Endless Debt Chapter 1067 - 108: Descent of the Death God (Part 3)

The reason became clear to Bologue very swiftly: it was the obsidian-like armor.

Forged from some unknown alchemical metal, the armor’s exterior was coated in thick, ancient-seeming black paint. Its chest and back plates were interconnected by several broad, robust steel bands, ensuring formidable defense. The pauldrons and the intricately carved belt were fashioned from meticulously refined metallic materials.

Taken as a whole, the suit was comprised of various pieces stitched together, with soft leather padding at the junctures. The front of the chest piece was overlaid with a layer of opulent black satin, while the hem featured fine, flexible iron chains that produced a clattering sound with each movement.

A heavy, rasping breath emanated from beneath the skull-shaped faceplate, which was crowned with spikes.

With each exhalation, a faint, ethereal glow shimmered across the armor’s surface. Bologue realized this was an alchemical armor, and it was this very armor that bestowed upon the Shadow King such terrifying might.

Bologue’s mind flashed back to a prior discussion he’d had with Serey.

"You undead have persisted for so long, your alchemy matrix must surely be quite antiquated, yes? Then even if you wield the power of the Seeker of Glory, it’s merely for show."

Serey, facing Bologue’s disbelief, simply shook his head. "Our alchemy matrix is indeed very old-fashioned, but we can compensate in other areas."

"Such as?"

"Such as alchemical armor."

"Armor can also be transformed into alchemical armament?" This was entirely new to Bologue.

"Naturally, it can, but the expense to create it is exceedingly high, and very few undertake such a task," Serey elaborated. "However, the efficacy is also remarkably significant. Provided multiple alchemy matrices are inscribed upon the alchemical armor, transforming it into a ’secret energy’ source, the wearer then becomes a reservoir for ether supply."

Bologue grasped the gist of Serey’s explanation. While the latent power of the undead might lag behind the times, with the progression of eras, newly crafted armor could bridge that gap entirely.

"I have also encountered individuals who sustained incurable injuries; they wear specially crafted alchemical armors, which are essential for sustaining their lives, rendering them unable to remove the armor for the remainder of their existence."

Bologue expressed his doubt, "Do you, too, possess such armor that keeps pace with the currents of time?"

Serey provided no direct answer to Bologue’s query, offering only a knowing smile.

From that moment, Bologue understood the unique nature of alchemical armor – a form of substantial alchemical armament, sharing similarities yet fundamentally differing from alchemical puppets like the Silver Knight. Alchemical armor provides comprehensive enhancements to its wearer. Currently, the Shadow King utilizes this alchemical armor to counteract the detrimental effects of his soul scars and unleash the full potential of the Seeker of Glory.

"Bologue Lazarus."

The Shadow King uttered Bologue’s name, and the molten lava underfoot solidified into stone, providing a stable base for his heavy boots.

Sharp protrusions emerged from his shoulders, arm guards, and greaves – resembling dark blades poised in silence. The embossed patterns upon the armor were stark and clear, depicting a winged skull, an emblem signifying the imminent arrival of the God of Death.

Amidst blazing flames, an abyssal darkness enshrouded the Shadow King. He appeared to have rematerialized as a Death God returning from the afterlife, emanating a profound aura of mystery. His entire form was a uniform, deep black, devoid of any visible seams, like a solid, sealed casing encasing the wearer.

Bologue felt an immediate surge of pressure. He had not anticipated confronting the Shadow King so directly, and it seemed the Shadow King had specifically sought him out. Could it be to safeguard this flesh creation?

The prospect of victory in a direct confrontation was nonexistent. Bologue immediately released his grip on his sword-axe, reaching behind him to grasp the hilt of his signal gun. At this juncture, his only recourse was to trust in the Fourth Seat and the others.

Yet, could the Fourth Seat truly overcome the current Shadow King? Bolstered by the alchemical armor, Bologue was uncertain how long the Shadow King could sustain this empowered state, but within mere gestures, it seemed sufficient to annihilate a Defender.

That blazing Fire Sword possessed the power to obliterate all that stood in its path.

Just as a torrent of thoughts coursed through Bologue’s mind, the Shadow King spoke once more, uttering words Bologue least expected.

"Step aside."

The Shadow King commanded, "Move aside, Bologue."

Bologue stood frozen, stunned, then perceived a chilling presence emanating from behind him.

Every drop of blood and muscle within his body seemed to turn to ice; some dreadful entity appeared to be advancing from his rear, slowly closing in.

Bologue had mistakenly assumed the Shadow King was targeting him… The Shadow King was pursuing the entity behind him.

The Shadow King then swung the Fire Sword, aiming at Bologue’s back.

A torrent of searing fire shot forth like a sharpened blade, a blazing sword cleaving through all hindrances as it aggressively thrust forward. Bologue, suppressing his primal urges, shifted sideways to dodge the lethal fiery onslaught.

Brilliant light struck the dense rock, meeting a barrier that appeared utterly unbreakable. The fiery torrent swirled and ascended. Far from being stopped, the barrier seemed to ignite an even fiercer burning desire within the flames. Fire entwined with the ethereal barrier, bursting and blazing, scattering sparks that resembled dark storm clouds.

The Seeker of Glory audaciously warped the fabric of reality. Under the fierce blaze, the crystals embedded within the rock liquefied, and moisture vaporized, giving rise to a thick, viscous liquid, tenacious like thick syrup.

Vast globs of lava dripped, initiating a devastating fiery rainfall.

A significant quantity of gas also vented from the incandescent rocks, triggering a furious expulsion. The high-pressure gases roared upwards alongside the fire stream, unleashing deafening sounds and causing violent tremors throughout the vicinity.

Bologue felt as if he stood at the precipice of a cataclysmic volcanic eruption. Scorching lava and wildly expelling gases spread relentlessly within the ruins, even fracturing solid stone. Streams of fire pierced upwards, suffusing every fissure with a crimson glow.

In this intensely blazing world, it seemed no force could stand against its might.

Until that power emerged, shattering the Shadow King's absolute dominion over existence.

Bologue perceived all light, sound, vibrations—every sensory input from the outside world—rapidly receding. In the boundless emptiness, only a solitary, advancing figure remained.

He was clad in a crimson robe, its patterns appearing to be intricately woven with golden threads that sparkled resplendently. His face remained hidden within the deep shadow cast by his hood, enshrouded in profound darkness.

His advent seemed conjured from the gloom itself, emanating a mysterious, ritualistic, and sinister aura. Though he displayed no overt hostility, the unsettling dread he inspired was overwhelming.

The darkness beneath his hood was as deep as an abyss, possessing a seeming capacity to consume the very soul.

He halted at a moderate distance, maintaining a precise space between himself, Bologue, and the Shadow King, neither encroaching nor retreating excessively.

An intangible, crushing presence expanded outwards like an encroaching tide. Bologue felt as though he were ensnared within an inescapable trap.

As if sensing his impending doom, the Shadow King raised the Fire Sword and spoke softly, "I knew you would prefer to kill me yourself rather than retrieve Xilin’s corpse."

He then posed a rhetorical question, "Am I correct, First Seat?"

A cold, bone-chilling laughter resounded.

The First Seat hoisted a slender, contorted scythe, a ghastly skull affixed to it, resembling the very personification of Death from ancient tales.