Chapter 207

Chapter 207

Three carriages raced through the night, their wheels kicking up clouds of dust on the dirt road.

Evan sat in the carriage, lifting the curtain to gaze at Gray Manor growing ever smaller in the distance, the heaviness in his chest growing.

The ring of light in the night sky was almost fully formed, rotating slowly. Within the darkness at its center, twisted shapes started to appear, as if something was struggling to break free.

The evil presence in the air grew thicker. Even far from the manor, Evan could still clearly feel that suffocating pressure.

“Those natives… they’re actually summoning an evil god…” Evan whispered to himself, his heart pounding with shock and dread.

He’d thought it was just a simple native revolt, never thought it would come to this. If the evil god actually showed up, Gray Manor and the whole Eleventh Island would be doomed.

The carriages kept racing through the night. Gray Manor grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until it was just a speck in the dark. Only the massive silver ring in the sky remained clearly visible, like some evil eye staring down at the earth, radiating a terrifying light.

The carriages sped along the dirt road, hoofbeats pounding like drums, wheels crunching over gravel with a harsh screech. The night wind blew through the curtains, slowly carrying away the creepy chanting from Gray Manor, but it couldn’t shake the tension inside the carriages.

Lillian was curled up next to Marcus, gripping her father's sleeve tight, her little face white as a sheet. Most of the servants had their heads down, their expressions grim, no one dared to speak—just heavy breathing filling the carriage.

Evan sat in the back of the third carriage, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness on both sides.

On both sides of the road were sugarcane fields, their tall leaves swaying in the night breeze, rustling like a thousand eyes watching them from the dark.

He knew that if the natives were bold enough to rebel and summon an evil god, they wouldn’t let them leave easily. They’d definitely set up ambushes along the escape route.

Sure enough, as the carriages rounded a bend past a thick sugarcane field, it happened!

“Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—” A few flaming spears suddenly shot out from the dark sugarcane field, whistling through the air, aimed dead-on at the first carriage.

The flames carved red arcs across the night sky, blindingly bright.

“Watch out!” Laura's voice cut through the night. She’d already sensed the danger with her sharp knightly instincts. Leaping from the driver's seat of the first carriage, her long sword flashed coldly, slicing two of the incoming spears clean in half. With two sharp cracks, the spears broke, sending burning splinters flying. But one spear slipped past her, slamming hard into the side of the carriage. With a loud bang, the wooden panel smashed open, and flames immediately spread.

“Ah!” Lillian’s scream came from inside the carriage. Marcus quickly covered his daughter with his body, yelling, “Driver! Go faster! Push through!”

The driver, already white as a ghost, cracked the whip hard over the horses. The horses, stung by the pain, took off, dragging the burning carriage along.

At the same time, dozens of natives burst out of the sugarcane fields on both sides, wielding machetes and spears. Their faces were smeared with red war paint, their eyes wild and ferocious, like a pack of rabid animals, howling as they rushed the three carriages.

“Protect the carriages!” Evan shouted, jumping off the third carriage. His left hand whipped out his revolver in an instant. “Bang! Bang!” Two shots hit the two lead natives dead-on.

The natives screamed and dropped, blood staining the ground. But that didn't stop the others, who kept up their frenzied attack, chopping at the carriage wheels and axles.

Laura also jumped off her carriage, her sword spinning in a solid silver arc, pushing back the natives closing in on the first carriage.

“Evan! I'll protect the young lady's carriage! You cover the back!” she shouted as she fought, her silver armor gleaming coldly in the firelight and moonlight.

“Understood!” Evan replied, drawing his short blade with his right hand, moving like a ghost among the natives.

With a gun in one hand and a blade in the other, he worked in perfect coordination—the revolver taking out distant threats, the short blade dealing with those who got close. Under his control, spiritual threads silently coalesced, wrapping around two natives attempting a flank attack. With a sudden pull, they lost their balance and fell, and Evan finished them with a swift slash of his blade.

The male servants on the third carriage did not retreat either. Grabbing wooden clubs and axes from inside, they jumped down to fight alongside Evan.

Though they lacked supernatural power, their years of labor on the estate had given them decent strength, and now, driven by self-preservation, they summoned remarkable courage.

“Kill! Hold the carriage!” a tall male servant shouted, swinging his axe into a native’s shoulder.

The battle was fierce.

