Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

The roaring gun barrel burst into flames, a violent bombardment erupting at the base of the tower, followed by a chain of explosions. All the base supports were completely destroyed, and the dying tower had its spine broken by Ralf. Standing before the tower, which collapsed into ruins, Ralf reloaded his gun.

"Alright, ladies, we've reached the top of the tower."

Who says you have to follow a set routine to defeat a boss, playing hide-and-seek with the tower's owner in a gloomy tower?

Sorry, the wolf only follows its own rules.

Ralf stood there, gun in hand, a sinister smile on his face as he looked at the ruins of the tower reduced to fragments.

Bell ringer, smash me half to death and then settle the score on the ground!

"Violet, prepare to clear the rubble. Be careful, the bell ringer might still be alive."

Ralph noticed Sylvie's bewildered expression. The gunpowder and explosion had stunned her; her mouth was agape enough to fit a small egg.

"Why did you decide to destroy the tower directly?"

"Why? Didn't your angel already determine that he was the enemy? Killing a monster and destroying its lair, I'm just changing the order. Or are you planning to apply for World Heritage status for that tower that could be a disgrace to any architect? In my opinion, I'm just using the most correct method."

Do you have any complaints about the hunting methods we witchers use?

Chapter 479 The Bell Ringer

The wooden planks, damaged by the explosion, became even more scattered, and the once crumbling and eerie tower was reduced to a pile of fragments. The unknown fears seemed comical after Ralf's restoration.

Violet inserted her sword into a gap in the wooden planks, testing it briefly, before extending the blade into the next crevice where the bell-ringing monster might be buried. The planks were very loose, and even a slight increase in gravity could cause a secondary collapse, like dominoes falling to the ground.

But this posed no problem for the nimble and agile Violet. Violet excels at swordsmanship and dance, a result of her dual roles as a sheriff and a young lady. These treacherous, muddy terrains were traversed with the nimble grace of Violet.

Ralf stood at the edge of the ruins, rifle raised, the muzzle slowly moving in sync with Violet. This required immense patience and unwavering willpower; using Violet as bait to lure the monster, Ralf wouldn't allow himself any failure. His index finger had been pressed against the trigger for nearly a minute, the stiffness in his limbs sending numbness from his nerves to his brain. Ralf remained as focused as a corpse.

The moment the noise started, a glint of light flashed in the wolf's eyes.

"Vell, it's two o'clock, jump up!"

Violet had just sheathed her silver sword and tested a sufficiently deep gap in front of her left foot, putting her in a state of complete relaxation as the crisis subsided. Before her brain could even process what was happening, her muscle memory, honed through training, made its own decision upon hearing Ralf's voice: to obey the man's command and leap sharply towards the two o'clock position.

The reaction force caused the wooden plank to collapse, but a giant hand emerging from below quickly lifted it away. It was a two-meter-long hand as thick as a bucket, with dark purple skin that felt like a rotten plum eaten by worms. The skin at the tips of the thick fingers was worn raw, and wooden wedges, like venomous snakes with sharp teeth, pierced into the flesh. Foul-smelling pus oozed from the broken flesh.

The giant hand instantly shattered the spot where Violet was standing. After the attack failed, it changed from slapping to grabbing, reaching out towards the leaping female sheriff.

Violet spun in mid-air, a backflip causing the giant hand to miss its target, only a few strands of red hair visible through its clenched fingers. Her hat was snatched off, and the ends of her long, loose hair were stained a disgusting black with pus. She landed and tumbled, putting some distance between Violet and the giant hand.

The bell ringer's upper body was visible amidst the rubble.

He was a deformed, twisted giant, probably around four meters tall. A single piece of black linen covered his upper body, and his mismatched eyes protruded from his tattered, fleshy frame. Ugly wrinkles made his head resemble a crushed walnut, and his lips were likely hidden within those wrinkles, or perhaps nonexistent. Ralph could hardly discern them.

There was no glimmer of wisdom in his eyes, and his actions suggested a low intelligence, though his capacity for malicious expression was remarkably robust. The bell-ringer pulled another large hand from the ruins; compared to the first hand, his right hand was smaller, and its filthy color was much lighter. His right hand was clenched into a fist and remained there.

The moment the bell ringer appeared, he began to emit muffled groans, heavy as a bull's bellow, like a human roaring with his mouth covered. Blood gushed from his swollen body, and three large triangular planks and countless splinters were stuck in his hunched back.

