After taking more than a dozen sword strikes, Buck’s health wavered like a candle in a storm, rapidly dwindling to just one-third of its total value, placing him in an extremely perilous situation. His body was covered in crisscrossing wounds, with fresh blood oozing out and staining his once-pristine attire into a grotesque, abstract painting of red and black.

  Midway through the fight, the flames dancing on Viddens’ sword flickered and gradually dimmed, like a campfire running out of fuel, before extinguishing completely. It seemed that such an ability required a continuous burn of spiritual energy or life force, and even a seasoned hunter like Viddens could not sustain it indefinitely. The moment the fire died, an inexplicable sense of unease spread through the air, as if the oppressive stillness before a storm had settled over the battlefield.

  Yet, this did not change the tide of battle. Buck’s desperate attacks were nothing more than child’s play before Viddens. When Viddens fought at full strength, his speed was so overwhelming that it created an illusion—as if he could meld into the air and vanish without a trace. Each time Buck swung his monstrous claws, Viddens would effortlessly evade with a near-phantasmal agility, his movements resembling a bat gliding through the night—fluid, elusive, and unfathomable.

  Retreating a few steps, the hunter curled his lips into a cold, mocking smile—one laced with amusement and condescension. Without hesitation, he reached to his waist and retrieved a red injection vial, its surface gleaming with an eerie light under the dim battlefield glow. Then, without the slightest pause, he drove the needle into his neck with practiced precision and ruthless efficiency.

  Seeing this, Buck’s eyes turned crimson in rage, like a wild beast driven to madness. He recognized that item—it was a unique life-restoring serum used by hunters. Watching Viddens’ health bar surge back up as the effects of the potion took hold, Buck’s fury erupted to its peak. He roared internally, I don’t have any healing abilities in combat! If this bastard recovers his health right in front of me, how the hell am I supposed to win?!

  At that precise moment, his demonic claw—freshly off cooldown—lashed out with a piercing gust of wind. Its scaled surface gleamed with an ominous luster, and its razor-sharp fingertips sliced through the air with a shrill, lethal whistle.

  Viddens’ calm gaze flickered with a sharp glint. Without panic, he lifted the short-barreled firearm in his left hand. The weapon seemed like an extension of his very being, melding seamlessly into his grip. His fingers squeezed the trigger with an effortless yet decisive motion.

  A thunderous crack shattered the battlefield’s silence.

  Fueled by the burning of hunter’s blood, the bullet was infused with a violent force, gaining unimaginable kinetic power. With a burst of crimson energy, it struck at the perfect moment—hitting the precise fulcrum of the demonic claw’s strike.

  Buck felt an overwhelming force crash against his monstrous hand, a force like a tidal wave that instantly ripped through its thick hide, leaving a gruesome hole in its wake. Simultaneously, his health plummeted by over 300 points, dropping to a mere 935. The impact sent his body reeling backward, his footing unsteady as he stumbled, carving deep trenches into the ground in a frantic effort to regain balance.

  A soft clicking sound emanated from the hunter’s firearm—it was the subtle hiss of a viper flicking its tongue. A silver needle shot out from the grip and plunged into Viddens’ vein at lightning speed. The moment it made contact, the needle rapidly drained a significant amount of his blood, as if an invisible force was siphoning it away, channeling the essence directly into the gun’s chamber.

  In the blink of an eye, a blood-forged bullet condensed within the barrel. The sinister projectile exuded a nauseating scent of iron, its surface undulating slightly as if it were alive.

  “He can fire again?!” Buck’s eyes widened in shock, his voice trembling with disbelief.

  The gun roared once more, releasing a second streak of blood-red light. The shot carried a terrifying momentum as it struck directly into Buck’s chest—shattering half of his heart in an instant. His body jerked violently backward as a fountain of blood erupted from his mouth, blooming in the air like a crimson plum blossom. His health plummeted by over 400 points, leaving his life force dangerously dim.

  After firing two successive shots, Viddens’ face turned even paler, as white as a sheet of paper. His lips quivered slightly, drained of all color. This blood-forged ammunition consumed his own life force, and for these two critical shots, he had been forced to expend his only healing potion. But to him, it was a worthwhile exchange.

  From Buck’s increasingly frantic and desperate strikes, Viddens could tell—the noble youth was at his limit. His life force was running out. A cold smirk curled on the hunter’s lips. It’s time to end this…

  In a single, ghostly movement, he flickered forward, leaving behind only an afterimage. Within a heartbeat, he was upon Buck, raising his firearm directly to the noble’s forehead. The dark barrel of the gun stared at him like the unblinking eye of death itself.

