Vol. 19: Five People's Share

The story begins with a bottle of Universal Elixir containing waste anesthetic liquid.

For Maquire Copenhagen, only twenty-four hours had passed, from the rescue team taking the still-wounded Alfons to the infirmary, to the inexplicable robbery, the inexplicable intervention of the priest, the inexplicable serial murders, and the psychological hypnosis.

Everything seemed unfamiliar.

There was a voice that kept urging him on; it was the spirit of Berloberg. It was this spirit that made Maquire stronger, that filled him with power and determination.

Even though they took a slightly longer route and nearly lost their humanity under the devil's influence, thankfully...

"Thankfully, I still have one bottle of medicine left, enough for only five people."

To give the military station an explanation, Maquire decided to turn himself in. He brought a small sample of the Universal Elixir from the operating room to use for reenactment; it was exactly 125 milliliters in a reagent bottle.

The dosage is determined by weight; 25 milliliters of the Universal Elixir should be enough to bring a dying adult back to "normal," provided the patient's central nervous system remains healthy and the brain has not suffered fatal damage.

The devil, lurking in the shadows, dared not make a move. Saint Josh Joris, however, remained observant, waiting to rekindle his courage.

His fighting spirit wavered, never expecting that his most effective mental attack would backfire on Maquire — Joris's greatest magic was attacking people's inner weaknesses, but these words had actually given Maquire Copenhagen's spirit a complete half-body.

That's a characteristic of the late stage of metamorphosis; it's just one step away from the Morpho butterfly flapping its wings.

This was a change that Saint Josh couldn't comprehend; what he didn't know was that Maquire was already thirty-six years old.

-- Prior to this, the doctor had no psychic abilities whatsoever. He had been practicing medicine in the underworld with his father since he was eleven, traveling among itinerant vendors, and had never slacked off in this way for twenty-five years.

The doctor fought the gunsmith to a standstill in the first half of the night, although he was ultimately one-sidedly defeated. However, his elemental structure and spiritual abundance were among the top-tier in the psychic community.

The various experiences in the latter half of the night, the intense emotional fluctuations, the various fears and pressures, and the enlightenment gained when overcoming fear—all these changes created the aura of Maquire's spiritual power.

Saint Josh could no longer escape. If he returned to Limbo, the raging ghost of the Gunsmith awaited him Netherworld, and he would die a horrible death. He had to deal with Maquire Copenhagen here! The only obstacle in his path was this fragile butterfly that had just emerged from its cocoon— Maquire seemed oblivious to this. He didn't even seem to understand how to flap his wings; he certainly didn't know how to use this spirit!

This was the best chance to kill Maquire — Saint Josh thought, and he prepared to use the devil's magic to cast a spell.

He lay prostrate on the roof, chanting incantations in a low voice, the eyes of all the flesh puppets fixed on their target. Suddenly, a chilling wind arose, and a sudden surge of malice enveloped Maquire.

The burly man remained calm. He felt the chilling and malevolent divine thought pierce his heart like a knife. The stabbing pain in his chest was familiar; he often felt similar pain when performing surgeries late into the night. His mental energy was being rapidly depleted—this was one of Saint Josh Joris's spells, capable of effectively weakening the target's mental energy and causing them to enter a state of Gate of Death exhaustion.

In just five seconds, everything happened so fast that Maquire couldn't react. He was already thirty-six years old and too slow to grasp the rapid changes in the battle. His face showed visible fatigue, and he finally realized that the devil hiding in the darkness hadn't been idle—the vicious psionic attack had already taken effect!

He clutched his chest, breathing heavily. His eyes, nose, and mouth began to dry out, his joints stiffened, and he became sensitive to light and sound—symptoms of neurasthenia, like the feeling after staying up all night for several days.

After succeeding, Joris was not careless. After reciting forty-five verses, the cunning devil used the Magic Power of the Pher Grey Butterfly to immediately switch to the curse-to-death phase—he wanted to use the [Locust Curse], a spell that summons insects, to kill Maquire and never want to approach Maquire's strong body again.

The ceiling and beams of the lakeside cabin were four and a half meters above the ground, making it impossible for Maquire to reach Saint Josh's demonic form. At that distance, he could only passively take the beating.

A moment later, rustling sounds came from outside. Maquire glanced at the window and saw a "figure" outside. Upon closer inspection, his scalp began to tingle.

