Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 178

The intruder in the darkness was silent. Their quick reflex and close-fitting soft leather armor shielded them from most of the damage, but the cold pain still made them retreat.

They were well-trained assassins, but Khalif’s attendants were like ten warriors each. The fight didn’t last long before the intruder realized they were at a disadvantage. Somehow, they decided to withdraw at the same time—but it was too late.

The dark-skinned attendant lashed out with his leg, kicking the person in front of him so hard that they crashed into the edge of a heavy wooden table. The table slid about a foot across the carpet, and the Goddess of Victory statue and various letter openers and wax seals on it fell to the ground. The statue landed squarely on the head of the person lying on the floor, and the sharp sound of metal hitting flesh was unmistakable.

Even though the person didn’t make a sound, everyone in the unlit room knew she was seriously injured because they could all smell the blood.

But he didn’t plan to stop. The other intruders were blocked by the attendants and couldn’t retrieve their fallen comrade. His eyes had long since adapted to the darkness, and he could see a small figure (given that the intruders were likely from the Lion Family, this was a girl) lying on the carpet. Compared to the senior members of the Lion Family, her actions were still too inexperienced. If it had been Vasilia or someone else, it wouldn’t have been so easy to end the fight so quickly.

Thinking this, he casually picked up the Goddess of Victory statue that had rolled to his feet, weighed it, and stepped forward, raising it high—

Bang.

A heavy thud echoed from the other end of the hallway.

Everyone in the living room paused for a moment. Khalif reacted immediately, pushing aside the others and heading out.

“My Lord!” The attendant noticed his actions and couldn’t help but shout.

Bang! Another thud, and Khalif roared, “Move!”

Ignoring everything, he rushed past the still-fighting people, running through the mess on the floor. His heart seemed to ache with each thud. The mansion’s lights hadn’t been restored, but he was too familiar with the house he had lived in for decades for the darkness to hinder him.

On his way, he saw a few servants collapsed on the ground, as if they had inhaled some kind of sedative, lying motionless. Khalif, annoyed by their obstruction, kicked them aside. A young footman was kicked so hard he rolled twice on the ground, hitting his head heavily on the lampstand base.

Khalif stood in the hallway, panting and staring at the person standing at the end. The once-locked door had been smashed open, and the person was holding a lantern, peering inside. Hearing Khalif’s approach, he half-turned.

“It’s you.” He squinted, his eyes filled with undisguised hatred. Even in the dim light, the other’s tall, muscular figure was clearly visible, radiating strength and endurance—the young body he most desired and envied.

Louis held an oddly shaped sword in his hand, its blade slightly curved, the hilt his usual black style. The lantern light made the blade appear especially sharp.

He glanced at Khalif, then raised his hand to hang the lantern on the broken door.

Khalif found he couldn’t suppress his loathing for this young man—loathing that had accumulated over time. It wasn’t just Louis’s extravagant youth that repelled him, but a deeper aversion he hadn’t fully explored until Louis looked at him. In that moment, Khalif understood why.

Louis bore a striking resemblance to Fahim, or rather, he was a healthier, disease-free version of Fahim with normal-colored hair, eyes, and skin.

When Fahim brought Louis to White Bridge, he was still growing, so thin that his face looked like a Monkey’s. At that time, Fahim was already in the latter half of his life, reclusive, spending most of his time sleeping, and rarely meeting guests. Over time, most of the family members had a vague impression of this capable but frail man. Only Khalif, who had suffered many losses to Fahim, kept a close watch on him.

Now, the Louis before him overlapped significantly with his memories of Fahim before his illness worsened, especially with those eyes showing only a faint disdain, so faint it seemed like a mirage.

It was like seeing the White Wolf Fahim from twenty-five years ago standing before him again.

“You really do resemble him.” Khalif raised his hand to stop the attendants from surrounding Louis. “Fahim was just like this… Arrogant but cowardly, never willing to put his fighting skills into practice, afraid his opponent’s fists and swords would dirty his shoes. Today, you have a sword. Have you finally decided to take a practical fighting lesson?”

Louis didn’t respond to his taunts.

In some ways, Khalif wasn’t wrong. Both Fahim and Louis had high talent in combat but rarely fought themselves, though for different reasons.

