Endless Debt Chapter 1063 - 107: Acts of Goodness (Part 2)

After depleting one syringe, Palmer retrieved another and administered it to Morrison's body.

He then cocked his head, remarking with evident envy, "But who wouldn't aspire to be the protagonist in their own story?"

"The antiquated code of nobility still holds sway over me. As the scion of the Clarks, how could I possibly stoop to wallowing in the dirt like some desperate vagabond?"

Palmer mused aloud, "While I admit my actions are sometimes extreme, I still struggle to grasp his motivations..."

His cold gaze met Morrison's directly.

"I understand now."

"If even the fires of vengeance are to be shackled by bureaucracy, then such flames are truly without value."

Palmer found himself in agreement with Bologue's conviction, stating, "This isn't about indulging in depravity; it's about delivering a long-overdue verdict, a solemn vow to exact the most brutal retribution upon the wicked."

Rising to his feet, Palmer adjusted his collar, his imposing silhouette casting a complete shadow over Morrison.

"Viewed through this lens, all our deeds become righteous acts."

Palmer, seemingly experiencing an epiphany, nudged the Secret Sword towards Morrison's vicinity before retreating several paces, creating a wider gap.

"Although my associate might appear to be a heartless, homicidal maniac, he possesses a remarkably compassionate nature. Knowing you're a Negative Power User, he worried I might falter in dispatching you. Thus, he took it upon himself to incapacitate you first, leaving you for me to execute."

Palmer shook his head, adding, "This is hardly ideal, as it gives the impression that he's seeking retribution on my behalf."

Morrison, clutching the Secret Sword, maintained an outward composure while inwardly scoffing at Palmer's naivety.

The Ether supplement provided by Palmer was insufficient to fully restore Morrison to his former strength. Bologue's sheer power was overwhelming. Had I not intervened, Bologue might have cleaved Morrison in two with a single strike.

"Rise, Morrison," Palmer commanded, his voice resonating, "Revenge is a dish best served personally, is it not?"

Morrison wrenched the Flying Knife from his palm, grasped the Secret Sword, and managed to stand with a tremor.

"You will come to regret this," he uttered softly.

While the Mang Silver Soul only replenished a meager portion of Ether, one must remember that Morrison is a Negative Power User. Only in a perfectly balanced engagement does Ether become depleted; otherwise, true victory can be achieved in mere moments.

Morrison's Light Feather wings unfurled, bathing Palmer's face in their luminescence. A chorus of rustling sounds filled the air as several figures, marred by blood, struggled to push aside slabs of stone and emerge from the debris.

Witnessing this unfolding scene, Morrison felt a surge of near-laughter; Palmer's hubris was destined to be his undoing.

Palmer's expression remained impassive; he merely murmured to himself.

"Does anyone even recall that I was hailed as the top rookie of the year?"

A blinding, white tempest suddenly flared within Palmer's eyes.

Gale-force winds tore across the landscape, whipping up dust as exposed vines thrashed wildly in the hurricane; Palmer gestured, and with that simple movement, the wind's trajectory and velocity began to shift.

Abruptly, a razor-sharp Wind Blade sliced into a nearby Condenser. This individual had only just managed to crawl from the rubble, relief washing over him at his survival. However, in the blink of an eye, the high-velocity Wind Blade gashed his calf, causing blood to erupt instantly. His ordeal was far from over as more Wind Blades spiraled, piercing his chest.

Amidst agonized groans, a Wind Blade lightly grazed an enemy combatant's arm, severing muscle and tendons; vermillion blood surged forth, resembling a fiery scarlet bloom.

A sudden realization dawned upon Morrison: he might have gravely misjudged Palmer.

An even more ferocious tempest erupted, engulfing the entire battlefield; billowing clouds of dust swirled, creating a darkness akin to a sandstorm that completely obliterated visibility.

Accompanied by the piercing shriek of the wind, a powerful gust surged towards Morrison. He instinctively swung his Light Feather, attempting to break free, but under the relentless control of the intensifying storm, the airflow became utterly chaotic, failing to provide sufficient lift. He was forced to remain planted on the fractured earth.

The distinct schools and differing priorities of their Secret Energy cultivation meant their abilities were vastly dissimilar. Palmer had commandeered the very airflow within the region, rendering Morrison's wings incapable of flight.

Morrison found himself unable to detect Palmer's Ether signature; an immense quantity of Ether permeated the storm; it was as if Palmer himself had become the tempest at that precise moment.

How could the Light Feather possibly penetrate the heart of such a storm?

As if being drawn into a colossal vortex, Morrison realized escape was futile; the Wind Blades grew increasingly fierce and rapid.

Within the raging storm, Morrison caught sight of a frail figure staggering precariously. The figure regarded Morrison, raising a hand as if pleading for assistance.

The clang of metal resonated through the tempest; Storm Feather disintegrated. Countless Flying Knives coalesced into the storm, abruptly tearing open a gaping wound in the figure's chest. Through this laceration, the delicate blood vessels were obliterated by the sheer pressure of the Wind Blade.

As atmospheric pressure plummeted, making each breath an agonizing struggle, more Wind Blades, intermingled with Flying Knives, descended upon the figure. Bones and muscle proved inadequate against such devastating onslaughts, instantly being shredded into pieces.