There were no "people" Spuantong all! They were ladybugs that had swarmed into human form, frantically attacking the window frame. Another group of insects crawled in through the front door and flew straight at Maquire.

In the blink of an eye, Joris fixed his gaze on Maquire. Seeing the burly man fleeing towards the back door of the house with incredible speed, he followed closely behind. Without the guidance of the locust plague incantation, these insects would leave on their own if they couldn't find their target. He couldn't let Maquire escape.

Joris moved with incredible speed, leaping over the wooden partition between the doorways. His flesh golem, with its four pairs of eyes, could quickly pinpoint Maquire's location in the darkness, but upon reaching the restaurant, he found no trace of Maquire.

Where did they hide?

"Where has Maquire, my sweetheart, gone?"

Saint Josh was filled with suspicion and uncertainty as he peered into the large kitchen and fishing gear storage room, as well as a boat repair shop.

He hung upside down from the ceiling, too afraid to touch the ground. The ladybugs swarmed into the kitchen and scattered, but unable to find prey, they became headless flies and began to fly around aimlessly.

The monster searched and searched, but finally lost patience. He hung from the main beam and tried to lower himself to search the cabinets near the kitchen counter. These cabinet doors had handles that the Spuantong ladybug couldn't turn, so he had to search them himself.

In that instant, Joris sensed something was wrong—

--The part of the body that came from Liliya's mother seemed to be covered in some strange slime.

He manipulated the head of a victim, looked down at Liliya's two arms, intending to use this part of her body to grab the wooden beam and lower himself down.

Both arms were covered in blood.

Maquire sprinkled his blood on the sturdiest main beam as bait; a dozen or so greedy ladybugs had already clung to the beam, only to be crushed to pieces by Liliya's arm.

In an instant, the ferocious swarm of insects rushed forward, tearing apart the remains of their companions, crawling all the way into Saint Josh's flesh golem, burrowing into his skin.

Saint Josh, driven mad by pain, though he had lost Liliya's body, still had three mouths to speak to, and he tried to regain control of the swarm. But Liliya's arms were now just two bare white bones.

"--You idiot! You're killing someone! You're killing someone! Maquire! Liliya is going to be killed by you!"

The cacophony of insects drowned out some of the sound, making it impossible for Maquire to pinpoint Saint Josh's location. This roar then became his best guiding light.

He emerged from the cupboard, a knife wound still visible on his arm. His spirit followed closely behind. The suit worn by the tall and imposing ruby statue turned into strips of cloth, the threads on the sleeves coming undone, becoming temporary stitches to mend the wound.

The moment Old Ma appeared, he was attacked by ladybugs. The insects' spiky legs and axe-like mandibles immediately gnawed countless wounds all over his body. He covered his face and eyes, and grabbed a wine bottle and a chef's knife—weapons he had found in the kitchen.

Stepping onto the dining table, the surgeon leaped onto Saint Josh's demonic body and began the surgical procedure.

He carefully observed the texture of flesh and blood beneath the tattered fabric; the knife in his hand was indeed too dull! But it was enough!

Saint Josh couldn't dodge in time, and the locust plague he had summoned himself now became his enemy. Almost at the same time as being attacked, the three other bodies, except for Liliya, attacked Old Ma simultaneously.

Sixteen bony toes were firmly embedded in Maquire's body.

--Maquire did not back down; he was like a showerhead, blood gushing from his body, oblivious to the pain.

The knife didn't hit the bone, which was a good thing. Cut through the thick flesh of the spine, then separate it from the vertebrae, between the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth vertebrae, and then hold her, hold Liliya.

The injuries I sustain only make me bleed—they won't kill me, they won't kill me.

The damage was too scattered, but my body can withstand this test. It can, it's strong!

Maquire grabbed half of Liliya's body, snatching the mother back from the devil's grasp.

A blazing flame ignited amidst the pitch-black swarm of insects. Maquire used his fire-breathing magic, the liquor serving as his divine power to clear a path. More and more holes appeared in his body, and the sudden burst of light and intense heat blinded Saint Josh.

Old Ma stumbled back onto the dining table, burst open the back door of the kitchen, pulled out Universal Elixir from his tattered white coat, and with great effort, controlled his arm. He sprinkled ten milliliters onto Liliya's severed body, then fed her fifteen milliliters. Immediately afterward, he threw Liliya into the field next to the dock.

