Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 2449 - 2444: The Prophet Is Dead (55)


Chapter 2449: Chapter 2444: The Prophet Is Dead (55)

When the values are high, there will be many methods; having to circle around is disrespectful to oneself.

Although it’s far from the Abandonment King’s full force strike, it is enough to make the Heavenly Dao Power in the center of the lake tremble.

"What exactly are you?"

Fu Qian had walked halfway of the second circle when the Death Angel spoke again, only expressing emotions without answering.

"So what’s your progress now?"

Communication is always mutual; Fu Qian didn’t report his name again but casually responded with a question.

"Very soon... before you kill them all."

Seemingly sensing the taste of gritted teeth, Ah Wei finally refused to be outdone.

And with his words, indeed, new discordant elements emerged from the mist.

At a glance, another Demigod has arrived, with a considerable number.

They weren’t all standing in the path, most of them even sprang from the bottom of the lake.

Not surprising, self-assured adventurism comes at a price.

With such a set plan, the forerunners attempting to take advantage by the water, impossible not to be caught in the calculation.

That kind of behavior merely subjects them more quickly to the Death Angel’s control compared to others.

But after all, a Demigod is still a Demigod, even as a puppet it’s different.

Compared to the drifting ghosts with stable operation routes, they even retain some combat instinct, knowing how to encircle and intercept.

Besides, they’re evidently exempt from the Death Limit, again demonstrating Ah Wei’s control over the Unseen Hillock.

"That’s very soon."

In this context, regarding Ah Wei’s progress report, Fu Qian agreed while casually throwing another punch.

Boom—

It turned out Demigods couldn’t handle compliments well; after praising their combat instincts, one dashed in and blocked the way, transforming on-site amidst a roar.

The result was a large mouth on the chest not fully opened, stuffed instead with a fist, unable to endure such an appetite, turning into flying debris.

Humph, even horror stories need taste; this mouth design is utterly tasteless.

Coldly sneering inside, Fu Qian kept walking.

But Ah Wei’s confidence is understandable; in the next moment, Fu Qian noticed figures coming from the Prophet Mansion direction, somewhat familiar.

...

Holle?

Familiar from the bizarre style, on all fours, spikes on back, precisely the final form of the bar Wanderer.

Compared to before, even looked slightly better than when Fu Qian left.

Maintaining restoration is indeed notable.

But this is no good omen; coming from there instead of the lake implies Holle hadn’t entered that door.

Meaning even without Demigods falling into traps, it’s hard to endure now.

Moreover, Holle’s run alone is particular.

The crystal that was treating him is nowhere to be seen.

Bang!

Casually slapping away a winged creature, Fu Qian’s gaze remained on Holle, continuing to walk toward the starting point of the lake circuit.

Steps so firm, seemingly impatient to send off an old friend—not just one.

Getting closer, clearly seen the clown on the lounge chair entirely mimicking Yuan Fang’s posture.

Leaning diagonally, resembling a dead man, even the eyes flowed with the same black hue.

Is this the consequence of disrespecting the leader?

Not becoming a living corpse like others to attack, rather directly executed, seeming slightly wasteful given the clown’s earlier exhibited skills.

But from Ah Wei’s perspective, entirely understandable.

This uncontrollable neurotic player who turned traitor in public, better snuffed out immediately.

As an airborne leader, being cautious is harmless.

"How much now?"

Sensing the cruelty of struggle, after casually turning two into dust, Fu Qian finally returned to the starting point, with Holle nearly in reach.

His sight fell onto the clown first, promptly confirming progress with Ah Wei.

"Very soon, ten—"

And this time, the answer brought a bit of breakthrough.

Repeating the grand prospect again, the Death Angel unexpectedly counted out a number.

Oh?

Fu Qian finally turned to look.

"Nine—"

To this, Ah Wei coldly counted another number.

The Demigods in the mist and the ghosts vaguely formed a surrounding pattern.

Interesting.

Glancing over, Fu Qian confirmed among those crawling out of the lake, Amber was absent.

Really ran off elsewhere to find others? So did not fall for the trap initially? A bit too convenient.

"Eight—"

While pondering the reason, Ah Wei continued emotionlessly counting.

Major achievement seems imminent, facing incomprehensible behavior from opponents, not even bothering with harsh words.

Circling the lake but nothing happened.

Earlier intelligent guesses about rituals suddenly seemed awkward.

Facing this failure countdown, the opponent clearly hasn’t rushed in for a desperate fight despite terrifying power.

No move against Sophia or attempt to destroy the core of the Unseen Hillock.

"Seven!" 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Furthermore, seeing Andiel sit back on the jack-in-the-box, casually slapping down the charging Holle.

"Six—"

This action so odd, biting his teeth to read another number, Ah Wei seemed finally hesitant.

"Five?"

No worries, Fu Qian helped count another number.

Despite the Death Angel’s silence, Demigods appeared to hesitate.

"Too mundane..."

Facing such a scene, Fu Qian merely sighed, repeating an earlier assessment.

Originally only needing to count to six, though it might look strange—well understood by professionals—since six was all needed.

Countdown deception this idea had been used during the Nightmare Corridor, simply copying.

As to why it failed?

"Are you talking about me?"

The Death Angel conspicuously pondered this matter too.

The opponent once used this evaluation for the Lord, now sounds noticeably offensive.

"Yeah—what do you think?"

Fu Qian’s response felt naturally expected, even saying afterward without minding Ah Wei, turning to the clown.

"Indeed, too mundane."

This bizarre scene finally elicited a response; the clown with pitch black eyes surprisingly sat up slowly.

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