boyutpedia Chapter 81, 3rd Floor
Chapter 81, 3rd Floor
Fairfax Estate
Olivier Tours stood at the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, with a corpse lying at his feet.
It was that middle-aged butler who always had a polite smile and meticulously styled hair.
At this moment, his neck was twisted into a strange angle, his eyes were wide open, and there was still shock and resentment deep in his pupils.
In his hand he also held an exquisitely crafted short staff inlaid with rubies, the tip of which retained a dark red spiritual aura.
It was clear that it put up a fierce resistance before it died.
Olivier glanced down and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.
"This is such a hassle."
He complained in a low voice, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell.
The butler was quite strong, at least at the Sequence 8 level, and the short staff that was clearly a supernatural item caused him a lot of trouble.
The sleeve of his left arm was torn, and three deep wounds, revealing bone, were slowly healing.
But the most troublesome thing is not the housekeeper himself.
Olivier could sense that the spiritual energy field of the entire manor was changing.
He had destroyed all the oil paintings on the walls, but the energy flow still continued along the floor and walls, converging towards the third floor.
The oil painting is not the key point.
But... he guessed the other half correctly. This should be the center of the ritual. Not all warriors are brainless.
Those self-righteous lunatics always like to stand in a high and mighty position and look down.
He looked up at the top of the stairs.
The "living, hostile spiritual barrier" that Green described earlier has disappeared.
It wasn't destroyed; it was withdrawn voluntarily.
It was as if the existence of the third floor no longer needed to be hidden, or rather... it was already ready.
"Tsk."
Olivier drew a silver, rune-engraved revolver from his waist and checked the cylinder.
Six bullets, all specially made "demon-slaying silver bullets," each worth 50 gold pounds.
He then took out three palm-sized metal discs from inside his coat, their surfaces engraved with intricate patterns.
This is a "spiritual bomb," standard equipment of the Night's Watch, capable of creating small-scale spiritual turbulence to disrupt rituals and spells.
After he was ready, he stepped onto the stairs leading to the third floor.
My steps were heavy.
The third-floor corridor was darker than the second-floor corridor.
There were no wall lamps; the only light source came from a slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor. A dark red, pulsating glow emanated from it.
There was a strange smell in the air, like a mixture of old parchment, dried blood, and... decay.
Olivier's brow furrowed more and more deeply.
As a "Warrior" pathway member and a Sequence 7 "Weapon Master," he has been active on the front lines of battle for many years, and his perception of danger far surpasses that of ordinary people.
At that moment, his spiritual intuition was frantically alarming him, warning him of something extremely dangerous ahead.
But he didn't stop; there were no rooms on either side of the corridor.
The walls of the entire corridor have been transformed into... bookshelves.
Huge, floor-to-ceiling black wooden bookshelves, densely packed with books. But these weren't ordinary books.
The covers of those books were made of human skin.
Pale, shriveled, some still retaining tiny pores and hairs. The title is written on the spine in dark red ink, the handwriting distorted.
The Anatomy of Pleasure
The Painful Refinement Method
The Blasphemous Ritual of Childbirth
Father God Interprets the Whispers
......
Olivier's gaze swept over the book titles, his face darkening.
These are all banned books.
No, it's worse than a banned book.
This is a "living book" written with the skin and blood of living people, recording the darkest and most blasphemous knowledge.
Each book may represent a person who was sacrificed.
How many people has Veronica Thorne killed over the years?
How much blasphemous knowledge has been accumulated?
Olivier did not touch the books.
He knew that these books themselves might be traps, or be cursed.
He continued forward.
At the end of the corridor was a door.
But that wasn't an ordinary door.
The door was woven from countless dark red vines, which slowly wriggled and contracted, as if breathing.
Olivier did not hesitate.
He raised his revolver, aimed it at the vine-woven door, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
The first magic-piercing silver bullet whistled out and struck the center of the door.
The runes on the surface of the silver bullet lit up instantly, bursting out with dazzling silver light.
"hiss--!!!"
The vines emitted a sharp sound, like the simultaneous screams of countless people. The struck parts quickly withered and carbonized, revealing a fist-sized hole.
But the surrounding vines immediately wriggled over, trying to fill the gap.
Olivier, expressionless, pulled the trigger again.
"Bang! Bang!"
The second and third anti-magic silver bullets were fired in quick succession, hitting the same spot precisely.
