Mr. Death in the Steam World

Chapter 161 The Path of the Ancestors

Langdon lowered his head and offered no further explanation.

Moen sighed and walked toward Gregory.

"Marcus, you—you're not going to kill me?"

Moen stopped and turned his head.

"You are not worthy."

Langdon's body stiffened abruptly.

"Killing you would dirty my hands, Clive."

Moen's voice was calm, "If you can get back alive, you're lucky."

He turned around and kicked Langdon in the chest.

Langdon screamed and flew off the snow, arcing through the air before crashing heavily onto a snowdrift a dozen meters away.

Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, spreading a small patch of dark red on the snow.

He struggled to stand up, but the sharp pain in his chest forced him to lie on the snow, gasping for breath.

He remembered many things.

He recalled how Moen hadn't even glanced at him when he mocked him in the classroom.

When he recalled how Moen had deliberately provoked him in the corridor, Moen had simply said, "Get out of the way."

Remembering how he confidently declared his victory in the professor's office, Moen stood at the door, completely ignoring him.

He thought Moen was afraid to mess with him.

He thought Moen was just a good-for-nothing who had been chosen as a key talent for development by sheer luck.

But now he knows.

Moen wasn't afraid of him.

Moen felt he wasn't good enough for him.

It's not worth wasting time, not worth getting angry about, and not worth holding a grudge against.

Just like a person won't hold a grudge against a stray dog ​​that barks at them from the roadside.

Langdon lay in the snow, looking at the crimson light in the sky, and suddenly laughed.

The laughter was hoarse and desolate, echoing through the empty snow valley.

As she laughed, tears streamed down her face and dripped onto the snow.

He remembered why he was being hunted down.

That happened a few days ago.

He rested in his tent that night and woke up in the middle of the night to find his shadow writhing.

He thought it was his imagination, so he turned over and went back to sleep.

But the next morning, he saw an eye in the shadow.

It was an eye without a pupil, only the whites of the eye.

It remained embedded in his shadow, staring at him without moving.

He tried various methods, including splashing water, burning with fire, and attacking with spells, but the eye remained completely still.

Then the man in black robes appeared.

They emerged silently from the wind and snow, giving him no chance to explain, and simply kept chasing after him.

They chased him until his magic was exhausted, until he fled in a sorry state, until he rolled around in the snow like a stray dog.

He thought the men in black robes would kill him.

But each time, they would only push him to the brink and then mysteriously disappear.

He didn't know why.

But now, he understands.

He was just bait.

A pawn designed from the very beginning, destined to be sacrificed.

As for his role, Marcus will probably find out soon enough.

Langdon closed his eyes, and the laughter gradually subsided.

He lay in the snow, listening to the howling wind and snow, and the distant footsteps fading away.

He suddenly remembered what Moen had just said.

"If you manage to get back alive, you're incredibly lucky."

Go back alive?

He opened his eyes, looked at the scarlet sky above him, and a bitter smile appeared on his lips.

Gradually, his shadow spread across the ground, growing larger and larger until it completely enveloped him.

Langdon was powerless to resist, and he gave up resisting.

His body slowly sank, and before he was completely swallowed by the shadow, Langdon stared intently at the pure white eye: "Hey, I'm telling you, even though I'm a piece of trash, since you've swallowed me, you must kill Marcus."

The pure white eyes blinked, seemingly agreeing to Langdon's request.

Langdon smiled with relief and completely disappeared into the shadows.

The shadow kept wriggling, emitting a teeth-grinding chewing sound.

In the center of his forehead was a pure white eyeball.

"If you can't deal with that bird, you can at least deal with yourself, Moen Marcus."

The observer gave a cold smile.

"This time, the old men from the church won't be helping you."

Morne had long forgotten about Langdon's life or death. With the seal drawing ever closer, the entire advance team was on high alert.

"Look, over there behind that mountain!"

Moen looked up and saw a dark palace standing behind the mountains, with a crack slowly opening on the palace.

Countless demonic powers, seemingly solidified, slowly seeped from the cracks, emanating a nauseating stench and decay.

Without a doubt, that was the stronghold of the Truth Society.

Moen didn't feel anything, however, when Gregory and the others saw the building, their expressions turned extremely ugly.

"You blasphemous beast!"

From the grumbling crowd, Moen learned that the dark building was the holy site recorded in the doctrine of the |Circle of Eternal Winter|.

For thousands of years, believers have been unable to find the holy site. Now it seems that it was sealed away along with Beelzebub.

Without a doubt, the Holy Land has now been occupied by the Truth Society.

Even more obviously, in order to stop Beelzebub from breaking the seal, they must enter the Holy Land.

This means that a tough battle is inevitable.

But now, they are in a dilemma.

A frontal assault? With their small numbers, charging in would be tantamount to suicide.

Go back for reinforcements? It's too late. By the time reinforcements arrive, the seal will have already been destroyed.

Gregory gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the exhausted priests.

Of the original thirty-seven men, more than half have been reduced to half after several days of trekking and fighting along the way.

The remaining people were all injured, their magic power exhausted, and they were only holding on by sheer willpower.

A direct frontal assault would be tantamount to suicide.

But if we don't attack, are we just going to watch Beelzebub break the seal?

"Listen up, everyone," Gregory's voice echoed through the snowy valley, "We..."

"etc."

Moen raised his hand, interrupting him.

Gregory frowned and followed Moen's gaze.

Moen was looking down at his chest, where something was glowing.

Reaching into my clothes, my fingertips touched something icy cold.

The snowflake Chloe had given him was trembling violently, its light filtering through his fingers, casting flickering shadows on his face.

It slowly rose and hovered in front of Moen, its petals unfolding one by one, and the light growing brighter and brighter.

The surrounding priests became alert, and the light of the spell gathered at their fingertips.

"No," Moen raised his hand to stop them, "It meant no harm."

The snowflake twirled in the air before slowly drifting down to the snow.

The icy blue color spread outwards from the point of impact, outlining lines of text on the snow surface.

The strokes are delicate and graceful, as if carved on jade with an ice knife.

"Beneath the icefall, the path of our ancestors will never be blocked by evil."