Without the slightest hesitation, he used whatever he could find, quickly grabbing an oar from the boat. After only a glance at the narrow passageway of the house, he immediately bent the oar in two with his knee, using the pointed end as a stick. Before Saint Josh could chase after him— Maquire himself turned back.

Saint Josh was suffocating from the smoky stench filling the room. The insects swarmed and scattered, creating a vacuum zone from the fireball that had just exploded. The wine on the ground hadn't even burned off yet when a stick wrapped in white spiritual cloth came hurtling towards him!

It slammed hard into Saint Josh's tumorous skull, jolting him awake as if from the pain, and he immediately tried to flee towards the ceiling!

He climbed back onto the main beam, annoyed by the locust-like insects blocking his way, and quickly shooed away the little helpers in front of him. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a burly man clinging to the beam, having come around from the second floor.

Maquire happened to be standing directly above Saint Josh.

--What calm yet terrifying eyes they were.

Saint Josh was horrified. Was this the same hesitant, bewildered patient he once knew? Was this the same vulnerable person who needed psychological treatment?

Maquire had thirty-three bloody holes in his body, all inflicted by Saint Josh. He also had fatal wounds on his face, shoulders, stomach, and even his throat and neck.

But why? Why did he still have the strength to fight back?

These wounds seemed to have been plugged with a special fabric, carefully stitched up by this hateful and terrifying spirit, and then given simple hemostasis treatment.

Upon closer inspection, the large blood vessel on the right side of Maquire's neck was still throbbing, pumping blood repeatedly with his strong heartbeat. A thin layer of white cloth tightly sealed the fatal hole.

"You fucking bastard."

Before he could finish his harsh words, the spikes of the oar pierced through the flesh golem. This stitched-together monster had gathered several victims together. Liliya was the first individual to be possessed and was also the core of the golem. Maquire thrust his oar into the bloody center, but lost his balance and fell. He gripped the handle of the oar tightly and slicing downwards with the kitchen knife!

Saint Josh began to scream in pain as another head fell into Maquire's hands.

That was Ek Maddens' head, still attached to half of his torso and left arm.

Maquire succeeded again. He had no time to take care of Ek. He poured some Universal Elixir on him, quickly calculated the dosage based on his medical experience, and felt that Ek's heart was still beating violently. He then threw Ek out the back door and onto the dock.

He turned back to continue fighting the demon—

Saint Josh was on his deathbed, having lost two bodies, and could no longer be fierce. It seemed that to this surgeon, the wounds on his body were nothing, and the piercing damage that the golem could inflict had become a joke.

"Let's talk this out."

Saint Josh's body was out of balance. Since most of Ek Maddens's body remained inside the golem, this part of the body, without the brain's command, was like a deformed tumor, slowing down his movement.

He practically hopped and skipped towards the main hall, trying to reason with the exhausted and dejected Maquire behind him.

"Don't be impulsive. No, it's not that bad."

Maquire was so tired he almost fell asleep.

He was cursed twice, once by the Gate of Death Curse and once by the Locust Curse.

What's next? He doesn't know.

However Universal Elixir was only enough for five people, and three more people still needed help.

Just like Saint Josh thought, Old Ma had no idea what the spirit within him was for. He hadn't even had a chance to properly look at this unfamiliar companion, nor did he know its name. To be honest, he seemed to have never paid attention to his own soul, how his body moved, or why his wounds had inexplicably stopped bleeding—he had no idea.

--Because Maquire never bowed his head, never properly examined his own body, and never had time to look at his own condition.

He focused all his mental energy on the golem of Saint Josh.

He dared not speak, for fear of disrupting his rapid breathing. There was a saying in the Knight's Combat Techniques—

--Unless you can break down the enemy's mental defenses, any words are superfluous during a duel.

At that moment, Maquire had a flash of inspiration.

"Mr. Joris!--"

He roared furiously, determined to crush the enemy's will and utterly extinguish the cannibalistic demon's fighting spirit.

"--Look at the kitchen knife in my hand! Open your dog eyes and see clearly!"

Saint Josh seemed to be under a spell; he had already run to the side door of the main hall to receive Sophia's physical body, as he desperately needed nourishment.

"What? What?"

Saladin is a remote border town, located right next to the Mimir Hot Spring Market.

