The "Sixteen-Pound Cannon," as its name suggested, was a massive artillery weapon.
The grotesque, flesh-bound creatures stationed at its sides were mere extensions of its will—twisted abominations tasked only with lighting the fuse, not commanding the fight.
Their bloated, dark red limbs squirmed grotesquely as they lifted their hideous heads—only to witness one thing.
Death, howling, descended from the sky.
BOOM—
A pillar of light, gleaming with silver and darkness interwoven, pierced straight through the heavy barrel of the Sixteen-Pound Cannon.
The monstrous weapon didn't even get a chance to retaliate.
It was disintegrated instantly.
The aftermath of the impact exploded outward—metal shards from the shattered cannon scattered like titanic chariots, smashing the surrounding flesh monsters into pulp.
Even if it had a second form, in its current state—shattered and unrecognizable—it had no chance of emerging.
From the heart of the crater, a hand swept aside the rising smoke.
And there he was.
A Hunter, his face partly hidden under a triangular hat, stepped forward.
Two glowing tokens spun skillfully between the fingers of his other hand—
The Hunter Badge, and the Curse of Resentment Badge.
Both began to glow, absorbing the lingering resentment in the air.
Then came the message.
"Hunter Badge Reward: Lantern of Teleportation."
"Curse of Resentment Badge Reward: Remnants of the Sixteen-Pound Cannon."
Germain stepped confidently from the fading smoke.
The entire area around him had been cleared by the explosion.
The once-crowded field was now a paste of sticky, steaming gore.
He scanned the wreckage.
He saw Don, tense and alert.
He saw Scela, collapsed in his younger brother Kioris's arms.
He saw Mikhael, blood-soaked but still standing.
Looks like he'd made it just in time.
A massive, greasy hand reached from above—fingers thick with filth and oil, trying to grab him from mid-air.
Germain didn't even glance up.
With a swift motion of his right hand, a phantom blade—the Burial Blade—flashed across the air.
The hand was severed instantly.
It tumbled away, limp.
Only then did a shriek pierce the battlefield.
It was the "Old Witch."
Her scream was sharp, shrill—like a fattened pig caught by all four limbs and dragged toward the slaughter.
Germain gave the Curse of Resentment Badge a light squeeze.
A roar—deep and thunderous—erupted across the sky.
The remnant of the Flame Demon Dragon had awakened.
Its molten body glowed with pulsating crimson light, as if lava flowed through its veins.
Wings spread wide, its presence was overwhelming—like a demon from the underworld summoned into the mortal realm.
Even the searing heat and scattered sparks that danced off its body were blinding in their intensity.
Germain raised a single hand and pointed toward the "Old Witch."
The "Remnant of the Flame Demon Dragon" responded instantly, launching off the ground like a rabid dog unchained, its massive form crashing through the air with reckless fury.
Even Don was stunned.
In truth, no one witnessing this scene could remain calm.
Not even him.
His original plan had been simple—wait for Germain to arrive, team up with him, and take down the four large-type aberrant creatures.
After all, back in August 1999—just over a year ago—when they last met, Germain had only just stepped into the same realm of power as Don.
No matter how much someone could improve in a year, it shouldn't have been enough to surpass Don—someone who had walked this path for centuries.
Yet Germain shattered a "Sixteen-Pound Cannon" the moment he entered the scene.
He sliced off the Old Witch's hand.
And with a flick of his finger, he commanded a large-type dragon like it was a loyal beast.
All of this completely overturned Don's expectations.
If their level of power could be imagined as a wide spectrum, then Don stood somewhere in the middle.
But Germain—Germain had already reached the very end of that spectrum.
It was unbelievable.
In just a little over a year, Germain had leaped across a span of growth that should have taken centuries.
And then Don remembered—Germain was one of those chosen by the "Blood Moon."
Just like those associated with "Curse of Resentment," "Deep Sea," "Flesh and Blood," and "Darkness"—he likely possessed the qualifications to ascend as a "Demigod."
A cold shiver ran down Don's spine.
But no matter what, the key point now was that Germain stood on their side.
The ones who had to face this monstrous anomaly—something far beyond what they had prepared for—were not them.
It was the "Lord of Dead" and the "Prophet of Lies" who now had to carry that burden.
The image of the "Sixteen-Pound Cannon" being shattered in an instant still lingered in their minds.
There had been no need for words.
The two had already made their decision—
They would act together.
"Ha—ahhh—"
The Prophet of Lies, whose right hand had been shackled, with his left hand hanging free, now tore the right one from its restraints.
Both hands—nails caked with filth—rose slowly toward the sky.
It was as if he were beginning a prayer.
Germain took a step forward.
But then, a figure in a dark red robe floated silently toward him — the "Lord of Dead".
That towering body stopped right in front of him, blocking his path.
The Lord lifted a scroll filled with twisted, maddening characters.
His withered right hand, like the claw of a beast, suddenly jerked upward.
Above Germain's head, a black cross-shaped tombstone appeared.
It radiated a foul, disgusting aura, as if it could drag out the darkest, most miserable corners of the human heart.
And it came crashing down toward Germain!
At the same time, blue, ghostly undead began to appear from all directions — their rusty weapons raised as they rushed toward him.
Germain saw all this with calm eyes.
He slowly drew a sword glowing with holy light — the "Sacred Moonlight Sword."
With both hands gripping the hilt, the tip of the sword pointed downward.
Then, just before the tombstone and the undead reached him, Germain thrust the Sacred Moonlight Sword into the ground like a staff.
Buzz—
Holy light erupted from the sword, spreading outward like a tidal wave.
The black tombstone shattered instantly.
The blue undead were reduced to ash and scattered like dust in the wind.
Even the Lord of Dead trembled in the blinding light.
His massive form almost toppled like a crumbling tower.
He stumbled, but barely managed to stay upright.
Germain stepped forward, closing the distance.
He was now close enough that a single sword strike could threaten the Lord of Dead.
Forced to react, the undead lord raised his left claw to strike back.
It slashed through the air like a blade.
But with a sharp clang, it was blocked by the Sacred Moonlight Sword.
The moment the claw touched the sword, it was as if a vampire had been thrust into the sun.
A tortured scream tore from the Lord's throat.
Ssssshhh—
His left arm began to crumble.
Soon, his long sleeve hung empty.
Germain raised his sword again.
This time, he swung toward the undead lord's right hand.
The scroll he was holding burst into flames — blue flames.
The fire devoured the scroll instantly and crawled onto the Lord's right hand, winding around it like a serpent.
It wrapped tighter and tighter, licking and burning as it climbed.
In the blink of an eye, both of the Lord's hands had been destroyed.
From within the red robes, his cries of pain turned into full-blown wails — and then, silence.
Boom—
A streak of blue sword light shot into the sky.
The Sacred Moonlight Sword pointed toward the dull, gray heavens.
And when it came back down…
The Lord of Dead had already been cut clean in half.
The crimson robe fluttered through the air, scattering into dust.
The cold wind carried it away, leaving behind only silence.
"Gift of the Hunter Badge: Teleportation Lantern."
"Gift of the Resentment Badge: Remnants of the Lord of the Dead."
*******
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