Returning to the Mysterious Era

On the eastern side of Black Rain Manor, a group of dark figures was engaged in fierce combat with another group of colorful figures. The colorful figures had a clear advantage in terms of numbers, outnumbering the dark figures by at least three to four times. However, the battle seemed to be favoring the dark figures, forcing their opponents into retreating.

Whoosh!

A black bolt shot out from a crossbow, tracing a long arc in the air, heading straight for one of the dark figures.

Smack!

Just as the arrow was about to strike, the dark figure suddenly swatted it away with a flick of the hand! The figure then smoothly dodged an incoming attack, his muscles bulging as he delivered a powerful palm strike to the back of a marked-one.

Boom!

The force of the strike severely injured his opponent and left him coughing up blood. The dark figure raised his arm, ready to deliver the killing blow, but three Hellsings rushed in, forcing him to back off.

"Who the hell are they?! How can they possess such terrifying physical prowess?" a lean and agile figure muttered to himself from a distance. He was holding a semi-automatic crossbow, specifically a steam-powered mechanical crossbow.

There were other figures also wielding mechanical crossbows around him, occasionally taking aim and firing as they backed away. These were all members of the Bolt Sect, and since the Bolt Sect was located on the eastern side, they had been conscripted by the manor to defend it.

On the left side of the group, a tall, skinny man, about 1.8 meters tall, pulled the trigger, then grimly reloaded his crossbow.

Ever since he learned Deng Tingda Storm of Arrows, Darkblade had never felt so aggrieved. All of a sudden, powerful enemies—these black-clad figures—had invaded the manor, displaying a strength unlike anything the Hellsings had ever encountered.

The only sect that came remotely close to them would be the Body Refinement Sect, a long-forgotten branch of the Hellsings. But these black-clad figures were far stronger than the remnants of the Body Refinement Sect, and could hardly be compared.

Their overwhelming physical strength had even crushed the Werebeast Sect who was known for their superior defense. Their explosive power surpassed the Dark Sect, famed for self-modification, and the Mercury Sect's psychokinesis had no effect on their indomitable willpower! Their reactions were so quick they could dodge the arrows from the Bolt Sect. Some, like the one earlier, even knocked the arrows away with their fists!

They were too versatile, seemingly without any weaknesses.

In comparison, the Hellsings' various techniques seemed like a hodgepodge of oddities—crippled, limping along, barely-able-to-bully children who were completely overpowered by these healthy and well-rounded opponents.

Three minutes had passed since the Bolt Sect joined the battle, and in that time, Darkblade had emptied three quivers of arrows and yet hadn't killed a single enemy; he didn't even land a fatal blow. The best he had achieved had been shooting a black-clad figure in the arm with a bolt, only for the figure to pull the arrow out and continue fighting as if nothing had happened.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

In the distance, the thunderous sound of artillery echoed from all parts of the manor. For a moment, it seemed as if every corner was engulfed in the flames of battle.

"Charge!"

The black-clad figures began their assault, each one like the tip of a spear. Amid the frenzied charge, the Hellsings were slain one after another. Blood poured out from the marked-ones' bodies, and as the second, third, and fourth bodies fell, their defensive line collapsed.

The elite fighters of the Northern Covert Martial Arts Alliance were simply unstoppable.

The Hellsings scattered in all directions, gripped by the belief that their enemies were intimately familiar with the abilities of the marked-ones, as if the black-clad figures had specifically trained to counter them.

Darkblade looked on in despair as the black-clad figures advanced toward the Bolt Sect. He could only wail in his heart, where did these god-like mysterious enemies come from?! How do they know so much about us marked-ones?!

Just as the Bolt Sect was about to be utterly annihilated, the purple-red flames in the distance illuminated the sky. Round after round, artillery shells rained down on that area, exploding in the air.

As if responding to a call, all of the black-clad figures turned in that direction and, without hesitation, pivoted to charge toward the flames.

"Cough, cough…" Darkblade collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. He was alive! He didn't know how or why, but he had survived!

"…Mark… Hurry… Baptism… All…"

He spat out a mouthful of saliva. The rainwater tasted like it had been laced with salt.

"Huh?! What happened to my mark?" someone in the Bolt Sect exclaimed in shock, prompting others to look down at their hands.

