Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

After Gordon finished announcing the time, Vera quickly stood up.

The thing underwater sensed something was wrong.

The river surface swelled, the black water exploded, and a giant Deepclaw demon burst from the water, its long claws sweeping towards Vera's waist and abdomen.

She lunged forward against the claw wind, stomped her left foot on the deck, causing the narrow boat to sink sharply, and kicked out with her right foot, smashing it into the Deep Claw Demon's chest.

boom!

It was less of a kick and more of a smash!

The Deepclaw Demon's chest cavity collapsed instantly, and a cone-shaped gap exploded in the scales on its back, from which shattered ribs and dark red internal organs sprayed out.

The monster flew more than ten meters before crashing into the river, leaving only a hole that was quickly filled in by the water.

"—" The person with wet feet in the grass had a blank mind.

Before anyone could react, Vera had already leaped onto the left bank of the water.

The man with wet feet hastily opened fire, and a burst of flames shot from the muzzle.

The lead bullet tore through several reeds, only hitting a corner of her afterimage.

The air was thick with the smoke of gunpowder.

Before the man with wet feet could move, a tall figure emerged from the fog and pierced through his ribs.

Vera thrust upwards with all her might, and the heavy sword lifted the wet-footed man off the ground.

His body slid down the sword's edge, his chest cavity being further ripped open by his own weight, and his open mouth only had time to spit out a glob of steaming blood.

"Die!" Two wet-footed men with axes swung at Vera.

Vera drew her sword, turned around, and swung the heavy sword horizontally, propelling her hips.

The greatsword was swung like a giant axe, striking one person's head and instantly deforming his skull. A section of his cervical vertebra flew off and smashed into another person.

"Wow!"

The man with wet feet was so frightened that he fell to the ground, his face covered in his companion's blood.

He looked up expectantly, and Vera raised the black spike high, then swung it down, cruel yet merciful.

  

The last Deepclaw demon had just jumped off the wall when it turned around and saw Vera with her hands covered in blood.

In its short life, this may be the closest it ever came to enlightenment.

Vera pierced it with her sword, lifted it from the ground, and flung it against the wall. The gray-green body crashed into the brick wall, its bones collapsing with a thud before it slid softly to the ground.

She turned around and saw a person with wet feet on the ground slapping twice, so she went over and kicked them again.

The battle is over.

At this moment, the smoke from the shotgun had just dissipated.

Vera wiped the blood off her sword, turned and walked back to the water's edge, bringing Gordon ashore.

"I think you could beat them even without me telling you," Gordon said.

"A compliment?" Vera tilted her head.

"Yes."

"You can say more."

They stepped onto the stone steps.

Push open the inner door of the pumping station.

It was spacious inside. On the left was the boiler room, where red light surged. Three horizontal boilers lay side by side, with steam pipes extending from the top of the boilers.

To the right is the pump tower, its massive rocker arm spanning the air, rising and falling slowly with the operation of the steam engine. The connecting rods drive the equipment up and down in the deep well, transporting tons of river water to higher ground.

Then pour the water onto the center of the hall.

...on a giant clam shell!

It's as big as a car, with a grayish-white shell covered in rings of veins resembling tree rings. This is said to be the shell of the giant clam demon, impervious to swords and spears.

Sixteen iron chains hang down from the dome, hooking onto the sides of the clam shell and suspending it in mid-air.

The water pipe was modified as part of a ritual, with black water being continuously pumped into the top of the clam shell through a cast iron pipe. The pipe opening was inserted into the shell crevices, like giving blood to a deformed heart.

Every few breaths, the clam shell gently contracts, squeezing out warm steam from the crevices.

The white mist, carrying a faint, sweet-smelling odor, spread across the ground, its scent and texture remarkably similar to the amniotic fluid in a warm, moist environment.

Through the gap, Gordon could vaguely see a figure stretching out inside.

This is a... clam person.

Gordon stared at the clam shell.

He had seen fish followers with gills and long tentacles, but having a clam shell attached was another matter entirely.

The clam shell opened slightly, and a sound came from inside.

"Gordon Vick. I've been watching you... I never expected you to swim right up to me."

"Brother, I came by boat," Gordon said.

The gaps in the clam shell widened, and the scarlet shell meat wriggled inside, the inner wall peeling open like raw meat.

A human figure was curled up inside the shell.

Harold Wade.

He was no longer like the servant of the Montfort family; his face was swollen from being soaked, his skin was translucent like a jellyfish, and six rows of tiny gills split open on both sides of his neck, which moved together with each breath.

At this moment, he was holding a piece of colorful, transparent scale, lying inside the clam. His shoulder blades were abnormally prominent, and two clumps of cartilage were trying to emerge from his back. His chest and abdomen were attached to the clam, connected by strong adductor muscles.

"Old Baz sends his regards," Gordon remembered.

"Old Baz..." Harold stretched inside the clam shell, "a coward, resisting a gift..."

"You sent the water monkeys to Montfort's ancestral home to steal the Holy Grail, while you hid behind," Gordon said. "If refusing the gift is cowardice, then what is it to be afraid to collect it yourself?"

"Relics are not earthly objects you can understand," Harold said slowly. "And the Monford family... needs to be punished... for that arrogance... labeling relics and putting them in glass cases. Slaughtering our loved ones..."

"Kill him?" Vera asked.

"Wait a minute, I need to get some information out of them. Usually, the enemy will keep giving out key information at times like this," Gordon whispered.

Harold laughed, the sound echoing back and forth inside the shell.

"The black waters will reshape my regrets, the new shell will protect my rebirth, the birth of the tides is about to be complete." Harold seemed very comfortable inside the clam. "When I open my eyes again, knives, guns, and fire will all kneel outside the shell. I will be reborn, I will escape death, I will become—"

"Don't rush into becoming one. Think about your brothers and sisters," Gordon said.