Ralph wasn’t sure if the wooden items were decorations the bell ringer himself carried, but if not, he was very pleased.

The moment the monster peeked out, it roared at Violet, annoyed by the witch's escape. Almost simultaneously, its teacup-sized eyeball exploded; Ralf's bullet had struck its target precisely.

Woof!!!

The bell-ringer clutched his head, swaying back and forth; the threat of the blind monster had diminished considerably. Violet waited, sword in hand, until the bell-ringer's frantic struggles lessened, then she would rush forward and force him to sound anew.

The bell ringer's struggles ceased.

Violet skipped and jumped across the wooden planks like a dragonfly skimming the water, her sword dancing with a strange rhythm.

This time, the target was the exposed neck of the bell ringer.

Ralf's other bullet was already loaded, and the dragonfire was ready to erupt at any moment. The wolf stared intently at its prey, and something unusual was revealed in its gaze.

The wooden shards embedded in the bell-ringer's flesh were growing. This growth was merely a visual illusion; it was the healing flesh repairing the body, pushing out foreign objects that didn't belong to it. The bell-ringer's body was healing itself; the damage from the exploding tower was completely healed within seconds.

Ultra-fast regeneration.

And the shattered eyeball is clearly within the scope of recovery.

"Be careful to dodge."

Ralf entered firing mode once again. Violet's attacks were unstoppable, and Ralf had to disrupt the bell ringer's movements during the brief window of opportunity when he launched his attack.

The sweeping giant hand crashed into Violet like a tree. If this attack had landed solidly, she probably wouldn't have many bones left intact.

Fortunately, the roaring bullet grazed the gap between the bell ringer's thumb and forefinger, tearing off a bit of flesh, and once again shattered the giant's eyeball.

Another roar, another recovery. Violet's attack only shredded some flesh from his shoulder, but she herself dodged the devastating blow.

"This is outrageous," Ralph thought. "This bizarre regenerative ability makes this monster virtually invincible."

Thoughts wove together in Sheriff Cassandale's mind; Ralph's thinking ability was as swift as the dark clouds rapidly gathering in the sky above Cassandale.

Silvette’s words are the truth.

We have the potential to defeat these monsters.

This ability to regenerate at supersonic speed must have limitations, a condition that allows the possibility to exist.

The bell ringer was pulling his lower limbs out of the rubble. Even the dumbest idiot knows after being blinded twice that he can't be a fixed live target. Moreover, the short-haired dwarf standing still is more dangerous and needs to be crushed first.

The bell ringer braced himself with both hands, pulling his lower body out of the rubble. He ignored Violet's attacks; the cat-scratching blows were easily endured. He only needed to use his left hand to protect his head and block vital organs.

The bell ringer finally stood up.

Ralph eventually saw what he wanted.

The bell ringer's right hand was always clenched into a fist, not because of a physical deformity. A faint glow emanated from the center of his right fist, between his fingers.

The bell ringer was holding something in his hand, something he was clutching tightly.

"Vell, cut off the fingers on his right hand!!!"

Without hesitation, under the cover of Ralf's fierce gunfire, Violet stepped onto the bell-ringer's knee, leaped backward, and used the force of her fall to slice off his thumb and forefinger. The sword, like a venomous snake drawn from its sheath, flicked away the small object in his fist.

The gleam beneath the rust came into everyone's view.

It was a bell, a golden bell with a handle.

Chapter 480 The Philosopher's Stone

Undoubtedly, the gleaming bells that made a crisp sound when metal clashed and fell through the air were something precious.

The bell-ringer let out a completely different, more urgent groan. He no longer paid attention to Violet's silver sword, nor did he try to block the bullets fired by Ralf. His vision seemed to be fixed solely on that fleeting glimpse of gold. He raised his hands high, pus and blood from his severed fingers flowing down his arms, droplets splashing into his hideous eyes. But the bell-ringer paid no heed, continuing to roar urgently as he chased after the bell.

Ralf loaded his gun, his eyes fixed on the giant's running torso and the blood-dripping severed fingers waving in the air.

The wolf revealed a sinister smile, which was not much better than the mortician's makeup.

The bell ringer lost his regenerative abilities; the bell was his limitation.

The bullet exploded inside the bell-ringer's left knee, and the following slash severed the monster's right ankle tendon. The giant, its legs crippled, crawled on the ground howling in agony, the bell falling nearby, its only remaining gleam in the face of deathly terror.

