Carnival of Ignorance

Gloomsoil Hidden Realm, northern mountains of the wasteland. Atop one particularly steep and towering stone peak, a group of Mad Clowns in varied attire had gathered to rest.

There were thirty-one of them in total. Every one was a hardened fighter who had endured the ordeal of the fifth Nightmare, and every one had dried blood staining their bodies and clothes to varying degrees.

Some had lost hands and feet to the blade. Some had their livers scorched black. Some had their faces pierced clean through.

Yet even so, the clowns were all still alive. Despite the severe injuries crippling every last one of them, they continued to laugh and chat madly in this hidden corner of the wasteland.

That was because black flesh clung to every wounded person's injuries, heaving and surging ceaselessly like ocean waves at that very moment.

It was the sign that the power of the abyss was at work.

Like forging brand-new parts for a broken machine, no matter how horrific the injuries suffered by the Mad Clowns, so long as the Abyss Core in their vital areas had not sustained catastrophic damage, the regenerative power granted by the Seeds of the Abyss could endlessly create and replace parts of their bodies.

The injured Mad Clowns did not even feel much pain during their self-healing process. They only needed to wait patiently for a little while in this safe zone before returning at full strength to the central battlefield at the distant Great Rift.

Just as Dawn Squad had previously guessed, they planned to seize the opportunity while the other Master Hunters and the remaining Abyss Theater Alliance were locked in fierce battle, secretly choosing the most suitable route and the most vicious angle from which to launch a surprise attack at the hunters' backs.