Endless Debt Chapter 1068 - 109: The Land of Deadly Struggle

First Seat!

Upon hearing this designation from the Shadow King, Bologue’s blood ran cold. His gaze locked onto the figure wielding the Great Scythe, an overwhelming pressure and an aura of impending death radiating endlessly.

Bologue suddenly felt an absurd sense of displacement, akin to a fly caught in a clash between titans.

The continuation of war.

This wasn't merely the continuation of a clandestine conflict, but also the ongoing struggle between the First Seat and the Second Seat. Since S.O.C.'s alliance with the Order Bureau, Oubos was no longer a forbidden zone for the King’s Secret Swords. Seizing this opportune moment to eradicate a persistent threat, the First Seat had personally infiltrated.

His objective: to eliminate the Shadow King and rectify a past error.

"No... damn it."

Bologue muttered a curse, disbelief churning within him that the First Seat's covert operation was solely targeted at the Shadow King. If the Shadow King perished here, their primary objective would be met. Would they then depart quietly with Xilin’s remains, or… initiate another shadowy war?

His frayed mind felt like an overloaded processor, with countless pieces of data flashing through Bologue’s consciousness. He analyzed every potential outcome with the detached precision of a seasoned strategist.

Should the Shadow King fall, the King’s Secret Swords would resolve their most significant internal discord. Scattered factions would eventually dissipate, and their formidable Blade would regain its former sharpness.

Furthermore, even if the Order Bureau reached a consensus, the Decision Room had no logical grounds to permit the First Seat’s incursion into such a critical area of the Great Rift.

This situation mirrored the King’s Secret Swords extending an invitation to Nesanel to visit the Pillar of Royal Authority. Nesanel, in his characteristic manner and self-interest, would likely have no qualms about striking down the Slaughter King during such a visit.

The King’s Secret Swords operated on a similar strategic principle.

"Decision Room, was this a miscalculation?" Bologue pondered aloud, "Or was this orchestrated, and if so, what is your true aim?"

Bologue found the Decision Room's machinations increasingly inscrutable, yet he lacked the luxury of contemplation. A crucial decision had to be made immediately.

Should he adhere to the original plan and allow the First Seat to eliminate the Shadow King, or should he devise a means to ensure the Shadow King's survival, thereby preserving the delicate balance of power?

"The First Seat, the Fourth Seat, and the Sixth Seat, Red Dog…"

Bologue tallied the knowns in his mind, the possibility of additional King’s Secret Swords lying in wait outside Opus remaining unknown.

His thoughts halted as he prepared to unleash his Secret Energy and seize the initiative, but the Shadow King acted first.

In an instant, the Shadow King vanished from his position, igniting a potent sense of crisis within Bologue. The very next second, dark Armor materialized before Bologue. A Blade wreathed in searing flames appeared, its proximity so intense that the heat seared Bologue’s skin, and the hiss of evaporating moisture reached his ears.

"Do not use Secret Energy."

A hushed voice whispered into Bologue’s ear, halting his instinct to retaliate.

"They cannot be trusted."

The voice persisted, audible only within their immediate vicinity, the surrounding cacophony of roaring flames drowning out further communication.

"You…"

Bologue attempted to speak, but the Fire Sword had already impacted his chest. The overwhelming force of the Seeker of Glory silenced all sound.

"You know what must be done."

The extreme heat pierced Bologue’s attire, melting the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid and the Armor of Blood. A gaping wound opened across Bologue’s chest, his blood instantly vaporized before it could flow. The injury was then cauterized, leaving behind blackened, charred flesh.

Bologue’s vision rapidly faded to black; his eye sockets hollowed, his eyeballs evaporated, his skin desiccated. Then, propelled violently like a projectile by the Fire Sword, he was hurled away.

A body wreathed in flames was seen hurtling upwards, tearing through unseen layers of debris, until the sounds of impact slowly faded.

Having dealt with this troublesome individual, the Shadow King slowly turned to face the crimson-clad harbinger of death.

Unperturbed, as if addressing an insignificant entity, the First Seat made no acknowledgement of the preceding skirmish.

The First Seat advanced deliberately, a gravelly voice resonating from the shadows of his hood, "Xilin has been gone for so long, what is it you persist for?"

He seemed deeply vexed, inquiring, "Why can you not simply accept your demise and perish?"

"Perish and cede this world to your sole dominion?"

The Shadow King’s head shook, his tone unwavering, "A mutual downfall is preferable to allowing you to triumph alone."

With the sword tip planted firmly on the earth, the Shadow King gripped the hilt with both hands. Though his movements appeared unhurried, a profound tension permeated his being, for he understood this was likely his ultimate, blood-soaked confrontation.

A heavy silence from the First Seat was eventually broken by a soft, drawn-out sigh.

"A truly disheartening response, little brother."

Raising the Great Scythe, the First Seat unleashed the peculiar white mist that enveloped him. It began to surge forward, an relentless tide directed at the Shadow King.

A violent gust billowed the Shadow King's crimson robe, exposing the grim, metallic armor beneath. His chest plate was ostentatiously adorned with numerous pale gray skulls, while sharp black spikes, erect and unyielding, stood like monuments to a prolonged, frigid existence. A delicate layer of rime coated the armor's surface, with tiny beads of condensation clinging precariously to the tips of the spikes.