Chapter 171. Don’t Bother, Words Are Useless Ch 171. Don’t Bother, Words Are Useless |
“They’re here,” George Barton, sipping tea in Boca’s living room, said suddenly. “You feel it?”
“…Yes, I sense someone cursing my house,” Boca replied, his face grim but relieved he’d acted decisively.
His tone was deferential, almost groveling. “Great Guardian, what should I do? Draw their attention outside, or stay here?”
“Whatever,” George said curtly, uninterested.
Boca was a witness, but no saint. Interrogation could wait—first, deal with the trash.
To his griffins, George said, “Protect David and Mr. Boca.”
“No need for my help?” Philip, the griffin sprawled in the room, rumbled.
Angelica and David flanked David protectively, shielding him from potential snipers.
“I’ll call if I need you,” George said. “For now, I don’t.”
Through the Eye of Avalon, he’d assessed their lineup. Only Lloyd was a real threat. A middle-aged woman, likely an Adaptation Path Transcendent, sensed his surveillance and fled before the carriages stopped.
As for Boca’s “Alastair,” he wasn’t there.
No matter. Catching Lloyd would suffice. Protecting Boca, the tainted witness, would unravel a corrupt network in time.
“Be careful,” Philip warned, then fixed Boca with a sharp glare. “I’m watching you. No tricks.”
“No, no…” Boca said with a bitter smile.
Tricks? He wasn’t that foolish.
George slowly drew his elven curved blades—slender, willow-leaf-like, one black-handled, one white, their meter-long blades gleaming silver.
Crafted with ancient Imperial techniques, these were replicas of gifts sent to the Papal State, enhanced with elven artistry: silver tones, floral carvings on the sheathes, gem-encrusted handles, and elven runes on the blades.
Blessed by a former Pope with Candlekeeper and Eternal Self enchantments, they were national treasures, passed down as symbols of the Great Guardian’s authority.
Light yet razor-sharp, their structure was deceptively durable. As George infused them with wind mana, the blades vanished, replaced by faint white and black light arcs.
The blades converted wind mana into light and dark attributes—light deadly to demons, dark lethal to humans.
Squinting, George used the Eye of Avalon to mark everyone surrounding 113 Greentree Avenue. Even through walls, their outlines glowed in his vision.
Kicking open the door, he was met with an infant’s wail—a cursed infant, a vicious spell that unfailingly bit at hearts and froze organs.
Then came a hail of bullets—not Avalon’s common pistols or semi-automatic rifles, but smuggled Star Antimony fully automatic rifles.
The demon scholars’ aim was poor, bullets spraying walls, kicking up dust.
George ignored them. A ferocious gale erupted from him, deflecting the rounds. The howling storm destabilized the attackers, forcing them to shield their eyes from flying debris.
A flash of light cut through the storm, slicing the cursed infant in two.
Like white lightning, George darted through the crowd, blood blooming and whisked away by the wind. The scholars barely saw their foe before a thunderbolt-like strike knocked them unconscious.
In moments, their heads rolled—swift, painless deaths. Many didn’t realize they were gone.
Their demons weren’t spared. Even those soon to dissipate were pierced by light arcs, bursting into black smoke and dust.
George’s lightning danced chaotically, impossible to track with eyes or mana.
Only against stronger demons did he briefly materialize, slashing three times in an instant, shredding them before vanishing into the storm’s crackling arcs.
When the storm ceased and George reappeared, only Lloyd remained alive.
He raised his invisible blades, crossing them before flicking them apart. A black-and-red cross of blood appeared in the air.
The blades, now visible, gleamed pristine. George’s expression and breathing remained steady, as if he hadn’t just slain over thirty third-tier demon scholars and their demons in mere breaths, but had simply taken a bite of food.
Tommy, drenched in sweat, recognized the Great Guardian. He never imagined he’d protect Boca.
If Boca knew the Great Guardian, why act so cowardly before?
Tommy wanted to run but knew he couldn’t. The Great Guardian’s griffins were nearby. He might outrun George, but never a pureblood griffin.
Blessed by wind, they merged with storms, moving faster than sound without tearing the air—a speed no human could match.
As George approached, Tommy could only plead, “Great Guardian, this must be a misunderstanding…”
“Oh?” George said calmly, advancing. “A misunderstanding about illegally smuggling firearms? Kidnapping a founding family’s heir? Attempting to murder a sitting judge? Using a cursed infant for spells?
“Or… attacking the Bureau’s highest authority, the Great Guardian?”
His words barely landed before he vanished.
Tommy’s soul nearly fled his body. He stumbled back as his contracted labyrinth demon materialized from the void, roaring with earth-shaking force.
Over three meters tall, with a bull’s head and hooves but a human torso, its black-furred, muscular body wielded a dark golden war axe as tall as itself, its eyes burning with cyan flames.
A high-tier demon, the labyrinth demon was why Tommy joined Noble Red.
Its roar summoned layered stone walls, etched with blood-cursed words, forming a vast, sturdy maze. The demon could move freely within, but only one exit was safe. Others led to the Dream Realm, instant death for mortals.
This was Tommy’s last card.
Teleported outside, he watched the towering walls nervously.
In about ten minutes, the walls collapsed like an illusion.
George emerged, slightly disheveled but unharmed, catching his breath. “Not bad, Llo—”
“—No more talk. I surrender,” Tommy interrupted, throwing himself flat on the ground, motionless.
(Chapter End)