Lord Evolution: Starting With SS-rank Skills - Chapter 271

Chapter 271: The Cult (41)
“Where is D’andre?”

Rowan did not see D’andre make a move on the dark brothers. He had been paying close attention to the battlefield since the very beginning, but now, as he looked back at his previous position, he could not locate him.

A small group of cultists attacked while he was distracted in his search for D’andre. Thankfully, another captive quickly alerted him, and he responded immediately by evading the attacks before launching his own counter—earning tens of millions of evolution points following his hard-fought victory.

BOOM!

As he was calculating his rewards.

A thunderous explosion shook the entire battlefield, causing the earth to quake beneath the strain.

Everyone lost their balance, not even the strong spy guards were able to withstand the quake and remain upright. They either tumbled to the ground or settled their weight onto swords that were already stabbed into the earth.

As for the cultists and captives, they too fell to the ground.

It was a single explosion, yet the resulting quake lasted for several seconds—almost as though an actual earthquake had taken place.

Rowan, who maintained his balance using his swords, stared intently at the fight between the archmage that was unfolding rather far away from the center of the battlefield.

D’andre could be seen engaged with some strange humanoid creatures clad in jet-black, full-body armor, from which visible, smoky dark energy continuously spewed forth.

There were dozens of these dark, humanoid soldiers moving at speeds untraceable by ordinary human eyes, battling D’andre—who moved at an even more astonishing pace as he deftly deflected their strikes and launched his own attacks.

“What are those?”

Rowan was confused.

The strength displayed by these dark soldiers was enough to overpower him with just one decisive move.

Their simple movements were ten times faster than his at his peak speed.

The way they fought rendered them even more intriguing and bewildering—they battled like monsters who neither feel nor care about pain! They attacked without a single consideration for whether they might die or survive.

Even when their comrades were slaughtered, they exhibited not the slightest reaction and simply continued their relentless assaults as if nothing had occurred.

Rowan’s eyes widened.

Even though these creatures were weaker than the dark blood brothers, Rowan found himself more fearful of them.

“Using manipulative words or tricks wouldn’t work on these ones. They possess only one emotion—bloodthirst. Can they even hear?”

Rowan swallowed hard.

Lying on the ground, Dragun shared the same anxious thoughts as his son—albeit with an even greater degree of concern.

“Those creatures…”

Dragun recalled certain illustrations he had often found Alister laboring over in years past.

Alister had been studying diligently, running numerous experiments on both humans and beasts, and expending countless cult resources in order to create perfect soldiers.

He had failed numerous times back then, before Dragun left the cult, Alister ceased work on this project to focus more intently on making the dark seed ritual a reality as fast as he could, for the success of the ritual would hasten his experiments.

“He did succeed after all without the dark seed ritual. As expected of the evil genius.”

Dragun muttered.

BOOM!

BOOM!

Two more thunderous explosions violently rocked the battlefield once again.

Although not as thunderous and powerful as the first explosion, it compelled the people to remain on the ground for another minute.

But then, the battle resumed as the cultists regained their composure.

After all, it was the handiwork of their boss, why should they be scared?

“Haha, your hero will be killed very soon.”

“You guys are done for.”

“Give up and let us take your life peacefully.”

The cultists taunted with boisterous laughter and resumed their onslaught, displaying even greater confidence.

In the first few seconds after they resumed, two more spy knights were slaughtered and dozens of the brave captives perished.

Now, fewer than a dozen captives—including Rowan and Eliman—remained standing against hundreds of these evil people.

It quickly turned into a hopeless battle.

“I can’t die! I won’t die! I will enjoy my freedom!”

One captive gritted his teeth and began chanting a powerful spell that summoned the wind from the atmosphere to coalesce around him, materializing into a large, potent ball of wind energy.

But then..

STAB!

STAB!

Two cultists appeared before he could finish his attack and plunged their hands—wreathed in dark energy—into him.

They stood on opposite sides of the hopeful captives.

One drove his hands into the captive’s chest from behind, his hands protruding from the front, wrapped in fresh blood along with fragments of the man’s organs. The other stabbed into the stomach area, revealing his innards.

Power wore off from the captive.

The ball of wind energy he had been gathering dissipated.

His eyes widened dramatically as he gazed down upon his mutilated body.

The white robe he had been donning was now bathed in his own blood.

Sorrow, pain, frustration, and anger swiftly filled his eyes, which began to drip with tears.

Tears streamed down his face, eventually landing on the hands of the cultist who had just stabbed into his stomach.

“P-please…”

He strained to have his final words heard by the other captives who were watching him intently. Rowan suspected that he was about to make a final plea.

Alas, his attempt was unsuccessful.

The two cultists removed their hands simultaneously, and the body crumpled flat onto the ground.

Eliman.

Rowan.

The spy knights.

The other courageous captives.

And the cowards standing at the back, watching.

They all quickly realized an important truth—each one of them was going to die.

Time seemed to slow comically as these thoughts sank into the hearts of the cowards—if their courageous colleagues were to perish completely, what would be their fate, if not death?

Not merely death.

Unlike their courageous colleagues who died heroically in the midst of battle. They would die helplessly as cowards.

The very thought struck a nerve deep within them.

Their eyes widened.

A strange wave of energy surged out of nowhere.

A brave glow began to appear in their eyes.

In their hearts, they shared a singular goal—die as heroes, not as cowards.

And then.

“Arggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!”

They erupted in thunderous, rage-filled cries.

They began chanting spells.

Some grabbed weapons.

And they attacked!