Hot Spring Market is a city that places great emphasis on food culture, and even kitchen and bathroom knives have strict requirements. In Saladin, only one knife factory is qualified to produce knives for processing the flesh and blood of monsters.

"Doesn't it look like the one that killed you? Look closely!"

Maquire's beard hadn't been trimmed for two days, and sticky blood on his face almost covered his eyebrows and eyes, but it couldn't hide his hearty smile and white teeth.

"Hahaha"

"Hahahaha! Hehehahahahahaha! Hahahahahaha!"

"Hahahaha! I'm going to use this to kill you!"

Saint Josh Joris's legs went weak as he recalled the cause of his death.

Looking back on his days as a human, in Saladin's heavenly realm, it all came down to this terrifying blade—the murder weapon that ripped him open.

He finally lost all courage, entered a state of hysterical frenzy, stopped running away, and wanted to kill Maquire Copenhagen immediately!

He would use the most vicious Boiling Blood Curse to evaporate all the blood from Maquire's body to vent his hatred!

The devil straightened up, supporting himself on the bar counter in the main hall, and simultaneously chanted a spell from his remaining two mouths, facing Maquire in the kitchen-dining porch—no more than twelve steps away.

In just a few seconds, Maquire went blind. He felt his dry eyes rapidly losing moisture, his brain becoming sluggish, his blood boiling, his skin ulcerating, and an inexplicable high temperature rising within his body!

This deadly curse could not continue, because Old Ma had already crossed those mere twelve steps.

He couldn't see anything, but relying solely on his amazing memory and experience with the structure of the body, he operated again!

Time seemed to slow down at that moment. Saint Josh was desperately trying to kill the surgeon who was getting in his way; fear had completely taken over his mind.

"[Platina Jazz]!"

A towering deity, formed from a purplish-red gemstone, emerged from Maquire's body!

A vicious punch shattered Saint Josh's demonic body! The sound echoed deafeningly in the cabin!

The sound drowned out the sinister and terrifying curse. Saint Josh wanted to continue casting the spell, but the flesh golem had already begun to fight its own words and was no longer under his control!

The pristine white robes, like bandages, tightly sealed the mouths of the two victims!

Bang! Bang! --

Two more vicious straight punches!

The golem's hands and feet were tightly bound by the cuffs of the [Platina Jazz] shirt, turning it into a bundle of dumplings.

Maquire cleaved the lump of flesh in two with his knife, poured on Universal Elixir exorcising potion, and then unleashed a barrage of punches!

The deity, sculpted from a purplish-red gemstone, pounded with both hands, like a meatball, the fabric on its sleeves gradually thinning until its completely naked upper body was revealed. After pounding forty-nine times, a crackling sound of joints returning to their original positions could be heard from within the cloth. The Platinum Knight pulled the bandages, and two naked young men fell out, already healed by the Universal Elixir.

Maquire opened his eyes again. Beside him, a colossal figure gripped the sorcerer's golden arm tightly, along with the phantom of Saint Josh. The necromancy ritual was not over; his spirit was still trapped within that arm.

Ms. Sophia, who was being held captive outside the door, squeezed into the room, intending to rescue her master. She had just crawled to the door of the recreation room when she was doused with Universal Elixir and fell into a deep sleep, never to be heard from again.

Old Ma was exhausted and on his last legs. He manipulated his soul power to hold onto the golden arm, but he didn't know what to do with it.

Universal Elixir for only five people! Universal Elixir for only five people!

His body was riddled with holes, and the bleeding was increasing. His spirit was beginning to dim and lifeless, but the adrenaline-fueled excitement made him ignore the pain. At this moment, these puncture wounds began to torment him, weakening him.

"Respond to me! Respond to me!" Saint Josh Joris still refused to return to Limbo. He wanted to possess Maquire's body. As long as he could hold out until Maquire's soul power dissipated and the strong man's spiritual power was exhausted, he would become the ultimate winner.

Maquire walked to the dock with the catalyst and slowly sat down.

"I feel like I'm constantly falling."

"Keep falling, keep falling"

"The world is collapsing, everything is falling, falling, falling."

He had no strength left, and the sight he had just regained was about to slip away from him.

"Mr. Joris, I have always respected you."

I think

He was panting heavily, and without the help of Hunwei, his wounds bled profusely once again.

