Please don't question multi-week players

Chapter 470. Accidentally Entering a Contaminated Area (Part 470)

Andorra stood still, looking up at the sky.

The water vapor was so thick that it almost solidified, spreading into a hazy fog in the field of vision.

The air felt heavy on my shoulders, each breath carrying a damp weight.

Just as the feeling of dampness accumulated to a certain critical point—

A deep humming sound came from all directions.

The sound seemed to originate from the water itself, like tons of seawater quietly boiling in an unseen abyss, or like countless fine strings being plucked simultaneously in the air.

Andor felt his heart resonate with the buzzing, each beat heavy and clear, making his chest tremble slightly.

But this palpitation, like the ringing in the air, only lasted for a few minutes.

Then, everything came to an abrupt end.

The sky suddenly became empty.

The white ballistic traces, the sharp sound of air being cut, and the faint sound of explosions in the distance—all disappeared.

The world was muted, leaving only the damp wind brushing past my ears.

In the distance, the towering wall of water began to crumble, the splashing sound like a giant scattering shards of glass.

The churning sea gradually calmed down, and the expeditionary soldiers, like black streams, flowed down from the ships that had docked at the shore, seeping into the city streets.

There was no resistance, no gunfire, no shouts. They simply walked, as if returning to territory they had long since taken control of.

Andor stood up from the ground next to the sculpture and patted the dust off the hem of his coat.

He took out a neatly folded white handkerchief from his pocket, picked up a suitable thin twig from beside his feet, and quickly tied the handkerchief to it, making a simple little white flag.

He weighed the flag in his hand, then tucked it into the drawstring next to the brim of his hat and put the hat back on.

The white flag swayed slightly on his forehead.

"...Isn't it said that triggering the invincibility line of the water element can instantly kill the entire field?"

He lowered his voice and muttered:
"Why did it only make a few buzzing sounds and then stop?"

He left the shadow of the statue and turned into a five-story tavern next door.

The stairs were old and creaked when you stepped on them.

He went straight to the top floor and pushed open the rooftop door.

Looking out from here, the view suddenly opens up.

The sea has calmed its raging waves and is now peaceful.

Countless warships were carried aloft by the waves, and soldiers were still landing in an orderly fashion, like ants.

Further into the sky, many differently colored dots of light floated – those were the observers from the Light faction who possessed monitoring capabilities.

Those "eyes" quietly watched below, as if nothing had gone wrong.

Andor frowned, took out his phone from his pocket, and turned on the screen.

As soon as the forum interface was refreshed, several posts marked with the word "hot" jumped to the front page.

The intelligence network and analysts of the Light faction have clearly pieced together the whole picture.

A post with a short title was pinned to the top:

[Real-time Battle Report: Air humidity in Haidu breaks through invincible limits; Yin Ju, the mastermind behind water-based warfare, completes the targeted elimination of the local armed forces headquarters]

He clicked on it.

The text consists of only a few calm lines, but the accompanying images are stunning.

In the aerial footage, the local armed headquarters he had heard of—the Gunners' Club, the Black Reef Group, and the coastal defense outposts—had all vanished.

Instead, there were patches of irregularly spreading deep red, like bloodstains randomly crushed on the city map by an unseen giant hand.

The moment the air humidity reaches its limit, the water vapor permeating every inch of space becomes the most deadly weapon.

Andorra stared at the glaring red in the picture, then looked up at the streets and sea that had returned to calm.

The wind rustled the small white flag beside his hat.

He suddenly understood the meaning of those few minutes of buzzing.

That was not a declaration, nor was it a threat.

That was the lingering vibration of the winch releasing its last vestige at the end of the execution.

True strength never needs to make a fuss.

There are many people like him who have just realized this in the comments section of this post.

The image itself was somewhat gory and even blurred with mosaic, but the comments section was surprisingly lighthearted:
"I'm in Haidu. What just happened? They killed me in the blink of an eye with that buzzing sound?"

"I also feel that the kill was really fast, but water magic does seem to be the spell with the fewest special effects."

"It's hard not to agree with what the person upstairs said. I'm nearsighted with 400 degrees of myopia, and when I actually fought against water-type opponents, their water spheres were transparent, making them very difficult to see when they came flying at me. Old Six's ability is undeniable."

"Now that you mention it, I realize it's true. The water is so clear, and sometimes the reflection is so bright it's dazzling..."

"I'm the HR manager of Assassin's Guild. Our top assassins include water-based ones. They can choke a client to death just by having them drink a sip of water. High-end assassins don't need too many skills."

"666 killed them all directly. The water-type characters are still complaining about being weak on the forums every day. Don't they realize that none of the metal, wood, fire, and earth types have an invincible line?"

"I was wondering why my water-type friends always pick fights with their enemies during the rainy season. Turns out, water-types are so powerful when the humidity is high!"

……

The forum's comment section is currently undergoing a cognitive upheaval. For a long time, the public's impression of water-type ability users has always been closely associated with "gentle" and "low-key"—and this is not entirely unfounded.

