Chapter 142
Chapter 142
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 142: Frey’s Great Wisdom
The autumn wind blew bleak and cold. The colors of sunset were steadily devoured by the heavy clouds, leaving the world drenched in shades of gray and black.
The dense forest carried a strange, oppressive darkness. The already weak light could no longer pierce the growing shadows.
The Saintess of Destruction staggered forward, her breath ragged and heavy as she pushed through the trees.
Her Forced Dispel had finally come off cooldown, cleansing her of all negative conditions.
The searing pain in her throat eased at last, and the curses—reduced healing, bleeding, and countless other debuffs—were gone.
Her boots sank into damp, chilled soil as she pressed onward without pause.
All she needed was to keep her distance until night fell and her strength returned. When the Blood Lord awoke, she would once more borrow the Blood Clan’s authority and storm back to the cathedral.
Tonight, she vowed, she would at least slaughter two of them—gut them open, hang their intestines across the cathedral’s hall, and let them bleed out in agony until death finally claimed them.
Better still… she would seize that half-demon duchess who always clung to Lan Qi’s side, peel away her skin and flesh, and spread it across the cathedral’s banquet table—so that tomorrow morning, Lan Qi himself would witness her most wretched, hideous death.
Would he still be able to keep that indifferent smile then?
Just imagining his expression made the Saintess’s lips tremble with excitement.
Even if she couldn’t kill Lan Qi tonight, she would pluck away all his fangs and claws. Let him stand alone, powerless. No matter how many epic cards he had, he would no longer be a threat to her!
As for that brainless detective, he was probably still on the way back, having spotted the Shadow World’s prompt. He would come running back in a sorry state, thinking himself clever.
He likely believed everything had already been resolved by his teammates.
But what he didn’t know was this—when he finally climbed back up the cliff, that moment would also be his death.
The Saintess of Destruction would be waiting there. She would watch him claw his way up, then swing her blazing magic sword to hack off his hands, sending him tumbling eight hundred meters down the cliffside—smashed into nothing but bloody pulp!
“You made your first mistake… crossing the Resurrection Church.”
Her voice was cold, venomous, full of ruthless resolve.
But as she thought these things, she failed to notice something wrong beneath her feet.
Suddenly—her step fell into emptiness. Weightlessness swallowed her whole.
It was as if the solid world had collapsed into void.
A deep, black pit yawned open beneath her, like the throat of a beast in the night—swallowing her in an instant.
BOOM!!!
With a deafening crash that rattled her skull, she slammed into the bottom of a several-meter-deep pit.
Her body shook with pain.
“AHHHH—!!”
Jagged spikes tore through her flesh, piercing muscle and bone alike.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, her pupils shrinking violently, her face contorted with shock and horror.
A third-tier earth spell—one that could instantly conjure a hidden pit in the soil.
But the trap itself wasn’t the deadliest part.
What truly terrified her were the venomous spikes and hunting traps packed within the pit.
Pain erupted like fire across her body, sharp and relentless, as if thousands of needles were stabbing her at once. Her screams, ragged and agonized, echoed through the jungle.
Then—through her trembling vision—she saw a shadow stretching across the pit.
Footsteps approached, calm and ghostly, each one like the whisper of death itself.
A tall figure emerged, silent and unyielding, like a statue carved from the darkness. His long coat whipped in the wind as he gazed down at her from above.
When the Saintess saw his face, her heart clenched in terror.
It was a face she knew.
Standing at the pit’s edge, heavy crossbow in hand, his features half-concealed by shadow. Only the violet eyes glinting behind his half-slipped sunglasses shone with the cold arrogance of the night sky.
Frey.
He looked at her as one might look at a wounded stag—trapped, helpless, thrashing in vain.
The Saintess’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her heart sank into an icy abyss.
The world went silent again.
Everything seemed to unfold in cruel, merciless slow motion.
“You—”
Before she could finish, an arrow thundered through the air.
It pierced her shoulder and pinned her to the wall of the pit.
Her scream tore through the jungle.
Frey had loosed the heavy bolt without a word.
The crossbow was slow, its arrows few—but each shot was devastatingly lethal, armor-piercing, and impossible to ignore.
“Why… why are you here?!!”
The Saintess roared, her voice hoarse and ragged.
“Are you stupid? By the rules of the Shadow World, you were never supposed to climb the mountain to solve the case.”
Frey’s voice was flat, almost mocking, as though questioning her intelligence.
“……?”
The Saintess froze.
His matter-of-fact tone made her feel as though her very brain had been ground into the dirt.
And then she remembered—the detective’s decisive leap down the cliff this morning, fooling them all.
She finally understood: his act had been nothing more than a psychological feint, shifting all pressure onto Lan Qi’s sword-tomb tactics. Meanwhile, the detective himself had vanished into the jungle, transformed into a hunter lying in wait.
And now, hours later, he had caught his prey.
“Give up. My strength here far surpasses yours.”
Frey reloaded his heavy crossbow, aiming straight at her. The steel tip gleamed with deadly cold light.
“Hahaha… hahahaha!”
The Saintess wrenched the bolt from her shoulder, letting blood gush freely, and raised her flaming sword with a mad laugh.
“Then let’s die together!!”
The truth—that Lan Qi and Frey had toyed with her all along—snapped the last thread of her sanity.
Neither Lan Qi, nor Frey—she could forgive neither of them!
Even if it cost her life, she would take this mocking detective down with her.
…
Inside the cathedral, the challengers’ hope dwindled like the sun sinking into night.
Beneath the rose window, the Imperial Priestess—another Rebirth cultist, guarded by Huperion and the young sister—finally stirred from unconsciousness.
She looked around, saw the exhausted, wounded challengers, and noted the Saintess’s absence.
And then, she laughed. A wild, unrestrained laugh.
For she knew: the Saintess of Destruction, Adelice, had struck them a grievous blow—and still escaped alive.
Tonight… would be the night of blood sacrifice!