Infinity: Our Zhongzhou team is really amazing!

Chapter 412 The Painter (12, 5K)

"Damn it, they're all trash!"

Zhang Jie angrily smashed the phone.

He just called headquarters, requesting that they send Ghost Tamers to provide support.

To my surprise, headquarters responded with a hesitant and indecisive reply that they couldn't do it!
If you can't do it, then don't do it!
If Zhang Jie hadn't controlled almost all the senior management, he might have really feared that headquarters was planning to abandon the Zhongzhou team after using them.

But Cao Yanhua was helpless; his superiors had ordered him to protect the emperor's organization at all costs, and there was no room for error.

However, several Ghost Tamer organizations, including those on WeChat Moments, simultaneously challenged headquarters, demanding the disclosure of their cooperation with the Emperor Organization.

Cao Yanhua had already sent the core Ghost Tamers of the headquarters to Dachang City, so there are now almost no security forces in Dajing City.

Old Master Qin remained indoors, and no matter how much he pleaded, there was no response.

This led to even more rampant activity on social media, with rumors even circulating that Qin Lao had died.

Without Elder Qin as the anchor of morale, chaos erupted across the land.

Rumors were flying everywhere, such as the headquarters being controlled by the Emperor Organization and the organization wanting to betray the country, or the Emperor Organization wanting to discipline all the Ghost Tamers.

Some of the Ghost Tamers' organizations, which already harbored disloyalty, seized the opportunity to rebel and establish their own independent groups.

Some neutral ghost tamers simply wavered and took advantage of the chaos.

Some leaders who were loyal to headquarters were also confused by the contradictory orders and dared not act rashly.

Moreover, Zheng Zha and the others have completely lost contact!
In short, northwestern Shanxi is in complete chaos!
"Headquarters can't send any more people."

"We can't get in touch with Zheng Zha either!"

Zhang Jie cursed under his breath, then said to the somewhat nervous group, "Don't worry too much about Zheng Zha. Haotian is clever, and Lingdian and Cheng Xiao are here too, so there won't be any problems."

"Moreover, Zhao Jianguo is also stationed in Dachang City, and there is a group of ghost riders there as well."

"But we—" Zhang Jie said with a bitter face, "can no longer count on any support!"

"The divination results are becoming increasingly ominous."

Zhu Wen threw down a handful of coins, and the divination results became chaotic again, scattering all over the ground.

"A horde of ghosts devour their master, the Netherworld Blood Domain."

"The doctor is in danger!"

This was the third time she had consulted the I Ching in a short period of time, but the hexagrams were becoming increasingly ominous each time.

She couldn't directly calculate Zhuang Boshi's fourth-order power, so she could only deduce it by calculating herself and the others, but the result was that countless evil spirits rushed over.

Clearly, things are not going well for the doctor.

Zhang Jie's mental power could only detect that Zhuang Boshi was trapped in a terrifying ghost realm; his mental power couldn't penetrate it at all.

"The King's Organization has set up a very insidious trap!" Zhang Jie frowned, a cold smile appearing on his face.

"They're actually using wishing ghosts as bait."

Now, Zhang Jie finally understands everything.

The King's Organization actually invested such a huge cost, launching a multi-pronged attack with the intensity of a total war.

If any one front collapses, they will lose everything.

Why were they so crazy, almost to the point of taking down the Zhongzhou team together?

Did those ghostly beings who control people foresee something?
"Now is not the time to think about anything else; we must rescue the doctor," Ming Yanwei said urgently.

If Zhang Jie hadn't stopped her, Ming Yanwei would have rushed out!
"Zhang Jie, do you have a solution?"

Zhang Jie stood up and paced back and forth with a solemn expression.

He suddenly looked up and gazed at the outside of the Golden Safe House.

"Oh no, the Ghost Tamer has discovered us!"

At this moment, outside the Golden Safe House, one pale-faced Ghost Master after another appeared.

They all belong to the king's demon tamer squad.

"They're actually hiding here! These cowards still won't come out!" A ghost tamer covered in verdigris glared menacingly at the blond-haired safe house.

"That's good, let's blast these moles out with weapons!" another Ghost Master laughed cruelly.

"Luckily, we had javelins with us!"

“I never thought I’d have to use modern weapons.” Another Ghost Rider pulled out a Javelin anti-tank missile and was about to pull the trigger when…

But his hand suddenly froze, and his fingers began to turn white.

"What's wrong?" The captain turned around and saw the pale-faced ghost tamer pulling the trigger of his javelin.

"Boom!" A terrifying explosion erupted outside the Golden Safe House, sending shockwaves and flying debris.