Their power is closely related to the water vapor cycle between heaven and earth, and is profoundly influenced by the humidity of the seasons and even the region.

During droughts, their strength inevitably diminishes, and this inherent instability has fostered a humble and even somewhat cautious nature in them, making them less likely to show off on forums.

Compared to other war factions, they are generally recognized as having the best temper and the widest social circle.

That is why this annihilation, accomplished by pure water-based power, has brought an unprecedented shock.

The feeling was no less than discovering that your usually kind and unassuming old friend has suddenly shed their ordinary facade and revealed a ruthless, demonic side.

The stark contrast challenged everyone's preconceived notions.

Photos taken from different angles and heights are still circulating and being added to the scene rapidly on the forum.

But Andorra had already turned off the screen.

This area has changed hands, which is a major event in the news, but for ordinary people, it's just another ordinary day, and life goes on as usual.

Andorra was a little hungry and planned to find a place to eat, but due to the impact of the war, the streets were no longer the familiar place he knew.

The crowd surged and shoved like ants whose nest had been disturbed, their debris and broken glass gleaming in the dust.

Most of the signs were dark, the torn iron gates were twisted and deformed, and occasionally a wary face would flash behind a tightly closed window before quickly disappearing.

The air smelled of burnt plastic and a rusty, fishy odor, carried by the wind and lingering deep in my throat.

He walked for a long time, almost giving up hope, before finally catching a glimpse of a faint light at the end of an alley.

It's a small shop with a narrow, dusty storefront.

The only glaring thing was the glass door—it had been marked with a huge "X" in some kind of dark red, viscous paint, the strokes crude and the ends trailing long, dried drip marks, like a blatant warning.

Andorra frowned, puzzled.

Hunger drove him, and his hand gripped the cold doorknob.

The door hinges made a dry, harsh creaking sound, as if they hadn't been opened in a long time.

A complex aroma wafted over, a strong, greasy smell of meat fat boiling at high temperatures, yet underneath, there was a subtle, indescribable sweet and fishy smell, like stale offal.

The main lights in the shop were off, only a dim yellow glow emanated from the kitchen, casting long, messy shadows of the tables and chairs in the front hall onto the wall, making them look jagged and menacing.

In the silence, only the sizzling sound from the kitchen could be heard—the popping of hot oil hitting meat, eerily steady.

He moved his feet and walked around the empty counter.

You can glimpse a corner of the kitchen; the owner is standing in front of the stove with his back to you.

The oil in the frying pan was bubbling violently, and the thick steak inside was already browned at the edges, trembling slightly as it sizzled.

Each time the oil sizzled, the dim light jumped, and the writhing shadow on the wall trembled with excitement.

The boss's movements were focused and steady, even with a ritualistic slowness.

Andorra sat down in the chair closest to the counter. The greasy, sweet, and fishy smell in the air was even stronger, lingering around his nose and refusing to dissipate.

He raised his voice, trying to dispel the inexplicable chill in his heart:
"Boss, a steak, please."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the occasional figure rushing past the door, then added:
"Outside... there's just been a battle, it's a complete mess, boss, why are you back to open the shop so soon?"

The sizzling sound of grilling paused for a moment.

Then, there was a cracking sound from the bones as the neck turned, like a withered branch being slowly broken.

Andor saw that the silent silhouette with its back to him was slowly turning its head backward at an angle that defied human logic.

First, her profile; then most of the back of her head; and finally, her entire face was turned completely backward—a full ninety degrees, right in front of him.

The dim light shone directly on that face, revealing a pale and swollen face. The corners of his mouth were stretched wide towards his ears, a twisted smile that seemed to tear the muscles in his cheeks apart from the effort he was putting in. His eyes, however, were lifeless and unblinking.

"I didn't come back quickly."

His parted lips moved, and the sound seemed to be squeezed out from a leaky bellows, hoarse and with an inhuman flatness:

"I didn't leave at all."

The hairs on Andorra's body stood on end in that instant, and a chill shot up his spine to the top of his head.

He saw it clearly—in the dim light of the kitchen, the boss's body was still facing the stove, only his neck was twisted like a mollusk.

Beneath that greasy apron, the silhouette seemed somewhat...unnaturally swollen and stiff.

Instinctive fear gripped him; his stomach churned no longer with hunger, but with a chilling nausea.

He swallowed almost instinctively.

Andorra's fingertips trembled and turned cold as he reached for his phone in his pocket.

I glanced at the screen.

He doesn't have many contacts on his phone; the top three are:

1. If you call President Jun of Rose Group, the call will likely be routed through the assistant department first, and the possibility of directly connecting to the president's office is 0.

2. His good friend is a shaman who is very good at performing rituals. His boss is very powerful, but the boss only replies to messages depending on his mood.

3. The Sword Master's sister, who is a good friend of mine, is kind and gentle, and most importantly, she is incredibly strong.

So now the problem is, Andorra only has time to make one phone call—

Which one should we call over?

　I'm going to sleep now, there will be another update tomorrow during the day~
　　(End of this chapter)