I believe mental health is just as important as physical health.

"Before I met you... cough cough cough."

He was almost speechless; the fatal wound on his neck was beginning to show its menacing nature once again.

How I long for Saladin, for you and me, to be able to...

"Cough cough cough"

Saint Josh didn't speak, but suddenly started chuckling.

Maquire: "We're all coughing in our respective positions."

Saint Josh's tone was icy.

"Don't be silly, you're like a little kid to me."

"Maquire, your name is already on my menu."

"To be honest, in all my years of medical experience, your naiveté is unparalleled among my patients—perhaps this is also related to the fact that you were born in the territory of the Red Stone People, a land that is too kind to its people, capable of nurturing a simple-minded brain like yours."

"Fools are always the best accomplices of evil, and I love fooling idiots like you."

"Wait. What do you want to do?"

Maquire pursed his lips, smiled, and was speechless.

Saint Josh shouted nervously--

"--You're out of the Universal Elixir? Dead, rotting flesh is useless to me! Hey! Tell me! You still have some left, right? You'll drink the last bit of the Universal Elixir! Then fall asleep right here on this dock! And give your body to me! Right?!"

Maquire looked smug as he rummaged through his jacket pockets, pulling out his identification, his bloodstained medical license, a lighter, an empty cigarette case, two packs of nicotine patches, his cell phone, and his intercity bus pass.

He opened his trouser pockets, and Saint Josh, like a beggar, watched helplessly as his kind customer emptied his pockets of change, still without finding the banknote he wanted.

Several Blood Butterfly Shopping Coupons, and a handful of lottery ticket stubs from the Hot Spring Market — Maquire has always bought sports lottery tickets and also likes to bet on the Moon God Cup. His wallet is full of commemorative tickets; he's been watching the Moon God Cup every year for the past twenty-five years. He buys every new stamp and lottery ticket that comes out.

"You're fucking dead! Maquire! You idiot!" Saint Josh cursed.

Just a second before Platina Jazz vanished, Maquire hurled the golden arm fiercely towards Moon River Lake.

It tumbled on the lake surface, propelled several meters by the immense power of the Soul Might, before disappearing into the shimmering lakebed.

Everything went dark, Maquire thought to himself--

--That's great.

Gunsmith, will you be proud of me?

Do you think this way when you're facing the devil?

Would they triumphantly display their treasures to a defeated enemy?

These twenty-four hours... felt so long.

I wonder if my father is still practicing medicine among the itinerant vendors.

Is he alright? Is he in good spirits?

He first told me not to go to Saladin, because one cannot go back to the past as one gets older.

Mimir Hot Spring Market is a large city with many doctors, but Saladin had very few.

Gunsmith, have you found Berloberg?

I feel like I can't think straight anymore, it's so cold.

So Saladin's winters really are this cold.

I never realized it before, but this body is protecting me.

"I'm not reconciled!"

As we all know, gold will sink to the bottom if it gets into water.

Saint Josh's spirit clung to the wizard's arm, watching the town lights recede into the distance as he gradually sank into the Barry, forever losing his freedom.

Hey! Hey hey hey hey! You flathead eel over there! Look at me! Look at me, please!

The eels, emerging from the Barry, seemed uninterested in the shimmering golden arms.

"Let me touch it! Just one touch!"

As the fish swam away, Saint Josh grew increasingly desperate.

He sank into the mud at the bottom of the lake, and suddenly touched a skeletal arm—

--That was the remains of that unfortunate Dickens.

These bones accompanied Saint Josh, making him even more lonely.

"Brother, were you also tricked and thrown into the lake?" Dickens lay sprawled in the mud, chatting with the devil.

"Fuck your mother! Who do you think you are? Brother? You dare to call yourself that?" Saint Josh had quite a temper. He remembered how the four young men from the War Gang had once said the same thing to Father Zhang Congfeng.

Dickens, the water ghost, was furious. He had thought that after all these years, if someone were willing to retrieve his remains, he might be able to use his spirit to do something to repay the kindness of the salvage team—but he never expected to run into such an unlucky fellow.

The skeleton immediately began to molt, its body rising up in a soft mud bed, enveloping the golden arms, gradually burying Saint Josh completely into the Barry.

"What are you doing?! Hey!" Saint Josh exclaimed.

Dickens yelled, "You little rascal, neither human nor ghost! You dare to talk back to me! Go eat shit!"

