited the wax statue’s bloodlust, suggesting that the entity retained a degree of life, along with faint emotions and desires of its own.
“Good to see you’re still kicking!” Lumian’s grin widened.
He pulled back his right palm, gritting his teeth through the pain, and his fiery fist realigned the wax statue’s head.
The wax statue, its bloodthirsty desires now heightened, showed no inclination to increase the distance between them. It resumed its intimidating tactics, instinctively and desperately engaging in close combat with Lumian.
This played perfectly into Lumian’s strategy. His iron-black boxing gloves, ablaze with crimson flames, consistently clashed with the wax statue’s limbs, fists, shoulders, torso, and head in rapid, precise succession.
Each punch lacked brute force; what Lumian needed was a relentless onslaught.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bang! Bang! Bang! Lumian’s fists, adorned with the Flog gloves, trailed crimson flames, effectively suppressing the agile and skilled wax statue to the point where it couldn’t employ any other abilities.
His feet executed a fluid dance of stepping forward and raising knees to fend off the attacks from below.
Within a mere ten to twenty seconds, the wax statue abruptly ceased its movements, and an ethereal explosion emanated from its form.
The capillaries within its eyes ruptured, staining the once light-blue hue a vivid crimson. Cracks crisscrossed its head, connecting with the injuries inflicted by the Flog gloves.
Desire Detonation!
Lumian’s relentless assault had triggered the Desire Detonation effect of the Flog boxing gloves.
In response, Lumian withdrew his fists and watched in silence as the wax statue’s blood-red eyes revealed signs of pain.
Two crimson teardrops slowly welled up at the corners of its eyes, streaming down its waxy cheeks.
The wax statue opened its mouth as if attempting to speak, yet no sound escaped.
Rumble!
A muffled explosion emanated from within its body, and the exaggerated wounds extended across its form.
Crimson flames erupted from these regions, engulfing the wax statue entirely.
Fire Infusion!
Amidst the fierce inferno, the wax statue rapidly softened, its body dripping with blood-stained, viscous droplets.
Thud!
It collapsed to the ground.
What kind of monster is this? Lumian gazed at the fallen creature for more than ten seconds, his Hunter’s instincts telling him that this prey couldn’t possess Beyonder characteristics.
During this moment, he retrieved his briefcase and carefully stowed away the Flog boxing gloves.
Without hesitation, Lumian turned and exited the forest.
Behind him, crimson flames surged, consuming his dripping blood.
Within the blazing inferno, the wax statue had melted beyond recognition. Lumian’s figure gradually faded, disappearing not far from the scene.
Spirit world traversal!
To evade the attention of evil gods and the dangerous entities summoned by the Flog boxing gloves, Lumian shifted his position, effectively “teleporting” to a nearby town.
It was a location he had scouted in advance, with precise coordinates within the spirit world.
After several dozen seconds, the forest path was suddenly replaced by a desolate wilderness, with only a few flickering flames remaining.
The weeds gradually flourished, and the figure of a person in a white robe materialized swiftly.
This figure donned a light-colored veil, and her abdomen was notably swollen. An unmistakable maternal aura enveloped her form. It was Lady Moon of the Nightstalkers.
Lady Moon directed her gaze towards the entirely melted, blood-stained wax statue, silently observing the dance of crimson flames.
After more than ten seconds of contemplation, the woman and the desolate wilderness vanished.
…
In a room within the main building of Red Swan Castle,Count Poufer, clad in a red shirt and sleek black trousers, occupied a cluttered desk. His icy stare remained fixed upon the wax statue’s head placed before him.
The head bore an uncanny resemblance to a living being, with light-blue eyes and jet-black hair.
As the silence lingered, Count Poufer couldn’t conceal a hint of restlessness. Occasionally, he tugged at his collar, shifted in his chair, and even unbuttoned the top of his shirt, as if the air had grown unnaturally thin, impeding his breathing.
As time ticked by, the wax statue’s head suddenly emitted an ominous cracking sound.
It shattered into numerous pieces, each one grotesquely melted.
Poufer shot to his feet in shock, his pupils dilating in disbelief.
Tiny blood vessels protruded from his eyes, ruptured, and dyed them a vivid shade of red.
It was killed? Poufer murmured to himself, his astonishment mingling with suspicion.
Ciel Dubois was even more mysterious and formidable than he had initially thought!
Even if he wasn’t, the hidden faction operating behind him was!
Count Poufer paced back and forth with a solemn expression.
…
After Lumian “teleported” to the town ahead, he exercised caution, remaining concealed in the shadows while meticulously calculating the time.
Only when he felt that a Hunter could potentially reach his location from the forest by running did he cautiously make his way into the town. He located the carriage driver and arranged for his return to 11 Rue des Fontaines in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative.
In a room adorned with bookshelves, Lumian fixed his gaze upon Gardner Martin, who held a cigar in his hand. Lumian spoke frankly, “I was attacked.”
There was no way to hide the truth from the Boss.
“Huh?” Gardner Martin responded in his distinctive nasal tone.
Lumian proceeded to recount the events, detailing how he had chosen the King’s Pie slice after Count Poufer and subsequently felt a frenzied spirit attempting to invade him. He described how he had utilized Fire Infusion to dismantle and melt the wax statue, displaying the wounds on his hands and face.
What Lumian chose not to reveal was that he had discerned why the frenzied consciousness hadn’t fully occupied his body and that he had used the Flog boxing gloves. He attributed the former to an unknown cause.
Gardner Martin smoked his cigar, listening quietly, unsurprised that Lumian’s mind had remained incorrupt.
Had he displayed any hint of astonishment or suspicion, Lumian would have swiftly “invited” Mr. K to eliminate the Iron and Blood Cross Order’s stronghold.
With a cigar in hand, Gardner Martin smiled and remarked, “It appears that the official members of our Iron and Blood Cross Order are more favored by Poufer’s ancestor’s spirit than Poufer himself. However, we also instill fear in it.”
Does this refer to Beyonders who have succumbed to the peculiar corruption at 13 Avenue du Marché? The frenzied consciousness won’t invade the other formal members of the Iron and Blood Cross Order, even in the absence of the Blood Emperor’s aura? I wonder how true this is. Why don’t you give it a try, Boss? Lumian suddenly felt the urge to goad Gardner Martin into playing King’s Pie with Count Poufer.
“Now, I’ve confirmed something,” Gardner Martin’s expression grew serious. “The ancestor of the Sauron family, Vermonda Sauron, is not truly deceased. He exists in a manner beyond our current comprehension.”