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墨書 Inktalez
Blood Baron transformed, and at this moment, Bu had already activated his skills in a daze, increasing all his attributes by twenty percent and entering the Bloodthirsty State.
With his current Agility, he was now nearly on par with Benson, reaching a terrifying 44 points. An Intermediate Level thief, even one focused on Agility, likely had an Agility Value of just over 40 points, making Bu's stats comparable.
As Benson executed a tricky strike still in mid-air, Bu's Speed suddenly doubled, hitting the maximum limit of 44 points for Agility Value.
The blood-red figure flashed past like a ghost; the incredible Speed made Benson's heart tighten. Just as he attempted to dodge, it was already too late—Bu suddenly appeared behind him.
With arms outstretched and a cold smile at the corner of his mouth, Bu fiercely embraced the still retreating Benson, his powerful grip resembling a raging flood. His arms constricted violently, and his bulging muscles felt as strong as steel.
With Bu's current ferocious strength attribute of 5 points, he was practically a humanoid beast.
Caught off guard, Benson let out a painful cry as he was squeezed by this bear hug, the sound of cracking bones echoing. He hurriedly pushed with all his might, his face turning red as he struggled to resist; despite trembling all over, he barely held up against Bu's overwhelming force.
Indeed, a strong individual at the Intermediate level was unmatched in power; even among thieves, once they reached Intermediate, their strength value would be at least above 5 points.
Bu Shuang's eyes turned increasingly blood-red, and a frenzied killing intent surged within him. This uncontrollable feeling was reminiscent of the demonic eruption from before.
Letting out a low growl like a beast that had lost its mind, Step looked extremely ferocious, his eyes red as if dripping with blood. He slowly contracted his arms; the immense power caused his muscles to bulge, stretching his originally loose robe to its limits.
Benson screamed in desperation as his rounded arms were forced back, joints cracking incessantly. Veins bulged on half of his face, blood rushing to it until it turned crimson. He opened his mouth wide and let out a hoarse roar while struggling with all his might; beneath the Metal Mask, his face resembled that of a demon.
With a sharp crack, Benson's hands were brutally crushed by Bu. The intense pain made him scream in agony, his voice shrill and mournful.
Bu's hands faced no further obstruction; the terrifying force descended upon Benson's body like an avalanche. The sound of cracking bones echoed like popping beans from Benson.
The breath of death loomed over Benson's heart, his ribs nearly crushed, blood vessels burst, and skin torn open. He felt a long-unfamiliar threat of death; he was unwilling, so unwilling!
Benson screamed in terror, his voice piercing like the shriek of a night owl, jarring to the ears. His eyes were bloodshot, a fierce determination igniting from deep within. With a flick of his tongue, Cold Light appeared as he suddenly twisted his neck with decisive action.
A chilling sound of bones cracking echoed out as Benson's neck made a one hundred eighty-degree turn, as if it had been violently snapped. All of this happened in an instant, too fast for Bu to react.
He stared in shock at Benson, who was face to face with him, the half of the Metal Mask revealing a terrifyingly dark visage.
With a cold smile, Benson's expression was eerily sinister; despite his neck being completely twisted, he was still alive.
Bu Xin sensed something was wrong and was about to make a move when Cold Light approached swiftly. He felt an icy chill at his neck followed by a sharp pain, and then warm blood gushed out.
A suffocating sensation overwhelmed Bu's mind. He felt as if his throat were leaking air, making it difficult to breathe. With each breath, blood poured out in torrents, and a strong wave of dizziness crashed over him, blurring his vision.
Benson felt exhilarated after landing the blow. He looked at Bu's somewhat desperate face with a mix of hatred and satisfaction.
He had been gravely injured; there was no escaping the Aldra Family now. The only outcome left for him was death. But if he could drag down the mastermind behind his suffering before he died, he would die without regrets.
The System Notification Sound rang incessantly as Bu's consciousness began to fade. He felt so tired and wanted to sleep.
Bu knew that if he fell asleep now, he would truly be dead; yet he could not resist the overwhelming urge to succumb to sleep.
Blood pooled around his throat, and through the gory wound, it was clear that Bu's trachea had been severed.
Locke desperately ran toward Bu's location, but the short distance of just a few dozen meters felt like an insurmountable chasm at that moment. Time seemed to stretch infinitely; what should have taken only two seconds felt like an eternity.
Bu slowly closed his eyes, and it seemed that the flame of his life was about to extinguish. The vampire's formidable recovery ability appeared to have failed him at this critical moment.
