Mr. Death in the Steam World

Chapter 158 Death is not a god of death

Finally, the Truth Society's personnel entered firing range.

If Moen hadn't noticed beforehand, they would most likely have been able to sneak into the camp undetected.

Unfortunately, the snowflakes weren't on their side.

The moment the first man in black robes stepped into the camp, Gregory's voice boomed through the night.

"Take Action 1"

In an instant, more than a dozen magical lights illuminated the darkness surrounding the camp.

Ice spikes, holy light arrows, and magical chains shot out simultaneously from all directions, catching the black-robed men off guard.

Several black-robed men at the forefront were knocked to the ground before they could even scream. Their blood seeped into the snow and quickly froze into dark red ice shards.

The remaining people reacted quickly as well.

They quickly tightened their formation, forming a circle back to back, their hands glowing with various magical lights.

A man in a black robe who appeared to be the leader looked up, his face beneath the hood filled with shock and anger.

"There's an ambush."

"nonsense."

Gregory sneered, drew his longsword, and a sudden blue light flashed on its blade.

He took a step forward and instantly appeared in front of the leader in black robes.

The sword light swept across.

The leader in black robes managed to erect a barrier in front of him, but Gregory's sword strike was too fierce, and the barrier shattered after only a moment.

The blade sliced ​​across his chest, and blood gushed out.

Moen didn't watch Gregory's battle; his attention was focused on the black-robed men trying to break through.

There were a dozen or so men in black robes, at least half of whom were low-level magicians. The remaining few had stronger magical energy fluctuations, probably around the second level, but they were all entangled by the order's battle priests.

Only two managed to break through the encirclement and rushed towards Moen's location.

Moen took a deep breath.

"A Night of Venting and Slaughter"

start up.

A purple light emanated from him, appearing particularly eerie in the night.

"The Eye of Death and the Depths of the Mine"

Start simultaneously.

Darkness exploded from beneath his feet, spreading wildly in all directions.

The two men in black robes were instantly and completely deprived of their vision.

Sight, magic, heat perception—all methods of locking onto a target became useless in that darkness.

"What?"

"See ghosts—"

'

Moen didn't give them time to react.

"Red Dragon's Claw" - Activate.

Dragon's might surged from his body, and the pressure emanating from the depths of his bloodline caused the two black-robed men to instinctively stiffen for a moment.

That one moment was all that Moen needed.

His figure moved silently in the darkness, his right hand transforming into a ferocious dragon claw, flames leaping between his fingers.

The first man in black robes didn't even see where the attack came from before a dragon claw pierced his chest.

Flames erupted from the wound, setting his body ablaze from the inside.

He didn't even have time to let out a complete scream before he turned into a handful of ashes.

The second man in black robes finally reacted. He frantically released spells in all directions, trying to break through the eerie darkness with brute force.

Fueled by the rising energy of "the night of venting and slaughter," Moen had already circled behind him.

"Click"

The sound of dislocated joints was particularly crisp in the darkness.

The black-robed man's body went limp, and flames engulfed his body as well.

Moen retracted his dragon claw. "The duration of the mine's depths has just ended."

In the center of the camp, the battle was nearing its end.

Gregory's longsword was stained with blood, and the corpses of men in black robes lay at his feet.

The remaining black-robed men were also divided and surrounded by the battle priests, and were subdued or killed one by one.

Moen stood there, panting heavily.

The effects of the "Night of Venting and Slaughter" are fading; the exhilarating feeling of soaring power is receding like the tide, replaced by a deep weariness.

But at this moment, he had no mind to care about his physical exhaustion.

The Death Note is being flipped through frantically.

The pages flipped through the book faster than ever before.

The patterns on the cover were blood-red, and they were getting brighter and brighter.

At the same time, an unprecedented power surged from the notebook, flowing into his body along the magic circuit.

The magic is growing wildly.

The feeling was like drinking red dragon blood, no, it was much stronger and more intense than that.

With each page turn, a new magic is injected into his path.

With each breath, his magical limit was gradually increased.

Moen closed his eyes, immersing himself in the feeling.

That's wonderful.

The feeling of power surging within my body, the feeling of my limits being constantly pushed higher.

Every cell in his body was telling him to keep harvesting, not to stop.

Slaughter more, reap more, and become stronger!

With a few more, he can break through to the third tier.

With a few dozen more, he could break through to the fourth tier.

Several hundred more Moen suddenly opened their eyes.

Looking down at the snowflakes in my arms, I felt an unprecedented chill, icy and bone-chilling.

He finally snapped out of his daze of gaining power.

For the first time since his transmigration, Moen observed the Death Note with wary eyes.

This book was tempting him.

It was tempting him with its soaring power, urging him to kill more people, reap more lives, and become stronger.

But what will he become if this continues?

A madman who kills for power.

A demon who treats life as nourishment.

A monster that even it doesn't recognize itself.

Moen took a deep breath, reached out, and pressed his hand on the swirling pages of the Death Note.

The pages struggled, but were powerless to resist, and eventually stopped turning, falling silent.

Moen pulled the notes back into his mind and let out a long breath.

I need to be more careful from now on.

However, although the increase in magic power slowed down, he felt that his realm had improved.

It was a change in state of mind that was hard to explain.

Unbeknownst to him, within the space of consciousness, Sharon withdrew her outstretched hand, a slight smile appearing on her lips.

"Well done, my master."

"The Grim Reaper is not the same as the God of Slaughter."

,

The fighting in the camp is completely over.

Of the twenty-odd men in black robes, all but three prisoners were killed.

Gregory was directing the battle priests to clean up the battlefield, tie up the prisoners, and pile the corpses aside.

The students of St. Alice lived up to their name as magicians. Although they were all full-time students and had little experience on the battlefield, their performance in actual combat was surprisingly good.

Fils also made great contributions in this battle, using the Holy Fire to single-handedly hold back the entire group of black-robed men from the west.

She walked over to Moen and looked at him with concern.

"You just now—" she said carefully, "Mr. Marcus, you looked terrible."

"It's nothing," Moen shook his head. "It's just that my magic power is being used up quite a bit."

""

"You've worked hard. Hmm, there's dust on your face."

Fils took out a handkerchief and handed it to him.

Moen took the handkerchief, wiped his face, and temporarily suppressed those chaotic thoughts.

Gregory walked over from the battlefield, his face filled with undisguised admiration.

"Marcus, you've done a great job! If you hadn't discovered it in advance, we would have definitely suffered a huge loss tonight."

"Your intuition is spot on. The cult needs people like you. To treat someone like you as a menial servant is insane!"

'

Gregory shouted, "All soldiers, heed my command: rest until dawn, then continue the march!"

Does it really have to rhyme like this?

Moen shook his head and chuckled, then took out a snowflake from his pocket.

The snowflakes had now calmed down and were gleaming warmly in the moonlight.

Moen stared at the snowflake for a few seconds, then carefully placed it back in his arms.

"Thank you, Chloe."

He closed his eyes.

The threshold to the third tier was right in front of him; he could already feel its presence, it was within reach.