A burst of silver light flashed.
The vines' screams grew even more piercing.
This time, the vines that were hit did not wither, but instead burst open, splattering dark red sap everywhere.
The entire door trembled violently, and then all the vines abruptly retreated back into the wall, as if they had been startled.
The door opened.
Olivier did not wait.
He raised his foot and kicked the door hard.
"boom!"
The heavy oak door swung open inwards, slamming against the wall with a loud bang.
The scene inside the room was fully displayed before his eyes.
This is a huge circular study.
The walls were covered with all sorts of bizarre specimens:
A twisted fetus, spliced organs, and a plant with a human face.
In the center of the room was a kneeling figure, radiating a deep red aura.
Veronica.
She sat with her back to the door, in the center of a complex magic circle drawn with blood. The lines of the magic circle flickered with an ominous red light, reflecting off the blood moon outside the window.
Her long hair moved without wind, and a deep red spirituality rose and swirled around her like flames.
She was promoted.
We have reached the most critical moment.
But Olivier's gaze first fell on the two sides of the magic circle.
Two rows of figures stood silently.
There are 8 in total.
They were dressed in identical black waiter uniforms, with fair skin and red eyes; they were also Blood Servants. But... their aura was far stronger than that of the Blood Servants downstairs.
"High-ranking blood servants," Olivier said in a low voice, "puppets that have been deeply transformed by 'vampires' and have retained some of their combat instincts."
Veronica remained with her back to him, seemingly unconcerned about his intrusion.
Her entire focus was on getting promoted.
Olivier knew he was running out of time. He holstered his revolver and reached for his waist with his right hand.
A long sword appeared in his hand.
The sword is about 1.2 meters long and is made entirely of black iron. Only the blade, which has been polished countless times, faintly flows with a layer of condensed silver-white cold light.
The hilt was unusually rough and sturdy, wrapped in an unknown dark leather, with an emblem branded on it: an ancient tower shield pierced by a sharp sword.
Cracked rock.
This longsword is a family heirloom passed down through generations and his only spiritual anchor.
Holding it is like holding the last roar of one's ancestors and the entire weight of one's family history, emanating a silent yet deadly threat to all "inhuman evil".
Olivier gripped the hilt of his sword and took a deep breath.
Then, he moved.
There were no fancy moves, no unnecessary probing.
He charged straight at the magic circle, aiming for Veronica's back.
But the two rows of high-ranking blood servants also moved at the same time.
Their speed was astonishing; they almost transformed into eight black shadows, instantly blocking Olivier between himself and the magic circle.
The first blood servant pounced forward, his fingernails growing into sharp claws, aiming straight for Olivier's face.
Olivier turned to the side, his longsword slashing diagonally.
The sword blade sliced across the Blood Servant's arm, flashing silver light, severing him at the elbow, and dark red blood spurted out.
But the Blood Servant seemed to feel no pain, and continued to grab with his other hand.
At the same time, three other Blood Servants flanked Olivier from the left and right, cutting off his escape route.
"Get out of here!"
Olivier growled and swung his longsword horizontally.
A silver sword light bloomed like a crescent moon, forcing back the four blood servants simultaneously. But even more blood servants surged forward.
They are not afraid of death.
No, they're long dead.
These deeply transformed blood servants have completely lost their will, leaving only the instinct to kill and protect. They use their bodies as shields and their claws as weapons, charging relentlessly towards Olivier.
Olivier's sword was swift.
As a 'Weapon Master,' his mastery of any weapon has reached a master level. The longsword in his hand transforms into a silver storm, each swing deadly.
A bloodied servant's head flew off.
Another blood servant was cut in half at the waist.
However, there were too many Blood Servants, and they retained their combat skills, knowing how to cooperate, flank, and cover each other.
It can even pose a significant threat and cause damage to a "weapon master" like Olivier.
Their combat intelligence, combined with their immortality, makes them a threat level that is very close to that of a complete Sequence 8 Extraordinary.
Moreover, their regenerative abilities are astonishing; even if they lose a hand or foot, they can reattach it in a short time.
Olivier is in a tough fight.
While fending off the blood servants' frenzied attacks, he tried to break through the defenses and get closer to the magic circle.
But the Blood Servants cooperated extremely well, as if they shared a single consciousness.
Whenever Olivier found a breakthrough, two or three Blood Servants would risk their lives to force him back.