  As expected, the terrified noble activated his strange ability. Shadowy monstrous hands shot out from behind him, twisting like serpents as they seized hold of the now-empty gun. The barbed talons dug deep into the firearm’s surface, producing an ear-piercing screech of grinding metal.

  Viddens sneered. Without hesitation, he lifted his silver blade—its edge gleaming with a cold, merciless light—and drove it straight toward Buck’s eye socket. The scornful glint in his gaze seemed to say: In the end, you’re nothing more than a helpless, inexperienced weakling.

  But just before the blade could pierce its target—

  A massive, dark-red hand suddenly emerged from the void.

  It carried an aura of unfathomable mystery and power, exuding the chilling presence of something ancient and abyssal. With terrifying speed, the hand clamped onto Viddens’ head. Its fingers, like unyielding iron, tightened their grip with inescapable force.

  A flicker of terror flashed through Viddens’ eyes. He had never anticipated such an unforeseen development at this critical juncture. He struggled violently, his body thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free. But the grip of that infernal hand was as immovable as a mountain, rendering his resistance meaningless.

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  Then—

  A dull, gruesome crunch rang out.

  The silver sword never reached Buck’s forehead. Instead, the hunter’s head exploded first. Brain matter and blood splattered across the battlefield in a grotesque display. His body lost all support and crumpled to the ground like a marionette with severed strings. His headless corpse collapsed with a dull thud, sending up a small cloud of dust.

  The look of panic quickly faded from Buck’s face, as if it had never appeared. His gaze gradually returned to calm, and the crimson Divine Corpse Hand loosened, slowly withdrawing. From the very start of the battle, he had foreseen this moment. He knew all too well the unparalleled speed of Viddens, and that his only option was to stall using his crude attacks and his immense life force. He had to lull his enemy into complacency, had to make him believe he was out of options, had to create the illusion that he was slowly being cornered into despair.

  Viddens had to die here. He could not let him escape. As long as he could drag things out until the cooldown of the Divine Corpse Hand was over, his opponent’s fate would be sealed. The only thing that had caught him off guard in this fight was the two immensely powerful blood bullets.

  But regardless, Buck held the absolute advantage. Even after taking two shots from his opponent, he still possessed more life energy than a hunter at their peak. His psionic energy had long been depleted due to the continuous use of the Demon’s Hand. To ensure his victory, he had sacrificed a full 400 points of life energy in one go, directly crushing his opponent.

  Now, he had only 84 life points left—no, 83… 82, 81… His life force continued to drain irrepressibly. Losing half a heart would be a fatal wound for an ordinary person, but for a transcendent being still under the protection of life energy, it was instead a severe, continuous bleeding injury. This wound was like a black hole, endlessly devouring his life force, and if left unchecked, it would claim his life in a short time.

  Buck cast his cold gaze toward the hunter’s corpse, toward Viddens’ sword-wielding arm. At that moment, a chilling voice suddenly echoed in his mind:

  【Detected the Heretic’s Arm. Do you wish to proceed with the grafting ritual?】

  Another ritual… Another new wraith… Another new curse… But it seemed he had no other choice. The deaths of those villagers had nothing to do with him. The grafting ritual did not respond to other corpses, meaning he could not consume their life energy. However, the hunter’s arm did not belong to the category of demons. If he wanted to absorb its life energy, he would have to perform an additional grafting ritual.

  "Debts don’t weigh down the already burdened," Buck murmured hoarsely, his voice carrying exhaustion and numbness. Slowly, he reached out, grasping the hunter’s severed arm. His fingers trembled slightly, as if he were making a difficult decision.

  【Devour the Heretic’s Arm, absorb life energy. Maximum life capacity +400.】

  【Grafting ritual complete. Obtained limb: Heretic’s Arm.】

  【Heretic’s Arm I: Can expend 100 points of psionic energy or life energy to activate "Fool’s Touch." Cooldown: 5 minutes.】

  【Life Energy: 479/3920】

  【Psionic Energy: 0/100】

  Warm streams of life energy surged into his body, swiftly healing his fatal wounds. However, the complete depletion of his psionic energy once again left him at the mercy of two wraiths, torturing him relentlessly. It felt as though countless needles were stabbing into his flesh, an unbearable agony.

