Chapter 292: Fierce Battle

Chapter 292: Fierce Battle

The momentum of Ortenrosse suddenly halted bizarrely, just in time for the golden lightning descending from the sky to graze past him. With the millennia of accumulation by this king of dead apostles, even though the artifact of the Buddhist guardian deity did have a certain restraining effect on him, as long as it wasn't a direct hit, it wouldn't have much impact.

Avoiding a direct hit by the Indra's Thunder, the white-clad, white-winged, ever-dustless vampire raised his left hand, swatting away the incoming shield. Simultaneously, he extended his right hand to press down on the handle of the scythe, preventing it from advancing further, and then swept a whip kick towards Shinji's chest.

When Shinji's Harpe was effortlessly pushed and withdrawn, Ortenrosse realized that this cunning magus had played a trick. However, considering the significant gap in experience and strength between them, he didn't believe that Shinji, who favored more attacks than defense, could set a trap that would cause him considerable harm. Thus, his whip kick swept out without any hesitation.

Shinji released the scythe and raised his elbows to block the powerful kick. In an instant, centered at Ortenrosse, Shinji was spun a full circle by the force of the kick before being flung outwards by centrifugal force.

It seemed like Ortenroose had the upper hand. However, as soon as his feet touched the ground, Shinji, who had stealthily put on feathered shoes during the spin, returned. With his hands clasped together, a burst of Buddhist light appeared in his palms.

Ortenrosse, with eyesight far surpassing that of humans, immediately felt the dazzling light sting his eyes, making it impossible to look directly. Shinji, with his hands poised to strike, didn't rush to attack. Advancing step by step, the blinding Buddhist light gradually concentrated, becoming almost tangible. Although these changes seemed complex, they occurred in the brief moments of Shinji's advance and retreat.

Ortenrosse let his arms hang naturally and slowly opened his squinted eyes, ready to respond to whatever Buddhist secret technique Shinji would unleash in three steps. By this point in the battle, this ancient dead apostle, who had survived for a millennium, believed he had largely grasped Shinji's abilities. The majestic golden light and the golden conical artifact unmistakably belonged to Buddhist tools, and the formidable close combat skills displayed by Shinji further solidified Ortenrosse's judgment.

As for the scythe that inhibited wound healing and the indestructible shield, they were likely ceremonial tools passed down by the Barthomeloi family. This family, which had entangled with him for years, always managed to come up with peculiar items. Seeing Shinji avoid using weapons in combat suggested that he was only temporarily borrowing them, hence not fully integrating them into his battle style.

Seeing this, Shinji knew that he had lost the chance to further expand his victory, possibly the only opportunity to severely wound Ortenrosse using the advantage of information asymmetry.

Fortunately, the most basic objective had been achieved, so Shinji didn't feel too regretful. Rubbing his still-protesting abdomen, Shinji gathered up his scattered treasures and staggered forward.

At the same time, more and more white beasts were converging towards the blood mist from afar. Their actions were no different from that of the white bird; they all dove into the mist, using their bodies to repair the main body's damage.

These creatures were familiars split from Ortenrosse's body, so they could naturally return to the main body and become nourishment for its recovery.

After devouring over a dozen familiars, the ancient king of dead apostles finally restored his legs. The force of exorcism that had invaded his body had already been dispelled before his legs were fully regenerated.

Taking a deep breath and inhaling the remaining blood mist, Ortenrosse stared intently in the direction Shinji had left, his vampiric eyes growing even redder as if filled with countless streams of blood.

"To be able to inflict such damage on me, I'll reluctantly commend you as remarkable. However, this level alone is not enough. Do you think that by retrieving my familiars, I won't be able to find you? As your Buddhist saying goes—you can't escape from my Five-Finger Mountain."

With a flap of his white wings, the pure white "Angel" streaked across the night sky.

There was now less than an hour until sunrise.