Fahim’s illness gradually deprived him of strength, agility, and even the ability to breathe. In the later stages, he became unimaginably weak. Louis, on the other hand, avoided injuries. The instinct to avoid bleeding had become second nature to him and his brother. This was why Fahim almost confined them to the big house in Fortuna City when they were young. Minor bleeding wasn’t an issue if treated immediately, but if blood was exposed to the air for some time, the space around the Holy Grail would subtly distort, allowing the scent of blood to notify the Lamp Bearer, drawing them near regardless of distance.

“I always knew this day would come.” Khalif ignored Louis’s silence and took a sword from an attendant. “Honestly, it came much later than I expected. If I hadn’t investigated the family for the Holy Grail, would you have kept hiding?”

“I’m not a coward,” Louis said. “But I agree that this day was inevitable.”

Khalif sneered. After the failed ambush in the living room, someone had gone to restore the lights, but the entire lighting system in the house had been sabotaged, so only candles were gradually lit. The flickering candlelight cast a sinister glow on Khalif’s wrinkled face.

“Hand over the name you’ve been hiding, and I might conceal your rebellion out of respect for Prima.” Khalif raised his sword. “Or are you the one who’s been hidden?”

When the astrologer said the Holy Grail still existed but none of the blood samples Louis provided could summon the Lamp Bearers, Khalif knew Louis had other plans. It was just that the breakthrough in the Time Gate research had temporarily diverted his attention.

He wanted to mock Louis’s overestimation of himself, but as soon as he raised his sword, Louis lunged at him.

Khalif, energized, raised his sword to block, but his strength was indeed diminished. After two days of continuous stress, he couldn’t withstand the impact and took two steps back to steady himself.

Shame and anger surged to his head. Khalif roared, recklessly lunging forward with a thrust! Louis sidestepped his fierce attack. Though Khalif was no longer young, his combat experience was richer. After missing a few blows, he quickly calmed down, no longer relying on brute force but using his familiarity with the space to corner Louis into an alcove displaying decorative paintings. Using the cramped space, he slashed horizontally. Louis kicked him in the stomach, sending Khalif staggering back. Khalif didn’t fall but leaned forward, his free hand holding a dagger. He slashed Louis’s chest, leaving a long cut.

Louis ignored the pain, knowing he had to end it quickly. As Khalif was unsteady, he swept out a clean, powerful kick. Khalif cried out, stumbling into a tall stand holding a porcelain vase, knocking it and the flowers to the floor. He steadied himself by grabbing a wall lamp and shouted, “What are you waiting for?”

Louis squinted, ignoring the three attendants rushing at him. Without waiting for Khalif to regain his balance, he thrust his sword into Khalif’s stomach, showing no mercy. Despite Khalif’s attempt to roll away, it was too late. Louis’s sword deeply pierced his abdomen, and when he withdrew, blood gushed out.

Khalif screamed in pain, clutching his stomach and falling to his knees, convulsing. Louis didn’t have time for a second strike. He turned to block the oncoming attacks but couldn’t fend off three men alone, especially ones who had followed Khalif for years and worked in perfect harmony. Though Louis injured them, he was also severely wounded, bleeding profusely.

Blood loss blurred his vision. His fingers trembled, barely gripping his sword. Realizing he couldn’t defeat the three, Louis turned his back to them again.

Khalif, panting in fear, widened his eyes, paralyzed, watching Louis come at him with a fearless aura. His brain screamed to roll away or raise his sword to block, but his body, in pain and weakness, didn’t obey. He could only watch the blade approach his neck, pain coming as expected but not fatal.

A sword pierced Louis’s back. His sword’s tip deviated from Khalif’s neck to his ear. Louis’s sword fell behind the half-cut ear.

Kicked to the ground, someone passed over his body to help Khalif. Khalif’s voice trembled with pain but was discernible.

Khalif said, “So it wasn’t you.”

Louis’s ears rang. His body was numb, but his brain still processed Khalif’s words.

He must have bled a lot, yet no phenomena appeared, indicating he wasn’t the Holy Grail, disappointing Khalif.

Lying on the ground, Louis felt his other senses fading, just like his hearing. His last coherent thought was, ‘At least it wasn’t Charlie.’

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The author has something to say:

At least it wasn’t Charlie who came.

At least it wasn’t Charlie who bled.

At least it wasn’t Charlie who died.

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