Darkblade also raised his hand in confusion. The sword mark on his hand was beginning to fade, as if it were being washed away by water, and turning into a blank slate. Meanwhile, the sound of Black Rain Manor in his ears was growing fainter, stuttering until it finally disappeared altogether.

"All… Marked… hurry… Baptism Chapel! All…" It was like someone kept hitting "pause" on the radio.

The voice of Black Rain Manor was gone, as was the mark on the backs of the Hellsings' hands. Darkblade stared blankly at his rough skin, rubbing it with his other hand. He couldn't believe it. Had the mark actually disappeared? Perhaps it had just sunk beneath the skin? How could the mark of Black Rain Manor simply vanish?

"Ahh!" A nearby scream split the air.

It turned out that a werewolf, in his desperation to check if the mark had truly vanished, had scraped layer after layer of skin off his hand until it was a bloody mess.

"It's gone! It's gone! It's truly gone! Hahaha…" The werewolf suddenly burst into ecstatic laughter. Even though his hand was now a gruesome sight of exposed bones, he was dancing with joy. The expression on his face was disbelieving, bordering on madness.

His laughter was infectious. Soon, the surviving remnants of the defeated forces began to laugh as well. Some were so overwhelmed with emotion that they crumpled to the ground, weeping like children.

Even the severely injured ones couldn't help trembling with excitement as they coughed up blood. Some of those who already had one foot in the grave looked at peace even as the rain washed away the last traces of warmth as they lay on the ground.

The Hellsings, who had lived for so long in the Rainy World and been under the influence of some unknown substance in the black rain, were more emotional than ordinary people and more prone to mood swings. But this was more than that.

This went all the way back to the origin of the marked-ones. How did the Hellsings come to be? Much like the Twilight of years past, they were once a group of pitiful people in desperate need of hope. When they discovered the mysterious and powerful Black Rain Manor, they thought they had found salvation! They could change their fate or that of their loved ones! But it only led to tragedy.

At first, the Hellsings believed the mark of Black Rain Manor was a fair contract, but in reality, it was a slave brand. They had to struggle to survive in dangerous missions that seemed never-ending, and any hopes of a peaceful life seemed like an impossibility. Like the legendary footless bird that was born flying, the moment it landed would be the moment it died.

In addition, all of the Hellsings seemed cursed, like ill-fated stars destined only for a life of wandering and dying in desolation. It wasn't that they didn't yearn for peace and happiness, but an invisible voice told them that all they deserved was to live in the moment!

They called themselves Hellsings, but deep down, they knew they were nothing more than a bunch of slaves—bound by shackles, imprisoned in the manor. They were a pack of leashed dogs.

Better to die than live without freedom.

The sky over the Rainy World was filled with leaden clouds, the salty rain cutting through the cloud cover and pelting Darkblade's face.

He looked up at the gray-black sky. He felt better than he ever had before. With a complicated expression on his face, his voice was filled with emotion as he muttered loudly, "Fuck you, you stupid Black Rain Manor!"

With that, he raised his right hand and gave the middle finger.

Then, feeling a bit guilty, he glanced at the back of his hand and turned to look around. He sighed in relief, only to find that his companions had already started running out of the manor. Naturally, Darkblade didn't hesitate; with the dog leash gone, who would remain to serve the manor?

His thin figure faded into the rain and fog as he ran away.

If someone were to look down from above, they'd see a strange scene. The area around the Baptism Chapel echoed with constant cannon fire, the intensity of battle at an all-time high with the dark-clad figures and Hellsings all converging there. But once the Hellsings entered the range of the artillery, each one froze in place.

After a few seconds of hesitation, most of them turned purposefully around and fled. Some even lost their shoes in their excitement as they sprinted in the opposite direction, letting out cheers, and running wild like untamed horses…

But the disciples of the Northern Covert Martial Arts Alliance were unsurprised as they watched with cold gazes. While they kept a wary eye on the marked-ones, they continued heading toward the Baptism Chapel.

Although the Hellsings were nothing but a ragtag group in the eyes of the Northern Covert Martial Arts Alliance, the urgency of the critical battle meant they had no time to deal with them. In any case, it'd be a waste of time when they needed to help the assault team capture the Baptism Chapel.

***

The Baptism Chapel was completely surrounded.