Immediately afterwards, dozens of golden bayonets emerged from the void and rained down like a dense rain of needles.

Their bodies were mercilessly torn apart, and cries of agony rose and fell.

The squad of over twenty ghost riders was completely routed in an instant under this wave of attacks; they didn't even get a glimpse of the enemy's face.

Inside the safe house.

Zhu Wen asked worriedly, "Brother Jie, how is it?"

"I killed the person, but the vengeful spirit remains!"

Zhang Jie's face turned pale, and he looked pained: "Something ghost has attached itself to my spirit."

He immediately sat down on the ground and unlocked the Level 3 gene lock.

Even that wasn't enough; a golden coffin materialized and he lay inside.

"I'll figure it out myself, don't worry about me."

After saying that, there was no more sound.

Na'er was filled with worry, but she had no choice but to cast a divine blessing on Zhang Jie through the golden coffin.

Inside the safe house, a deathly silence fell instantly.

Zhu Wen wanted to speak to ease the tension, but suddenly seemed to realize something and exclaimed in panic, "Ying Kong, where's Ying Kong?!"

"Where did she go?"

Ming Yanwei said with a complicated expression, "She went to support the doctor."

Facing the worried looks from Zhu Wen and Na'er, Ming Yanwei said softly, "I won't leave, don't worry."
-
At this moment, Zhao Yingkong stood outside the black ghost realm, her eyes indifferent as she stared at a portrait gallery.

She had passed by this portrait gallery at least five times just now.

No matter which direction you leave from, you will eventually return here.

She slowly turned her head, looking at the empty road ahead, her eyes cold: "You sneaky thing, come out!"

"Such a keen intuition."

A painter wearing a beret and holding a paintbrush slowly emerges from the empty road.

"Hello, I am a painter."

The painter bowed gracefully to Zhao Yingkong, but the next moment, his head fell off his neck.

The corpse lay on the ground, but Zhao Yingkong didn't even glance at it. Instead, she turned to the portrait gallery and said, "Is this your power as a vengeful ghost?"

The painter's body turned into a pool of yellow ink and disappeared on the ground.

"You're so decisive. I've never seen a girl like you who takes a life without even saying hello."

The second painter came out of the portrait gallery and clapped for Zhao Yingkong.

"I have to say, your appearance makes people lower their guard."

"He is so perfect that he doesn't seem like a demon tamer, but rather like an angel from heaven."

Zhao Yingkong's eyes turned cold. She realized that what appeared before her were just clones painted by the artist.

The true painter is hidden deep within the realm of ghosts and has never shown himself.

Do you want to rescue your companions?

"That terrifying superhuman."

His response was two blades tearing through the air.

The painter became a corpse again, but immediately turned into a puddle of ink.

At this moment, a third painter appeared. He stood on the second floor of the portrait gallery, holding a paintbrush and beginning to paint on the canvas in front of Zhao Yingkong.

"You're too impatient."

"How about I paint a picture for you first?"

"but--"

He looked Zhao Yingkong up and down, then suddenly clicked his tongue, his paintbrush sweeping across the air, bringing with it a dark red, blood-like paint.

"Your clothes are so dark and dull, they don't match those beautiful, murderous eyes."

Before she could finish speaking, the belt around Zhao Yingkong's waist suddenly made a soft snapping sound.

She instinctively touched her belt, but instead touched a soft velvet lumbar support.

The originally tight-fitting assassin outfit grew like a living thing, the black fabric fading away like shadows melted by the sun, replaced by a chiffon skirt adorned with pearls.

Gold threads and pearls wove themselves around her, forming a fluffy crinoline entwined with rose patterns.

The outermost layer of tulle shimmered with iridescent colors, each pearl sparkling brilliantly. The skirt flowed like clouds, supporting her ankles, and even her specially made tactical boots were transformed into crystal shoes for a princess.

Zhao Yingkong's beautiful eyes suddenly narrowed. Her assassin instincts instantly put her on alert, but she was completely unaware of this sudden change.

It's like someone directly rewrote her outer garment status.

"abnormal!!"

Even though Zhao Yingkong was usually calm, her breathing suddenly became heavier and her back tensed up.

angry!

With a clenched fist, the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams light and shadow exploded.

The wind-induced strange phenomenon instantly covered an area of ​​several tens of meters, including the portrait gallery.

Zhao Yingkong's figure shattered into specks of light, merging into the flowing mist.

At the same time, the ground surged like asphalt, and a yellowish-brown light wrapped in fluorescence burst forth from the earth, as the Earth Dragon and the Firefly Light were activated simultaneously.