The natives were numerous and fearless, showing no sign of retreat even as their comrades fell, growing only more frenzied. Their attacks were simple and direct, each swing of the blade or thrust of the spear carrying a desperate force. Flames still burned on the first carriage, thick smoke billowing, choking those inside and blurring the battlefield.

Sweat beaded on Evan’s forehead. The continuous fighting had drained his spiritual energy, but he dared not slacken.

He knew that if the line broke, the consequences would be disastrous. His eyes swept the battlefield and spotted several natives slipping past his defenses, heading for the second carriage—the one carrying the unarmed maids, who could not defend themselves.

“No!” Evan’s heart lurched. He immediately pulled back, charging toward the second carriage, firing his revolver repeatedly to take down the approaching natives.

“Drive! Don’t stop!” Evan shouted to the driver of the second carriage. The driver quickly cracked his whip, and the carriage sped forward again.

Just then, a native with black paint smeared on his face burst from deep within the sugarcane field. He wielded a massive stone axe, stood a head taller than the others, and his eyes were as fierce as a wolf’s—clearly a chieftain among the natives.

He did not attack the carriages but charged straight at Evan, his stone axe whistling as it swung toward Evan’s head.

Evan’s pupils contracted. He sidestepped to avoid the blow.

The axe slammed into the ground with a loud thud, gouging a deep pit and sending gravel flying. Seizing the moment, Evan thrust his short blade at the chieftain’s arm.

The chieftain reacted swiftly, leaping back to evade, then lunged again with his axe.

“Evan! I’ll help you!” Laura’s voice came as she finished off the natives around her and rushed to his side.

Her long sword stabbed at the chieftain’s back, forcing him to turn and defend.

Evan and Laura fought side by side, one attacking, one defending, their coordination seamless.

Laura’s swordsmanship was exquisite, engaging the chieftain head-on, drawing his attention, while Evan circled to the side, looking for openings. Though the chieftain was fierce, facing two Sequence 8 transcendents, he gradually fell into a disadvantage. Soon, several wounds bled from his body, stained with blood.

“Die!” Evan seized a flaw, channeling spiritual energy into his short blade, and stabbed it into the chieftain’s heart. The chieftain let out a scream, stiffened, and fell to the ground, lifeless.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining natives’ fervor faded, replaced by fear.

Evan seized the opportunity, shouting, “Your leader is dead! Resistance means only death!”

The natives exchanged glances, their assault visibly weakening.

Evan and Laura pressed the attack, cutting down a few stubborn holdouts. The remaining natives finally broke, fleeing into the darkness of the sugarcane fields.

The battle was over.

The road was littered with native corpses, blood staining the dirt path. The burning spears still crackled.

The flames on the first carriage had been extinguished by the servants, leaving a gaping black hole in the side, looking battered. Several male servants were wounded, blood seeping from their injuries, but their faces showed relief at having survived.

“Get back in the carriages! Keep moving!” Evan shouted, knowing they could not stay—other natives might be nearby. Everyone quickly climbed aboard, the drivers cracked their whips, and the carriages sped off toward the docks.

Evan sat in the third carriage, glancing back at the darkness behind him, his unease undiminished.

The carriages jolted along the dirt road, wheels rolling over the blood and gravel from the battle, emitting a dull rumble.

Inside, no one had fully recovered from the ambush. The male servants bandaged their wounds, blood seeping through the cloth; the maids huddled together, pale-faced; Lillian leaned against Marcus’s shoulder, eyes shut, her lashes still trembling, clearly shaken by the danger.

Evan sat in the back of the third carriage, the residual warmth of spiritual energy still tingling at his fingertips, his gaze alertly scanning the darkness on both sides. The echoes of the natives’ wild howls and the clash of weapons still rang in his ears.

The night wind grew colder, carrying an indescribable restlessness, as if the entire Eleventh Island was brewing an even greater storm.

In the distance, toward Gray Manor, the silver ring in the night sky remained clear. In its dark, bottomless center, the twisted shadows grew more pronounced. The evil aura, even miles away, pressed down on the chest, suffocating.

Just then, a deep, resonant bell toll suddenly broke the silence of the night—“Boom—boom—boom—”

This bell did not come from an ordinary clock tower in some estate or town. It carried a peculiar penetrating power, as if it could pierce through all obstacles and reach the very depths of the heart.

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