"You..." Harold's voice trailed off.

Gordon walked around the clam shell.

"You invoked the power of the Silver Fish Box and summoned a group of water monkeys to disturb the peace. Now they've been turned into potions," Gordon said.

The clam shell fell silent.

"Your little brother, Octopus Face, was secretly following me with my portrait," Gordon said. "Now he's a teaching example, contributing to human progress."

A suppressed roar came from inside the clam shell.

"Those wet-footed men outside are keeping watch around as you ordered," Gordon said. "Unfortunately, their main contribution is proving that people die when they are killed."

"You... maggots on the shore!"

The clam shell snapped shut, and the iron chain shook violently.

boom!

The clam shell has no gaps, like a locked door in a bank vault.

"Look, he's in a hurry again," Gordon said.

Vera walked to the bottom of the giant clam.

After observing for a moment, she swung her sword upwards with force, and the black spike struck the shell.

Ding--

The sword tip slid away, leaving only a shallow, almost humiliating white mark.

"A wound that refuses to heal" is something that has been bitten into.

But this is a clam shell, and it doesn't need to heal.

"It can't be pierced," Vera said.

"Your sword is only fit to cut through flesh on the shore. It can't pierce my shell," Harold taunted, his voice sounding particularly muffled inside the clam shell.

Gordon looked up and sized him up.

[The Demonic Shell. It suggests you try a little harder.]

ceremony……

Gordon observed carefully.

The inside of the giant clam exuded the scent of amniotic fluid, which Harold had clearly collected secretly when he was a servant.

There are some fine rays of light on the iron chain that hangs the large clam, suggesting some kind of spiritual imprint.

Harold held colorful scales in his hands.

This is clearly a complete set of esoteric rituals, each structure having its purpose, giving rise to a certain incomprehensible phenomenon.

The giant clam is impervious to blades and spears, Vera cannot open it for a short time, and the ritual will continue and be completed, perhaps in a few days, or perhaps in the next second.

"How so?" Vera asked, looking around.

"...It's not a big problem." Gordon said this as he started walking outside.

The two returned and carried the wooden crate containing the explosives into the hall.

Open the wooden crate.

[The fuse. It's waiting for an irresponsible person.]

[Detonator. Small thing, big temper.]

Gordon took out the detonator, inserted the explosive cartridge, and then tied several packets of explosives tightly and placed a waterproof cloth on top.

"I'm going to introduce you to a new friend, Harold," Gordon announced. "He is the thunder of humanity, and he doesn't care whether you're a servant, a saint, an embryo, or a clam with particularly religious aspirations."

"How dare you desecrate the new life?" Harold couldn't see what was happening outside, but he sensed that Gordon was doing something particularly crazy.

"This is a good spot," Gordon assessed. "You know what? There are five pounds of explosives here, plenty of them."

"It can't possibly damage the shell," Harold said. "It's blessed."

"You've got it wrong." Gordon looked up. "I don't want to open it. I'm not a chef."

"...?"

"The key is 'vibration.' The one inside, I think, is still made of flesh. The principle behind frying fish is the same. We shake it underwater, which stuns the fish and causes its internal organs to rupture..."

Harold paused for a moment, then understood.

"You can't! You don't know what I'll become! I'm the one acknowledged by the Blackwater! I'm the child within the shell! I am—"

"Mr. Shell-Carrying Man," Gordon said, "Welcome to the Industrial Age."

He lit the fuse.

The spark bit the fuse and flew swiftly along it toward the explosive charge.

"Let's go!" Gordon shouted.

Vera scooped him up, smashed a paving stone, and carried him several meters away. Gordon felt dizzy.

The explosion came from beneath the clam shell.

boom!!!

Blazing white flames engulfed the hall.

The reservoir suddenly burst open, and all the glass windows shattered into sparkling fragments at the same moment, carrying the shards of moonlight into the Blackwater River.

The main water pipe ripped at the joint, and tons of black water gushed out from above like a giant python being chopped off and writhing in its death throes.

The steam pipe was snapped by the flying iron chain, and the white, high-pressure steam emitted a piercing shriek as it swept across the entire hall.

Several chains snapped, and the giant clam shell tilted violently in mid-air, crashing into the main water pipe before falling heavily to the ground.

The shockwave raged and slammed in all directions, passing over walls and doors, sending Gordon and Vera flying.

Firelight, steam, bricks, and Harold's roar rose together into the night sky above the Blackwater River.

……

Gordon thought he might have died in Lundnim.

Then he started to feel pain, which meant the problem wasn't bad.

"cough--"

Gordon got up, his ears ringing.

The pump station hall is completely unrecognizable.

The main water pipe burst, and twisted sheet metal continued to pour water into the hall, while the flames in the boiler room flickered.

[The water pipe. It has finally found a way to express pressure.]

The edge of the reservoir had collapsed significantly, and gravel rolled into the black water, making a gurgling sound.

"You're not dead," Vera said.

Vera stood up, a cut on her face from a shard of metal.

"That doesn't sound like a consolation," Gordon said.

"Can you walk?"

"If Harold hadn't been killed in the bombing, I could have escaped," Gordon said.

Gordon looked up at the center of the hall.

The giant clam shell crashed to the ground, cracking open its grayish-white surface and releasing bursts of hot, fishy odor.

"Is he dead?" Vera asked.

"I..." Gordon's eyes hurt terribly. He was seeing a lot of wrong information.

Something was shimmering inside the clam shell. Flowing gray light, bone-white fine lines, viscous black water shadows, and what seemed to be a lump of flesh yet to be named, kicked out of its mother's womb by someone.