Chapter 1400: Chapter 1400
The sliver of white spiritual light was coming from a small warehouse in the coffee shop’s backyard, but before Jenkins could reach it, he had to get past the “guards” standing watch.
They were two humanoid creatures in tattered black robes. One dragged a massive spiked mace, endlessly circling the yard and carving deep gouges into the ground. The other carried a giant black iron cross on its back, standing perfectly still before the warehouse door.
These monsters must have been placed here by the old man of the clock tower. Their faces were devoid of features save for a single black eye in the center. A single glance was all Jenkins needed to confirm that these eyes were identical to the countless ones covering the old man's face.
In other words, while the old man of the clock tower seemed confined to his post, he could still influence this world by controlling these doomsday monsters.
"Are their sights connected? If these monsters see me, will the old man in the tower know I've arrived?"
Crouching atop the wall, he was momentarily at a loss, debating whether to jump down and fight them head-on or find another way into the warehouse without alerting the creatures.
In truth, the choice was not his to make. The wall, decayed by the forces of time and apocalypse, was already crumbling. Though Jenkins wasn't particularly heavy, his weight proved to be the final straw. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel·fıre·net
As he pondered, he felt the wall shift beneath him and hastily leaped into the yard. The moment his feet touched the ground, a section of the wall collapsed behind him. It wasn't a large breach, and no rubble hit him, but the sound was more than enough to draw the attention of the monsters in the yard.
The monster with the spiked mace stopped its patrol. Its head, dominated by the single large eye, swiveled stiffly to face him. The moment their eyes met, Jenkins felt as if he could see right through that black, slitted pupil to the old man himself, standing with his hands behind his back amid the clock's whirring mechanisms.
Cursing inwardly, he drew his sword just as the monster roared, spun halfway around, and hurled the spiked mace straight at him.
His sword met the solid mace with a tooth-grinding shriek. A wave of numbness shot through Jenkins's wrist, followed by the faint crack of bone as the immense force of the impact bent it back a full one hundred and eighty degrees, pressing the back of his hand flat against his forearm.
For an instant, he felt no pain, only watching in a daze as his sword was sent spinning through the air and the mace continued on its trajectory, straight for his face.
His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and [Titan's Power] surged from the earth through his legs, filling his muscles with explosive strength. He thrust his uninjured left hand forward, the burst of power striking the side of the mace. Jenkins was no master of deflecting great force with minimal effort, so his left hand was also injured in the process, but he mercifully managed to alter the weapon's trajectory.
Diverted by Jenkins's powerful shove, the mace shot off to the side with even greater speed, embedding itself deep in the coffee shop's back wall with a sickening crunch.
"What terrifying strength..."
A green light spread over his hands, first healing the left one. Then, gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he used his restored hand to force the bones of his right wrist back into alignment before healing it as well.
By then, the mace-wielding monster had already reclaimed its weapon, while the creature at the warehouse door had brought the giant cross from its back, clutching it to its chest.
"This was going to be a problem."
With a flick of his right hand, the sword, which had been sent flying into the black, blood-like ooze, shot back into his grasp. Holding it in one hand, he traced a circle on the ground around him, then swiftly inscribed two runes at his feet. He plunged the blade into the earth between the runes, and as his spirit surged into the ground, the [Spiritual Bone Armor] ritual activated.
This wasn't a ritual Jenkins had learned from Papa Oliver or the Church, but knowledge gleaned directly from his sword. As the circle at his feet pulsed with a decaying gray light, seven or eight bones shot out from a nearby pile. Before they reached him, the light of the circle pulverized them into dust, which then swirled to coat his upper body, wrists, and hands, forming a layer of white bone armor.
The Skull Sword's previous owner had used this technique, and with far greater effect. Jenkins didn't know why the blade in his possession was missing so much of its core knowledge and power, but he could only assume it had been damaged when it merged with the spirit of life.
The moment the armor formed, his confidence surged. Just then, the tall, slender figure in black robes charged again, dragging its spiked mace. It executed the same move—a sharp spin that launched the mace forward like a projectile from a steam cannon. And just like before, Jenkins swung his sword to meet it head-on.
This time, however, he managed to deflect the mace without injuring himself, sending it flying to the far side of the yard. Before the monster with the cross could react, Jenkins lunged forward and shattered the mace-wielder's head with a single blow.
The creature collapsed with a final, mournful wail and, along with its weapon, disintegrated into a pile of ash on the ground.
Spirit flowed from his soul, down his arm, and into the blade. He spun and swung, sending a white arc of sword light flying. But before it could reach the giant cross, a black, eggshell-like barrier flickered into existence in the foul air, blocking the attack.
Under the sickly yellow moonlight, Jenkins finally got a clear look at the giant cross. It was entirely black, its surface a tangled lattice of wailing, fist-sized faces, some of them even overlapping.
The guardian plunged the cross deep into the earth, and a black spiritual light radiated outward from its feet. Beneath the dark soil, a terrible power began to build in an instant.
The ground before Jenkins swelled with several mounds as oily stains spread across the yard. Five black tentacles erupted from the soil, drawing on the oily pools and shooting upward like rapidly growing trees. Within moments, they towered over him.
"First a brute, and now a spellcaster?"
Jenkins remained unfazed. He dismissed his sword and produced his cane. With a slight shake, it began to thicken like a living vine, rapidly transforming into the shape of a scepter.
At the same time, he pulled a small cloth pouch from his pocket, one filled with cuttings of ivy. He scattered the plant fragments, which still held a faint spark of life, all around him.