Alech’u held one hand against the Ghost-Head Scimitar at his waist, his gaze fixed on the crawling, big-headed ghost infant.
Wet-Print Boy seemed to sense an enemy. Its enormous head slowly rose, blue-purple veins writhing and pulsing beneath its skin as streams of murky corpse fluid seeped from its fontanelle and dripped onto the ground.
Bracing its four limbs, it shot along the ground with astonishing speed and vanished in an instant.
The next moment, the ghost infant appeared on Alech’u’s horse.
It spread its palm and pressed its little wet hand, smeared with corpse fluid, toward Alech’u’s back.
Anyone touched by that handprint would immediately rot inside and out, corpse fluid gushing forth, and die a gruesome death.
Yet Alech’u seemed not to notice.
Everyone present held their breath. Nabuling clenched her hands, while certainty filled Sagai's eyes. This strike would surely deal the enemy a heavy blow.
As long as they captured this supposed leader of the Scimitar Bandits, the crisis would be resolved.
Qu Zan, however, secretly frowned, because Alech’u seemed not to have seen the ghost infant behind him.
If the man had no means at his disposal, how would he dare charge straight in here?
On horseback, behind Alech’u, a mass of black, oily threads appeared and instantly entangled Wet-Print Boy. The black corpse oil enveloped Wet-Print Boy like a fly trapped in solidified amber.
That black grease flowed out along the horse's body.
"Black grease? Is that corpse oil??" Qu Zan watched in some puzzlement.
Black grease bubbled from the skin of the horse, soon enveloping its entire body.
A moist, reflective layer of black corpse oil coated the horse's body.
"Could it be that the leader isn't the one binding the vengeful ghost?"
Qu Zan's eyes widened in mild surprise. This was his