The third painter's scream was cut short as he and the portrait gallery were engulfed in dust and flames and vanished into a shimmering vortex.

But a fourth painter appeared almost simultaneously, standing on the rooftop of another building, his tone surprised. "Is this your Ghost Realm?"

"What kind of ghost realm looks like this?"

"It doesn't even have the slightest suppressive power."

As the pen tip touched the paper, the rapidly spinning array of lights suddenly stopped, its patterns outlined by the indigo pen marks.

Zhao Yingkong's figure fell out of the light mist. She was very calm. She had thought that the portrait gallery was the real body, but now it seemed that it was not.

The painter's eyes suddenly lit up, and he twirled his brush between his fingers: "That's it! It's missing this embellishment—"

Zhao Yingkong felt a sudden tightness in her scalp as her short, choppy hair was twisted into layers of ribbons by an invisible hand, and pearl hair chains grew out from between her hair, making her temples throb.

Look—

"A perfect figure and a pretty face deserve glamorous makeup."

The painter was wiping away the remaining paint from his brush, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"This is my princess."

The next moment, he flung the paintbrush fiercely into the sky.

The moment Zhao Yingkong looked up, the entire sky was scraped open like cream, revealing the pale white canvas beneath.

The clouds were painted with lead gray, the moon was dripping pale yellow, and even the wind carried the pungent smell of turpentine.

She was actually in a painting the whole time!
Everything around them was changing rapidly. Dark blue stone bricks burst forth from the ground, carved walls grew as if alive, and crystal chandeliers exploded with dazzling light overhead.

In the span of three breaths, the city streets were transformed into a princess's room in a medieval castle, with even the roses on the windowsill freshly painted, their petals glistening with moisture.

So vibrant it doesn't look real.

"This is the painting I painted, the hero and the princess." The painter's voice echoed in the room.

Zhao Yingkong was furious. She was about to say something, but found herself unable to speak.

She touched her face and found that her mouth had been turned into a cherry-like mouth covered with ink.

Zhao Yingkong walked to the window, her fingertips scraping across the cool windowsill, only to find that the windowpane was covered with undried paint, feeling like it was covered with a layer of sand.

The outer castle walls are outlined with rough lines, and the shadows between the bricks are hastily applied cobalt blue.

The wheat fields further away were even more absurd, just a few strokes of cadmium yellow paint, the paint piled up to create rough ridges, and even the undulations of the wheat waves when the wind blew seemed very stiff.

This is the world of oil paintings!
The world of a third-rate painter!

As the thick wooden door creaked open, a heavily armored man stumbled in, the buckles of his armor clanking against each other with a crisp sound.

Princess Olivia!

The knight's voice was dry and rough, and through the gaps in the armor, Zhao Yingkong could see a dehydrated corpse inside.

"Follow me and run away—"

Zhao Yingkong didn't want to answer, but she watched helplessly as a sweet smile curved her lips, her vocal cords feeling as if they were being held in someone's hand: "My warrior, you're too late."

Her voice was sweet and cloying, like a pretentious cartoon heroine.

Disgusting!
Moreover, this body was leaning forward uncontrollably, as if about to throw itself into the inhuman, ghostly knight before it.

She immediately activated her gene lock, retreated sharply to dodge, and her back slammed into the wall, spilling a lot of ink.

But her mouth was still moving, and she said in a soft voice, "Oh, knight, only when I am in your arms can I feel a sense of security."

Is that vengeful ghost still outside the door?

Zhao Yingkong herself felt disgusted by what she said.

It seems there's a plot hole; the knight's body is stiffening, and his once-shiny armor is starting to rust.

Boom!
There was a heavy thud outside, followed by what sounded like something heavy being dragged across the ground.

The sound was getting closer.

"He's here! Let's hide, Princess!" The knight was very tall, and when he moved forward, it seemed that his entire figure enveloped Zhao Yingkong.

As he reached out to grab Zhao Yingkong again, she suddenly turned to the side, seized the knight, and slammed him to the ground.

boom!
The ground was dented like a canvas after being smashed.

But at the same time, Zhao Yingkong's sweet voice came out again: "I'm so scared, Warrior, what should I do?"

"Can you please save me?!"

Zhao Yingkong was disgusted and kicked the knight's helmet hard, cracking it open and revealing the desiccated male corpse inside.

"I'm so scared, what should I do!"

"Knight, please protect me!"

As Zhao Yingkong continued her sticky shouts, her blows became increasingly forceful.

They didn't stop until they had completely smashed the knight into a pile of mud.

"Knight, you are so tall and strong."

Zhao Yingkong could no longer bear it and slammed her head against the half-closed wooden door.

