Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

Unlike Roland, who was on full alert, the white-robed figure paid the recent attack no mind at all.

He slowly extended a long, scarlet tongue, deliberately licking his chapped lips like a gourmand preparing for a grand feast.

His golden eyes, shimmering with an eerie light, were locked onto the young man before him, churning with an irrepressible desire.

"I don’t know what gutter that fool Morne is hiding in, trembling in fear, but..."

The white-robed figure’s gaze greedily swept over Roland’s entire body.

The pine-straight spine, the broad, powerful shoulders, the well-defined muscles.

Every inch of him was a delicacy the figure coveted.

Recalling Roland’s heroic figure in battle at the Black Water Manor, he gave an imperceptible nod, the corner of his mouth beneath the hood curling into a strange arc.

"Compared to that waste Gavin’s son... this little one is simply... too perfect..."

At this thought, the white-robed figure could no longer restrain himself. With a flicker, he strode forward.

Seeing this, Roland swung his sword in a backhand strike, almost by pure instinct.

But the result was just as hopeless as before.

The blade passed through the white-robed figure’s body without any resistance, like slicing through a wisp of intangible mist.

Even stranger, the loose white robe he wore didn’t even wrinkle, as if the sword strike had been a mere illusion.

’Damn it!’

Roland cursed fiercely in his heart as he dodged nimbly to the side, narrowly avoiding the pale, claw-like shadow that swiped at him.

However, before he could regain his footing, a sudden palpitation made him catch his breath.

As the white-robed figure drew closer, the surrounding air grew chillingly cold at an astonishing rate.

More horrifyingly, Roland could clearly feel his stamina being slowly and continuously drained by some invisible force, as if his Life Energy was being siphoned out through countless tiny needles.

But Roland had no time to investigate the source of this bizarre phenomenon.

The white-robed figure attacked again, sticking to him like a shadow.

In the span of just a few breaths, Roland had launched several fierce attacks.

His sword cut through the air and his fists whistled, yet it was always like striking at mist; he couldn’t even touch the corner of the figure’s robes.

Meanwhile, his opponent’s eerie steps brought him closer and closer, the loose white robes tracing dazzling arcs through the air.

’A Spiritual Body Type creature?’

The thought flashed through Roland’s mind after a few probing attacks.

The creature’s complete immunity to physical attacks was remarkably similar to the Undead Creatures from his past life’s memories, like the Witch Demon and Evil Spirit.

’Run!’

Confirming that his attacks were useless against the enemy before him, Roland made a split-second decision. He kicked off the ground with all his might, shooting like an arrow from a bow toward the window at the end of the hallway.

CRASH!

Amidst the crisp sound of shattering glass, he flipped through the air and landed steadily on his feet, then immediately broke into a sprint without a moment’s pause.

"Running away? A wise decision, but..."

The white-robed figure chuckled softly. He took only a single step forward, yet his form strangely closed the distance, as if space itself were warping beneath his feet.

"It’s merely the desperate struggle of a cornered animal."

The street was as silent as a grave.

Roland’s figure darted across the empty street, his boots treading over scattered streamers and wine cups, yet no one was disturbed.

His breathing was ragged, his gaze locked straight ahead.

Behind him, the white-robed figure followed like a shadow. Each step seemed to shrink the distance, unhurried yet relentlessly closing in.

The lanterns on either side swayed on their own, casting two elongated shadows that chased one another through the dead remains of the festival.

No one witnessed this escape.

Only the crooked stalls, toppled wine barrels, and the hollow eyes of a still-spinning puppet reflected their Residual Shadows.

’What the hell!’

Seeing that he still couldn’t put any distance between them despite running with all his might, Roland muttered with a deep frown.

But his pace didn’t falter in the slightest; instead, he ran even faster.

Before long, the inn where he was temporarily staying finally came into view.

’Finally made it!’

After a slight sigh of relief, Roland didn’t dare to relax one bit.

He bolted through the inn’s main door, taking the stairs two or three at a time as he sprinted straight for his room.

Although his knowledge of Spiritual Body Type creatures wasn’t deep, Roland was certain they were by no means invincible.

’If physical attacks don’t work on it...’

As he pondered, Roland violently threw open his door, quickly retrieved the set of white bones from a hidden compartment, and deftly fitted it onto his left wrist.

The very moment he finished this action, that familiar, hair-raising chill once again swept over his entire body.

With no time to turn around, Roland instinctively dropped and rolled.

Almost at the same instant, the wooden cabinet behind him made a soft *TCH* sound, as if it had been cleanly sliced apart by an invisible blade.

But Roland had no time to worry about the commotion behind him.

The moment he rolled into the corner of the room, his thoughts raced. The surrounding Magic Elements immediately surged like a tide toward the white bones, then flowed along his wrist where it touched the bones, rushing toward the depths of his consciousness.

Just as the Magic Power was about to touch the Rune in his Consciousness Shallows, Roland abruptly raised his arm and whipped his head around.

However, what met his eyes was not the white-robed figure, but a pair of vertical pupils glowing with a golden, eerie light.

As the vertical pupils suddenly constricted, the eerie light surged out like a tidal wave, and a sharp pain shot through the depths of his mind.

In an instant, the world spun before Roland’s eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a blood-red wasteland. Beneath his feet was a viscous, sickening bog of blood that he sank into with every step.

A twisted, broken moon hung in the sky, its dark red light staining the entire world in a bizarre hue.

Countless half-rotten arms reached out from the bloody bog, their sharp nails scraping against his pant legs with a sound that set his teeth on edge.

"Come... join us..."

Hoarse whispers came from all directions, mingled with the clicking sound of grinding bones.

In the distance, dozens of skeletons draped in rotting flesh shambled toward him, eerie green Ghost Fire flickering in their hollow eye sockets.

Even more terrifying, Roland discovered his own skin was beginning to rot at a visible rate.

First his fingers began to blacken, then his arms, and the putrid stench of decay assaulted his nostrils.

Fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake, nearly suffocating him.

In this moment of life and death, a cold and solid power welled up from the depths of his soul.

......

......

"Heh..."

The white-robed figure watched the motionless Roland, a disdainful smirk playing on his lips.

’His strength is decent, but in the end, he’s only a mortal...’

’If you had stepped into the Extraordinary Realm, you might have had a chance to break free. What a pity...’

However, before this thought could even fade, the scene before him made his pupils contract.

The young man, who had been hanging his head, suddenly looked up. His once-vacant pupils instantly regained their clarity, and his sharp gaze pierced forward like a blade.

’This is impossible!’

A storm raged in the white-robed figure’s mind.

’He broke free from the Illusion Realm in less than a breath? Even a true Extraordinary Professional...’

But reality gave him no room to think.

Because at Roland’s fingertips, a dazzling flame had already begun to dance.