That bell was the bell-ringer's fatal weakness. Without it, dismembering the giant wouldn't be much harder than slaughtering a fleeing beast. Lacking any regenerative abilities, the bell-ringer offered no resistance; he simply dragged his mangled body toward his sole target.

His speed decreased, and his roars grew fainter, but Violet's attack power was ultimately limited; the thin silver sword was no different from a needle prick to the bell ringer.

He was finally about to touch the bell. He persevered to the very end, knowing that his injuries would heal as long as he touched his precious bell.

Just... click.

The light of the bell was blocked by a dark shadow, and the gunpowder-smelling grayish-white mist clung to Ralf's coat. Through the smoke, a pair of golden eyes, filled with mocking malice, were more dazzling than the brilliance of the bell.

A darkness enveloped the bell ringer's vision—the darkness inside the large-caliber barrel of the alchemical musket.

"The first one."

……

The headless giant lay before Ralf, his lifeless body gradually petrifying, weathering, and collapsing.

"Turned to ashes, he really is a vampire..." Ralph took off his coat, dusted off the white ash on the surface, and then shot himself in the head at close range, causing the shattered tissue of the bell ringer to splatter all over him. He originally thought the coat was ruined.

Blood, flesh, bones—everything that originally belonged to the bell ringer was crumbling, leaving a large patch of white ash in the wooden fragments.

Ralf found a pair of unfolded metal wings in the white ash; it was a sword guard, the connecting part between the hilt and the blade, one of the fragments of the cursed sword.

The spoils of war from the destruction of the bell ringer.

There were no casualties in this battle, but it was still quite difficult. With superhuman regeneration, the monstrous stamina and attack power granted by the giant's physique, and a slightly slower speed... Ralf usually avoids such enemies.

This is a monster far beyond human difficulty; no wonder the Witcher is merely a legend told by young men and women, a tale of the dead. Without scheming, without deceit or plotting, this pure, beast-like combat of strength is something Ralf isn't good at. And indeed, he's less effective in battle than the agile Violet.

This was the result of destroying the tower beforehand. Will we be just as lucky next time? Will buildings in other areas also be easily blown up? Are the monsters there just stupid brutes with low intelligence?

how is this possible.

Ralph made a bold decision: he needed to use some of his own tricks to take control of the situation.

Sylvie walked over, carrying the little bell that the bell ringer had been longing for.

"This was originally a ritual vessel inside the chapel, a bell used by the pastor to call the congregation during Mass. It ended up in the hands of the bell ringer."

“This bell is the source of that monster’s power. I suspect other monsters might have similar things. Only with such a clear weakness can we have a chance of victory.” Ralf held out his palm. “Can this power be used by me?”

The uneven bell was passed to Ralf, but there was no reaction; to Ralf, it was just a bell.

“These ritual artifacts have long been in the hands of the angels’ enemies, and their power has long been distorted. They are the monsters’ weaknesses, but once the monsters are dead, they will probably lose their effectiveness.”

Sylvie dashed Relf's hopes; the idea of ​​getting equipment from monsters was indeed unrealistic. But Relf still put the bell inside his trench coat.

“This is my spoils, even if it’s just a bell.”

Sylvie didn't say much, just smiled to show that she understood the Witcher's strange habits.

The eastern tower was shattered, but the bell ringer had been killed, and the fragments of the cursed sword had been obtained. To Sylveet, this twilight was like a small crack of hope tearing open the gloom of despair in Dagonris. This was a new beginning; the future of Dagonris would no longer have vampires, no longer have crazed bloods like Loshutar. A sense of satisfaction welled up within Sylveet.

For the sake of Drogonris, sacrifice is necessary.

Exhausted, Violet needed to rest, and Ralf's cleaning plan wasn't urgent either. Before dusk, the three returned to the chapel to rest.

The death of the bell ringer caused little ripple among the people of Drogonris. His empty gaze made Sylveet's lips slowly curl into a smile, as if the deceased were a complete stranger. The oppression of survival had driven these people to their breaking point, Sylveet thought; they were numb, like puppets.

She knew this difficult situation should be understood, but the empty gaze made Sylvie, whose hope had been rekindled, feel uneasy for the first time. The girl now longed to be with the two strangers, both the spirited Violet and the gloomy Ralf, who could bring her more warmth.

Tonight, Drogonris is peaceful. The Blood Angel seems satisfied with the three's actions and did not cause any terror in the middle of the night. It is a relatively peaceful night.