"No, he's coming!"

Even after being smashed into a pulp, the knight still cried out in surprise.

The moment Zhao Yingkong stepped into the corridor, the damp shadows enveloped her, and the sensation under her feet suddenly changed from the rough, gritty paint particles to the texture of coarse linen.

The warriors behind her shouted "Princess!" but the words were still hanging in the air before being swallowed up by the darkness.

She looked down at her hands; the white paint stuck to them was peeling off, revealing her calloused fingertips underneath.

The corridor was very dark, with only the flickering green flames in the braziers on the two walls providing a faint light. The flames licked the edges of the pottery basins, casting swaying shadows onto the brick walls, which were then twisted into indistinct shadows.

"Boom-"

A dull thud came from ahead as a blunt object struck the ground.

Zhao Yingkong pressed herself against the wall, blending into the shadows of the firelight.

The sound of dragging footsteps came from ahead.

Hiding in the shadows, Zhao Yingkong squinted and saw a headless corpse carrying a severed head walking heavily towards them, blood still dripping from the broken neck.

It's likely his own head.

Just as Zhao Yingkong was observing the headless male corpse, the head she was holding suddenly opened its eyelids and stared straight at the corner where she was hiding.

Even a moment before that, Zhao Yingkong had already skillfully leaped onto the wall, hiding in a blind spot, coldly watching the headless male corpse.

His head seemed unable to lift, and after looking around and finding nothing, his eyelids closed again.

The headless body turned around and continued walking forward, seemingly heading into the original princess room. Blood from the severed neck left a winding line on the ground, gradually merging into the darkness.

Zhao Yingkong stared at the unnatural brushstrokes at the severed neck, suddenly feeling a tightness in her throat. Her lips parted uncontrollably, emitting a sweet, shrill scream: "A ghost!"

The headless male corpse suddenly stopped, quickly turned around, and looked at her with its bloody eyes on the head it was holding.

"I've found you, Princess Olivia."

Suddenly, the head parted and the corners of its mouth parted.

But Zhao Yingkong hooked the edge of the lip paint with her fingertips and suddenly tore off a thin layer of the canvas stuck to her lips.

"enough!"

She flung the canvas shards at the ground and roared, her voice finally returning to its familiar coldness.

"I've found you too, painter!"

Before the headless male corpse could react, a cold arm was placed on its body.

The headless male corpse wanted to move forward, but it couldn't move at all.

The outer shell of the corpse kept falling off like molten wax, revealing the painter's terrified face.

The painter was shocked, for he was an anomaly; his consciousness resided within the painting, while his external actions were carried out by his oil painting clone.

As long as his consciousness remains intact, he can survive no matter how much damage is done to his oil painting clone.

But at this moment, his consciousness was invaded by an extremely powerful vengeful ghost!
The painter turned his head with difficulty and saw only an old man, a mummified corpse dressed in Nazi uniform, with an arm draped over his shoulder.

The ink on the painter's body was quickly absorbed, and soon turned gray.

He tried to escape, but then the surrounding castle began to collapse.

All colors were absorbed, transforming into a somber essence.

The cold stone slabs were transformed into the hospital's pristine white floors, and the surrounding area was also transformed into the hospital's bright, stark white decor.

When the painter opened his eyes, he found himself no longer in the painting.

His gaze moved with difficulty, and he found himself lying in a hospital room.

Sunlight streamed into the room through the windows fitted with iron mesh.

It's warm and comfortable.

This is a feeling I haven't had in a long time.

The ward wasn't large, and there were other people inside; the painter could vaguely hear them talking.

"Enlarged lateral ventricles, significant atrophy of the frontal lobe, and reduced hippocampal volume."

"Glucose metabolism in the frontal and temporal lobes continues to decline."

"The C-reactive protein level is way too high, and all the indicators are getting worse..."

"The condition should have improved, but it suddenly worsened after treatment."

"The patient has paranoid schizophrenia, accompanied by severe delusions..."

Following the sound, the painter slowly turned his neck and looked around.

Two doctors in white coats were talking. When one of the younger doctors realized he was awake, he immediately shut up, took the documents in his hand, and walked out.

Another doctor, probably in his seventies or eighties, came to the painter's bedside and kindly asked, "How did you sleep last night?"

The painter struggled to lift his head, and when he saw the doctor's face, his slightly open mouth was utterly speechless.

"Have you forgotten again?"

The elderly doctor seemed to be used to all of this and calmly said, "I am the director of St. Elizabeth Hospital in Georgia."

“Gunter von Trein”.

"He is also your attending physician."

(End of this chapter)