Journey to the End of the Night
Chapter 152 - 152 151 Terrifying Repair

152: Chapter 151: Terrifying Repair 152: Chapter 151: Terrifying Repair The more this man desired something, the stronger his urge to personally destroy and wreck it became.

But on one hand, he felt extremely conflicted and reluctant, fearing the anxiety of breaking his favorite toy, how then could he endure such long, tedious years?

If only it would obediently comply.

The man’s platinum eyes were replaced by a blood-red hue.

Soon after, Baili An’s serene voice arose, like a cool breeze sweeping over the mountain peaks at night.

“You offer me no choice at all,” he said, his voice as calm as if pronouncing a verdict, “From the moment I grasp the sword in my hand, the direction in which the sword tip points has already determined the existence of my enemy.

My only choice is to risk it all in a battle to determine the victor.”

“Victory means life, defeat means death.”

His pale, blood-stained face bore a calm and composure far beyond his peers.

Measured in speech, fearless in presence.

Through the darkness, he cast a glance at the injured Wen Hanwei.

Wen Hanwei was also watching him.

A smile emerged on his bloodstained, handsome face, “My sword has not yet completely fallen; how can you be sure I cannot injury you?”

Baili An stood unyielding, fearless, unsubmitting.

He said, “Pick up your sword, you may try.

Before you completely destroy me, let’s see if I can make you bleed.”

The man was startled a bit by his brisk, self-assured tone, then burst out laughing, “Hahahaha— I can’t tell if you’re naive or simply foolish!”

The man’s handsome features suddenly twisted with aggression, the crease between his eyebrows could stir and unsettle the wilderness.

Those undead corpse demons prostrating on the ground were so oppressed by this sudden terrifying aura that they vomited blood in fear, kneeling and continuously bowing, offering up praises and loyalty to their master.

Wen Hanwei’s body also suddenly felt heavy, as if a massive mountain bore down upon her.

Baili An looked upwards and took a deep breath.

Corpse demons could not breathe, but the air he inhaled turned into a mysterious nutrient, causing the crimson flower in his heart to circulate and bloom.

The garish red spider lilies bloomed across his pale skin, the exotic flowers spreading across half of his pale, handsome face.

Hurricanes and lightning, a harbinger of death, swirled around the silver sword tip.

The skin before the sword tip suddenly collapsed inward as countless gusts of wind were compressed by the hurricane, scattering in all directions.

Baili An did not utilize his own power.

This sword strike was powered by Devour.

Because the feedback was not something from the realm of Kaiyuan, the sword strike was formidable!

The man sensed something, his composed smile freezing on his face, his pupils narrowing sharply into fine slits.

Pff!

A piercing sound, like that of puncturing a water bladder.

Blood splashed, Baili An’s visage was a cascade of crimson over crimson, the cold blood wetting his face, staining his hands, and even a few drops splattering into the wounds of his half-destroyed body.

The few drops of blood were ice-cold, but upon touching his bleeding wounds, burned like fire.

He struggled to adapt to the pain, slightly furrowing his brows, watching as the man before him dropped his sword, his hands flailing helplessly in the air.

As if in shock, unease, or panic.

And his throat produced hoarse, muffled sounds.

For at that moment, Baili An’s little sword had pierced through the back of his neck and into his throat.

The sword tip went straight through to the hilt, without an iota of hesitation or wavering.

Baili An knew well that even if he fought to the death, even if he detonated his Corpse Pearl, he would absolutely not be able to inflict the slightest harm on that corpse demon.

Thus his initial direct confrontation, taking the strike head-on, he truly absorbed the blow into his body.

That was the Racial Talent of the corpse demon.

One of the seven King-level Talents, Devour!

This Talent, throughout the ages, among the myriad of corpse demons that awakened, belonged solely to the corpse demon Si Li among the sixteen Kings.

The sixteen direct descendants of the Royal Blood corpse demons each awakened to a different Talent.

It was their unique Talent.

Not even by draining them of blood—their Devour—could that Talent be taken away.