  And worse still, yet another wraith had silently emerged from the void.

  It was a dark shadow wreathed in black mist, thick and viscous like a pool of ink, slowly sinking into his own shadow.

  【Ritual Wraith Possession: Heretic’s Shadow.】

  A chilling sensation swept through Buck’s entire body, as if he had been thrown into an ice cellar. His body shivered uncontrollably, and his teeth began to chatter. But even worse than the cold was the hunger. The ever-hungry Devourer within him roared incessantly, urging him forward, forcing him to rush into the remaining village houses that had not yet been consumed by fire.

  Like a ravenous beast, he tore through the kitchen in desperation, his bloodshot eyes frantically searching. He no longer cared whether the food prepared by these monsters was edible or not. There was only one thought in his mind: to fill his stomach and quell the unbearable, burning hunger. He was on the verge of madness…

  "Someone… save me…" Buck’s voice was choked with sobs as he painfully swallowed roots still covered in dirt. The rough, dry texture scraped against his throat like sandpaper, but he ignored the pain, devouring it all with reckless desperation. His shoulders trembled uncontrollably, his body swaying between extreme exhaustion and suffering.

  It took a long time before the agonizing hunger was finally subdued. Lying on the ground, Buck once again pulled himself back from the brink of collapse. But deep down, he asked himself—how many more times could he survive this?

  He crawled to the water jar and stared blankly at his own reflection in the water. A pale face, devoid of blood, a prominent nose that now looked too sharp, faint eyebrows furrowed tightly together, cracked lips dry and peeling. His wide eyes were hollow and terrifying.

  This was Buck Frank’s face.

  Even though he still had the same long black hair and dark pupils, in this moment, there was nothing familiar about his own reflection.

  Suddenly, that face twisted into a sinister smile and spoke in a chilling voice:

  "I can help you…"

  Buck closed his eyes. He knew—this was the new wraith that had latched onto him, the Heretic’s Shadow.

  He sneered coldly in his heart. When he opened his eyes again, the face in the water had returned to its usual cold indifference and exhaustion.

  "You can’t help me. Only I can help myself." Buck’s voice was firm and resolute.

  Suppressing his chaotic thoughts, he stood up and walked out of the house.

  Amidst the burning streets, he bent down and picked up the hunter’s silver sword and gun. The silver blade gleamed coldly in the firelight, and the gun carried a faint scent of blood. Turning away from the village, he headed north.

  He had regained his full memories.

  And with that, he realized what a foolish mistake he had made.

  In truth, this plain was not within the borders of the Goliath Empire. It lay beyond the frontier—a land known as the "Dark Territory" by the frontier nobles. The true human empire was to the north. He had been running in the wrong direction all along…

  He should have fled from that enormous "moon." He should have returned to his father, the Viscount’s, domain to seek a way to ease his curse.

  This world had supernatural beings like hunters. They wielded mysterious powers—there had to be a way to rid himself of these wraiths.

  The first thing that came to his mind was the Church, the very institution that noble young masters like him despised.

  Perhaps gods did exist within the Church…

  Otherwise, why would his dark red arm be called the "Divine Corpse Hand"?

  Would the gods help him? He didn’t know.

  But it was worth trying.

  More importantly, within the Viscount’s domain, he had access to a vast array of resources.

  If he wanted to survive in this strange and treacherous world, he had to become stronger.

  He walked through the night, his figure swallowed by the abyss of darkness.

  By dawn, he arrived at the valley leading back into the Empire’s borders.

  As expected, the Viscount had already cleaned up everything in the valley—there was no sign of the tent or any of the bodies. The place was eerily silent, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Also unsurprisingly, he soon found himself face to face with a vast regiment of knights, led by none other than Viscount Hein Frank, who had been preparing to cross the gorge in search of his missing son.

  Hein Frank, the frontier Viscount, sat atop his warhorse, an imposing presence akin to a towering mountain. A veteran commander who had long defended the border, he had earned the absolute respect of his troops. His gaze was sharp and unwavering, as if capable of seeing through everything.

  At that moment, as Hein Frank laid eyes upon the tattered figure of Buck Frank emerging from the valley, there was no joy of reunion in his expression.

  Buck could only see disappointment.

  Three parts disappointment.

  Three parts regret.

  And the rest—pure, unfeeling indifference.

  That cold gaze pierced Buck’s heart like a freezing wind.