Death Wizard Diary.

Chapter 359 The Oriole The Oriole The Oriole

boom--

Boom—Boom—

Several loud explosions came from the hovering ship.

However, it was a crew member who was already on the ship who ignited the explosives.

The first mate, who had just said that the half-elf was only at the first tier of strength, was now staring blankly at the sky, indifferent to everything around him.

Dozens of crew members were running around on the deck.

Some people were laughing, while others were begging for mercy.

Someone was cleaning the deck with a mop stained with blood when a passerby slipped and fell headfirst into a bucket of red, dirty water.

But before he could struggle to get up, the crew member who was mopping the floor, with a strange smile on his face, picked up the mop and stabbed it hard into the wooden tub.

The sound of a watermelon cracking open rang out, and a pile of white, unidentified objects appeared on the surface of the water.

The crew member mopping the floor nodded in satisfaction, then pulled out the red and white mop and continued sliding it across the deck.

The first mate was still gazing at the sky.

He opened his mouth, but it was empty; there was no tongue, teeth, or throat, only clumps of red flesh wriggling inside.

A "whoosh whoosh whoosh" sound came from inside.

A crew member who was running around accidentally bumped into the first mate. He immediately forgot what he was about to do and, imitating the first mate, began to look up at the sky.

"Ah!" He looked at the sky, his eyes filled with terror, his mouth agape.

But before he could utter a second cry, it was as if something had been shoved into his mouth with a "plop." It took away his teeth below his lips, his mouth, and his throat, all the way in.

The crew member's fear vanished, and he slowly closed his mouth.

A few minutes later, when he opened his mouth again, his internal organs and muscles melted into lumps of flesh, and he made a "woo-woo-woo" crying sound.

Another massive explosion. The wood at the bottom of the ship burst open, and a huge black sphere, ten meters in diameter, rolled out from it.

The black sphere resembled a tangled mass of hair, the tips of which were constantly trembling. It was a monster formed by the intertwined necks of all the slender, ghostly figures.

They bit and twisted at each other, as if they had met an enemy they were determined to kill no matter what.

Inside the black sphere, a painful howl emanated.

When people went mad, even the monsters weren't spared.

Oscar Wilde stood atop the highest sail, looking down at his feet, his eyes twitching incessantly.

"I don't know how much Yura paid you, but I can give more to stop your corruption, half-elf. You're committing suicide!"

At this time, he was also feeling unwell.

At this point, the skin on the left side of Wilde's face was torn off, revealing bright red muscle.

The muscles slowly revived as they writhed, only to be torn off again in the next second.

If you look closely, you'll find that the red on the left side of his face is too vivid, not like blood, but like a blazing flame, burning his muscles and nerves.

Wilde's original beard and curly hair were also torn off completely, and whenever they grew back, Wilde himself ruthlessly plucked them off.

This is the scariest part.

All the harm—was caused by themselves!

The half-elf in front of them had only made one move.

That is, when the cannonballs from the land-based ship hit him, the half-elf instantly turned into countless snowflakes.

So, in the warm spring, a blizzard struck.

Ten minutes later, the half-elf stood atop the sail, slightly lower than Wilde. Fine snowflakes were still drifting around him.

These snowflakes, once they landed on the boat, quickly melted away. What seemed insignificant was actually the culprit that brought disaster.

Oscar Wilde also had half his face disfigured after being touched by snowflakes.

Even now, the pollution there is still stirring, constantly trying to break through its defenses, invade vital organs, and penetrate deep into the brain and consciousness.

"I don't know who Yura is. It was Gorsa who sent me here."

"Gorsa?" Wilde immediately narrowed his eyes.

Although he was corrupted by the pollution carried by the half-elf, he remained relatively calm.

After all, this ship was just a frigate in his fleet, used to track Thor; if it was destroyed, so be it.

As for his crew... Wilde was already prepared to sacrifice all of them when he signed the tripartite agreement.

After all, in this agreement, he was the one openly drawing fire from the enemy.

His subordinates were unaware of this matter.

However, if drawing fire accidentally attracts Gorza's attention.

That would be too dangerous.

With that thought in mind, Wilde disregarded the people on the ship and immediately flew into the sky. He activated his magic at full speed, endured the mental pressure from the half-elf, and tried his best to stabilize his mental body, quickly flying towards the direction of the Valley of the Fallen Hands.

After confirming that everyone on the ship had been corrupted by the pollution he carried, the half-elf turned his head slightly, his entire being transforming into swirling snowflakes, chasing Wilde into the distance.

Suddenly, a sharp sound came from not far away.

The sound was extremely penetrating, causing the snowflakes that had condensed into a ball to appear as if they were about to disintegrate.

Then the wind and snow transformed back into human form, and the half-elf looked at the person who had suddenly appeared and stopped him from pursuing.

"Keith...Mett?" His voice was still pleasant, but it lacked inflection.

With a flash of light and shadow, an elegant figure appeared on a large tree trunk surrounding the giant ship.

Kismet put down his harp and gave the half-elf a bow.

"It's an honor that you still remember my name. Since you remember me, could you spare Wilde this time? I still owe him my life."

"I don't believe it," the half-elf said calmly.

"Tsk tsk," Kismet curled his lip, then changed his excuse, "Okay, okay, actually I owe him a request."

"I don't believe it."

"Yes, that excuse is a bit lame." Kismet thought for a moment, then clasped his hands together. "Actually, he's somewhat useful to me, so he can't die yet. Could you spare him this once?"

This time the reason is somewhat plausible.

The half-elf didn't immediately determine the truth; he simply turned his toes toward Kismet.

However, before the half-elf could speak, another voice answered for him.

"cannot!"

Kismet and the half-elf both looked in the third direction.

A powerful surge of magical energy emanated from afar.

But the next second, Kismet, who was standing on the tree, suddenly flipped and jumped down. After landing on his toes, he quickly moved nearly a hundred meters in the blink of an eye.

Almost simultaneously, Gorza, dressed in a reddish-brown cloak, appeared where Kismet had been standing.

He stared at Kismet, but urged the half-elf, "Don't forget my request, half-elf."

The half-elf retracted his toes, which had already shifted direction, and transformed back into a swirling snowflake, rapidly heading in the direction Wilde had fled.

Now, only Gorza and Kismet are left here.

Gorsa's silver eyes met Kismet's silver pupils.

One was gentle, the other playful.

Suddenly, Gorsa moved. He stretched out his right hand, and his pink bandaged palm opened wide. A dark shadow flew out from his palm, quickly growing larger, like a large net covering Kismet.

The shadow expanded rapidly, covering Kismet's head and almost turning day into night.

Kismet immediately became alert, his long fingers plucking rapidly across the harp, and at the same time, he opened his mouth and let out a silent shriek.

"Splash—"

Like a mirror falling from a hundred meters in the air, the black curtain above Kismet's head turned into countless fragments that fell from the sky.

It was like a heavy, black snowfall.

The moment the snow hits the ground, it quickly disappears into the shadows of the grass and trees.

Kismet's fingers did not stop after the darkness shattered; the piano music was rapid, and the sound waves seemed to materialize, preventing any of the falling fragments from getting close to him or his shadow.

Only after all the fragments had disappeared did Kismet put down his harp. His face had paled several shades, but a smile still lingered on his lips. "You've really switched to dark elemental magic? Aren't you afraid of getting a spanking from your Radiant ancestors?"

(End of this chapter)