Yet now, it appeared within Baili An.

The little sword that could draw blood, for some reason, could not absorb this man’s blood at that moment.

Baili An felt a slight regret, thinking to himself it indeed wasn’t so easy to kill.

After a successful strike, he kicked off the man’s shoulder with the sole of his boot, launching himself into the air, hoping to distance himself and seek another opportunity to attack.

“Heh…

Heh…” The man’s previously harried appearance of flailing hands suddenly changed.

He acted with sudden speed!

His fingers grabbed Baili An’s ankle as he soared upwards, his eyes deep and abnormal with a crimson hue.

His eyes shook violently with an excited and frenzied interest, reflecting Baili An’s face covered in a pattern of exotic red flowers.

“What is this!

What is this!

Look at what I’ve found!!!”

The immense strength in his palm was unmistakable!

As if welded on by a branding iron, there was no chance of breaking free.

Baili An observed the man who had suddenly gone mad with frenzy, his long eyebrows and eyes calm and oppressive as he rapidly twisted his body in midair, disregarding the shattering of his leg bones, his muscles twisting like twisted ropes.

His right leg gathered strength, his toes carrying black wind and thunder, his white boots below couldn’t even withstand the force of the kick, disintegrating into white fragments, flying away in the chaotic wind.

The kick blasted directly into the man’s handsome face.

The man grunted, his hands releasing and he staggered back a couple of steps, clumsily falling back into his throne.

He covered his mouth and nose, blood seeping between his fingers, and stared, stunned and speechless, at Baili An who was retreating through the air.

Baili An landed by Wen Hanwei.

As soon as he steadied himself, excruciating pain erupted from his left leg!

His face, illuminated by blood, turned even paler, like the face of a dead man.

Baili An’s body shook violently, about to collapse.

Wen Hanwei, though not lightly injured herself, quickly rose to her feet, her arms so heavy she could hardly lift them.

Unable to offer support, she could only use her soft body to prop up his.

The two leaned against each other, both drenched in blood.

Yet in this battle, in the face of such a powerful ancient creature, not a single person had fallen.

The man sat on the ancient throne, fresh blood seeping from his throat, dampening his robe and the black throne, and dense red veins blossomed across his pale skin.

With his pale, sharp fingers, he elegantly stroked his neck where the wound rapidly healed, and the bleeding ceased.

Despite his face now looking paler than before, one could hardly see any signs of defeat.

As the red veins burst forth with a sinister glow, the man’s visage took on an added wild charm.

Tusks peeked out from below his crimson lips, for the first time in a millennium he was injured and bloodied, which should have infuriated him.

But at this moment, the joy within him caught even himself by surprise.

His shock quickly retreated deep within those crimson pupils, very thoroughly concealed.

Leaning back with one leg crossed over the other, he wrapped his arms around himself, half-smiling as he watched Baili An, his fingers brushed his unscathed neck, a teasing curve etched at the corner of his mouth: “Truly a man of your word, you really did injure me.”

He spread his palms generously, showing Baili An and Wen Hanwei the Dharma Form of the Corpse Pearl circulating within his body.

The man chuckled, “But the truth is before your eyes, with your crippled body as the price, you exchanged for one injury on me, yet you are still unable to turn the tide of battle.

This is the oppression of absolute power, there is no possibility for any trickery.

If you insist on continuing the fight, I might just tear apart what’s left of your body.”

Baili An’s brows furrowed from the intense pain invading his body as his mutilated frame began to emit sounds of regenerating movement.

The man: “!!!”

He was shocked once more, every expression he has ever shown in a millennium was not as vivid as today.

Suddenly, Wen Hanwei felt the ice-cold body leaning on hers become scalding hot.

The right side of his greatly maimed body, the large bloody hole, was rapidly stitching together with blood-red threads, elongating bones, and organs regenerating at an astonishing speed underneath the bloody threads.

If the man’s fatal sword wound had healed in an instant leaving Wen Hanwei astounded,

then the regenerative power showcased by Baili An’s body could only be described as a miraculous impossibility.