Benson cackled loudly, his ribs shattered and the cartilage in his neck broken, pain coursing through his entire body. Yet he laughed with great satisfaction, shaking his powerless hands in an attempt to break free from Bu's embrace. The more he struggled, the harder he laughed. The cold light of the Metal Mask glimmered ominously under the moonlight, and he seemed completely deranged.
"Master! Master..." Locke shouted anxiously, his voice filled with fear and sorrow. His figure running appeared distant, as if from another world.
Bu seemed to hear this call from deep within his soul. His eyes, on the brink of death, opened slightly. He saw Locke and the anxious, fearful expression on his face, but everything felt so illusory, like flowers seen through a fog.
His hands gradually relaxed weakly, and his body fell slowly to the ground alongside the laughing Benson, dust rising like a sigh of life.
"Master! Hold on! You must hold on... you can't die." Locke continued to shout, his voice becoming hoarse, yet the distance still felt so far away.
"Die? Am I going to die?" Bu felt dazed and confused.
"Stupid Brent, damn Brent, rogue Brent, big bad guy." Wendy's quirky and adorable figure suddenly appeared in Bu's mind, shaking her fist at him with an adorably pouting expression. Her voice seemed ethereal, as if it would vanish in the next moment.
Bu suddenly awakened.
"Wendy?" A voice as hoarse as a broken windbag escaped his lips. He opened his eyes wide and immediately felt overwhelming weakness and pain.
This feeling of weakness spread throughout his body in an instant, and the intense suffocation from losing consciousness surged like a tidal wave.
"No, I can't die. I won't die. I still have to kill the Holy Dragon, slap that Old Guy Warren Earl, and Wendy..." Bu Xin shouted in despair, his voice filled with anger.
The body that had felt unusually cold from blood loss suddenly regained a bit of warmth. This was the determination of his spirit, the unwillingness to perish. His will transformed into a storm that swept through him, awakening the heart of a warrior within.
"Thump, thump."
These were the beats of his heart, the essence of his life. As long as his heart beats, his soul endures. He had his own convictions and a place he needed to protect—a soft land that represented his will to survive.
He felt a flicker of sensation returning to his body, like a candle extinguished by the wind being reignited by flames, bringing warmth back into his being.
Looking at Benson, who was laughing maniacally before him, the laughter gradually became clearer to his ears. Bu Qiang suppressed the overwhelming sense of weakness and faintness; his exhausted body felt utterly devoid of strength.
Everything that was happening felt like an instant, yet time seemed frozen in this moment, stretching out infinitely.
Locke was now close to Bu's side, nervously fidgeting. His gaze was filled with fear and anxiety as he looked at the hopeless wound on Bu's neck. He didn't know when his master would die; at this moment, Locke felt utterly lost.
"Locke..." Bu spoke weakly, each word draining what little life he had left.
"Master, what is your command? Locke will do anything," Locke replied, deeply disheartened. He knew Bu was nearing death; this was his first master and would be his last.
No matter how much he had initially hated this master, over time and through their long companionship, Locke had gradually grown accustomed to and accepted it.
He felt that his life had become stable and warm. Although he was a Servant, this unique master had never made things difficult for him or forced him to do menial tasks that servants typically did.
He had already developed a fondness for this master's rough demeanor and absurdity, and he had witnessed this master's excellence firsthand. He would become a leading figure among the younger generation of the Crook Duchy, treating him like a brother.
Now, was such a master, who treated him like a brother, about to die?
"Master, don't worry. After you pass away, I will find the mastermind behind this and avenge you," Locke said, sorrowful to the point of tears. He shouted with sincerity, as if making a vow.
The breath that had been held in Locke's chest nearly escaped due to his grand declaration. He widened his eyes in disbelief, looking at Locke's expression of utter grief and said in exasperation, "Damn it, I'm not dead yet! Are you cursing me to death?"
After finishing his words, Locke suddenly grabbed Benson's hair and lifted him off the ground. His face was flushed red as he produced a shiny, sharp dagger and pressed it hard against Benson's heart.
This sudden action jolted the seemingly mad Benson back to reality. He looked at the sharp dagger in Locke's hand, his eyes revealing a complex mix of relief and fear.
Locke held the severely injured Benson by his ribs and looked at him with immense sorrow, noticing the wound on his throat. The wound was bleeding profusely... wait, what was going on?
Locke was startled and almost plunged the dagger directly into Benson's chest. He stared wide-eyed at Benson's throat and realized he wasn't imagining things.
The tissue around Benson's throat was actually recovering at a slow speed. Although the trachea was still ruptured, it had not completely severed; it was slowly healing like a lotus root that was broken yet still connected.
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