Hundreds of Decaying Knights, clad in heavy armor, charged on enormous warhorses. Giant white gargoyles swooped down from the sky like eagles, while all sorts of other eerie creatures exuded strange powers.

Cassius and Duomo huddled together with a few dozen others, forming a tight circle to minimize contact with the enemy. They saw gleaming weapons slashing toward them—cross swords, long-handled battle axes, and knight lances.

Everyone who had fought the Decaying Knights before could tell that this batch was much stronger. This was, after all, the Black Rain Manor's domain, its home ground. Moreover, being close to the core area of the Baptism Chapel, the Knights were naturally much more intimidating with their combat power increasing by at least thirty percent—and still rising.

Though the Decaying Knights had lost their immortal ability due to the fake-death pill, they were still a formidable foe.

Slash!

A sharp cross sword grazed Cassius's shoulder, leaving a long, narrow cut. His clothes were already shredded, covered in countless white marks and bloodstains. Thanks to his hardening Qigong, Cassius's survival skills were impeccable, allowing him to sustain only minor superficial wounds despite such a confusing environment.

Duomo, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

Blood poured out of three deep gashes on his mangled back. One of his arms was barely functioning, possibly due to muscle or tendon damage. Looking far more battered than Cassius, all he could do was hide behind his martial uncle.

Cassius couldn't help reflecting on how he had made the right decision to focus on enhancing his physique. Without a strong and durable body, how could one escape danger when it lurked at every corner? Pairing the grand and powerful combat style of the Wind Elephant Covert Martial Arts with hardening Qigong made them the perfect match for direct, head-on confrontations.

All of the practice he had in fighting had given Cassius a deeper understanding.

The situation around them was grim now. The enemy's numbers were overwhelming, and they were powerful. Even though the first assault team was full of strong fighters, they were barely holding their own and couldn't get close to the chapel.

According to Twilight's memory, they needed to eliminate all the Decaying Knights and destroy the manor's special structures to shut down Black Rain Manor. The chapel was undoubtedly the core of it all!

Cassius took a deep breath and continued to wait patiently.

Half a minute later, a sudden commotion erupted on the outer edge of the Decaying Knights. It was like how creatures in video games would be distracted by other players popping up elsewhere, thus diverting their attention.

If Black Rain Manor still had control over the Decaying Knights, this wouldn't have happened. They would have prioritized taking out Cassius and his group, whom they had trapped. But in this situation, there was no "if."

Elite disciples of the Northern Covert Martial Arts Alliance began arriving from all directions, first in small groups, then in tens, and eventually close to a hundred! Other assault team masters also arrived, shouting that various special buildings had been destroyed as they entered the battlefield.

The Craniotomy Clinic, the Daybreak Hospital, the Mission Hall, the Central Clock Tower, the Arthropod Hall—no matter the casualties among these assault teams, they had all completed their tasks!

With the entry of the battle team and other assault teams, the Decaying Knights and gargoyles lost their numerical advantage. Cassius and his group began a pincer attack, relentlessly slaughtering the powerful yet disorganized Decaying Knights. More and more shattered suits of armor fell from horseback, crashing to the ground with a clatter. Massive amounts of liquid splattered the ground, broken pieces of cold weapons flew everywhere, and the riderless warhorses all dissolved into black liquid.

The number of Decaying Knights rapidly dwindled, and the pressure on the first assault team significantly decreased. Cassius exchanged glances with Mi An and Duomo.

They all nodded, then charged straight toward the chapel.

Because the artillery needed to continuously fire the fake-death pill into the Decaying Knights to prevent them from regaining their strength, the task of destroying the Baptism Chapel was on their shoulders. Cassius and his team carried three times the usual amount of explosives; they were going to make sure the chapel would be thoroughly obliterated.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh…

Half of the dozens of shadows remained in place, while the rest wove around the chapel's perimeter, nimble as swallows, and pierced through the Decaying Knights' defenses like spears. One by one, they skillfully set the explosive charges in place. The air was filled with an overwhelming scent of gunpowder.

Hiss…

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The violent explosions roared into the sky, with rapidly expanding fireballs mixing in with debris. A shockwave surged forth. The rainwater in the air rippled like waves. Amidst the blazing firelight, a tall figure stood, gazing ahead. The black hem of his coat fluttered in the roaring winds.

"The heat from the flames feels so much more comfortable than cold black rain."

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