Until Saint Josh's voice was completely buried by the mud, Dickens's skeleton turned over and lay motionless in the riverbed.

Half an hour passed.

Saint Josh finally lost his patience, feeling a bitter loneliness in the darkness.

Is anyone there? You could talk to me.

There weren't even any loaches, not even any insects to be seen.

"Hello"

He had an idea, and mustered his courage, he wanted to return to Limbo.

Perhaps the King of Hell has already left, and the gunsmith's ghost may no longer be in the Netherworld.

This idea is like poison, an irresistible psychological comfort.

Like all his patients, Saint Josh would always say this to them.

You'll get better if you eat human flesh.

You'll get better as long as you go back to Limbo.

A twisted, demonic phantom once again plunged into the endless funnel.

Saint Josh Joris felt the exhilarating sensation of weightlessness, feeling invigorated; the past half hour of torment felt like a prison sentence to him.

This is the life a demon should have! Playing and frolicking among humans, harming living beings, and ultimately escaping unscathed!

These are absolutely heavenly days!

But in front of the boundary marker beside the low slope, there was a familiar figure, the figure getting closer and closer.

Jiang Xueming stood there, motionless, watching helplessly as Saint Josh Joris crashed onto the boundary marker again, turning into a pile of minced meat.

"Thinking about me?" He tore the piece of minced meat off the boundary marker.

Saint Josh's flattened head returned to its original shape, and he prepared to struggle and escape.

--From the Fragrant Dream steel claws, chickpeas made of mountain rocks fell one by one, and the devil immediately lay down on the ground, unable to run any further.

"One."

"Two, three, damn it, why do these stones look so much like beans? Four, five, six!"

Saint Josh raised his head shakily.

"Six, six. Six? You mean you want to beat me to a pulp with your terrifying fists? Seven, seven!"

The avatar of the Fragrant Dream clenched its fists, its iron armor spewing out scorching waves of air.

"YES! YES! YES!"

Saint Josh's demonic form, which had been lying prostrate on the ground, was kicked into the air by Xue Ming.

His half-spirit body was blasted apart by the powerful kick, with several pieces of bone bursting out, and he was almost suspended in mid-air!

Fists rained down on Joris's head, shoulders, neck, and chest! Pieces of bone were pounded into fine sand, splattering with thick, black demonic blood onto the boundary marker!

Saint Josh couldn't even utter a cry; his two horns were completely shattered, and his brains were spilled all over the ground, rendering him incapable of thinking!

It started almost from the tail! It broke the spine, shattered the abdomen, tore the chest cavity, dented the mouth and nose, and punched through the head!

Two scarlet demonic eyes were gripped tightly by Fragrant Dream! They were forced into steel teeth and chewed up! A mouthful of foul-smelling pus and blood was spat out! It landed on Saint Josh's disfigured face.

"This is fucking disgusting! Even the best chef couldn't cook this garbage!" Jiang Xueming was furious, and his fist brought a loud whistling sound, almost smashing Saint Josh's demonic body to pieces!

The sprayed flesh fragments drifted deeper into the Netherworld, landing on the faces of the three gatekeeper monsters. They glanced at them, then retreated, boarded the funnel-shaped slide, and fled to other Netherworld.

At this time--

--Maquire's spirit rolled down from above.

He seemed to be dead, his consciousness blurred and his mind confused, about to fall into the prison of lust, cross the prison of greed, break into the prison of heresy, and head towards the hell of anger and violence, which was his final destination.

The burly man sculpted from the purplish-red crystal was captured by Fragrant Dream.

Jiang Xueming looked at the soul with curiosity. Judging from the facial features of the stone sculpture, it seemed strangely familiar.

"Who the hell told you to come down? You're such bad luck! Get back here!"

He seized Sir Platinum, like a goalkeeper kicking a long ball, sending the ethereal spirit soaring into the sky, disappearing through a narrow, gourd-shaped hole, and flying back down to earth.

On that boundary marker, Saint Josh's mangled flesh trembled slightly from the shockwave of the kick.

As if by reflex, Jiang Xueming threw another punch in anger.

The stone tablet at the boundary between Lust Prison and Limbo Prison was smashed into ten thousand pieces, and there were no more demonic psychic tides in this clear world.

Xue Ming finally became certain--

That beast is dead!