Mystery: My Encounters with the Celestial God

Chapter 453 You're Going Too Extreme

Pansi Port.

As the sun sets, its last rays cast a brilliant golden glow upon the calm sea.

Ron, feeling the sea breeze, frowned as he looked at the island and nodded, noticing something amiss.

According to Medici, communicating with the City of Calamity here requires not only timing but also a specific sacrificial ceremony.

The purpose of the ritual appears to be to please.

The larger the scene, the better the communication.

Medici was once the unique King of Angels. The City of Calamity might pay attention to Him, but they might not be interested in outsiders.

"Based on my observations over the past few months, I seem to have some kind of attraction to extraordinary beings like the Night, Hunters, and Witches. Perhaps I won't have to put in much effort; the City of Calamity will come knocking on my door."

The gray fog border seal of the Western Continent will inevitably be guarded by the "Heavenly Venerable of Blessing and Profound Yellow". The only loophole is the source matter that has eroded into this area to varying degrees.

Ron didn't intend to succeed in one go. At the very least, he had to send out a clone or a wisp of his will to investigate and see what was going on with his source essence.

As for exploring routes, the more routes the better, to avoid being kicked offline at crucial moments.

As darkness fell and thick fog rolled in, night soon arrived.

A strong wind, accompanied by dark clouds, enveloped the entire port of Bansi.

A sudden gust of wind arose, causing the White Agate Horn to sway slightly.

"Stay on the ship tonight; there are hidden risks in Bansi Port."

Adjusting his fedora, Ron gave a word of advice to the listless elf beside him.

"I wouldn't joke about my own life."

Having heard that Bansi Port had a special delicacy invented by the Elf King, the Elf Miss, who had wanted to try it, touched her wallet and said with a helpless expression.

She dared not spend the gold coins Ron gave her; she couldn't accept anything that might be a contract of servitude or a price that required selling her body.

but……

Winchester Kyle's eyes, which seemed to contain lightning, swept over Ron's handsome, almost inhuman face once more. Winchester Kyle's breathing quickened slightly, and his cheeks flushed a little.

Hmm... it's not impossible...

When people are well-fed and warm, they start to indulge in lustful desires. No matter what kind of creature it is, it's best not to eat too much.

Stepping out of the cabin, Ron adjusted his jet-black, flowing sunglasses, completely eroding the senses of the two bastards inside him, before transforming into a golden meteor that shot straight into the sky.

The timing is perfect; someone is holding a ceremony right now, so Mr. Ron doesn't need to be too busy.

The invisible wind blades, like countless razor blades, ripped the smooth ground into deep trenches, sending mud flying and crushing stones into powder.

"Captain, cover me! I'm going to charge in and punch that bastard!"

A muscular, boxing-gloved substitute for the punishment roared in anger.

He had never fought such a frustrating battle, being suppressed in a corner by endless wind blades. This was something no hot-tempered "sailor" could tolerate.

To be honest, the Sailor Path has a bit of a masochistic streak; it needs to be trained by the enemy to its maximum rage level to unleash its full power and speed.

In any case, Ron found it hard to imagine whether the "Primordial Creator," as the end point of this path, harbored any unknown secrets or quirks deep within his heart.

"The Singer" sings praises to himself, "The Sailor" is a masochist and a violent maniac, "The Reader" is a bookish intellectual with aloofness, "The Shepherd" is a scapegoat and a creepy scoundrel, and as for the rest, "The Audience," aren't they just voyeurs?

So this is what you, the "original" one, are like!

Seeing the battle below becoming increasingly intense, the hot-tempered man could no longer suppress his anger. He chose to be beaten to death rather than be enraged. Ron immediately waved his arm, sealing off the space and isolating all the Punishers outside.

Those cult members go through so much trouble to hold their rituals; we can't let their efforts go to waste.

Inside a burial hall on the mountaintop.

"Bishop Miller, all of the Storm Lord's lackeys have retreated!"

A figure dressed in black robes hurriedly arrived in front of the altar, both respectful and excited, reporting the situation outside in a hurried tone.

"The Storm Lord's Lackey"

To be fair, a hunter is a hunter, and the mouth of Medici's descendant is quite disgusting. Even though he has betrayed his own faith, Bishop Miller couldn't help but twitch his face.

"This can't last much longer. We must hold a ritual to ask the weather god for more power, otherwise this place will soon be destroyed by the Punishers!"

"Don't underestimate them; the power a single Punisher squad can wield far exceeds your imagination!"

Suppressing his anger, Miller Carter's breathing became slightly heavy. His eyes, tinged with a hint of madness, swept over his surroundings as he spoke in a low, hoarse voice:

"We need more offerings; only then can we receive more blessings!"

As they spoke, bloodstains appeared on the two-meter-long and one-meter-wide altar, and a pungent, fishy smell filled the air. The blood, stained with the color of rust, kept gushing out from a headless, esophagealless corpse, quickly staining everything red.

The mist reappeared, its cold, slippery texture and pungent smell of rust enveloping the entire burial chamber.

Suddenly, a headless corpse crawled out of the coffin. Its features were exactly the same as those of the one lying on the altar: it had no head, no neck, and no esophagus.

"Greeter, come here!"

At that moment, Miller Carter's voice came from the depths of the mist, causing all the black-robed men present to turn their gazes toward a man clutching his right arm.

"I... I can still be saved. I can still offer help."

"Bishop, you can't do this! There's still time. We can go to town and arrest them!"

Gretel collapsed to the ground instantly, his body trembling uncontrollably, his black robe soaked through at the crotch.

"No! You can't. Your right arm has been broken, and it's nighttime. The weather is unusual, and the townspeople won't open their doors."

Miller's voice came from the depths of the mist, his tone tinged with an inescapable chill.

At that moment, a slightly manic voice came from the mist.

"Haha, you're hopeless! We need to acquire more power!"

"Have you forgotten the brutal history of the Storm Church replacing our faith!?"

"How many people have died at their hands? Don't you care at all?! Huh?"

"What we want is revenge, revenge, fucking revenge!"

"Not only you, but all of you, including Miller, and me, have to do this. It's our destiny!"

"Come, let's line up, how beautiful the pain and despair we experience will be!?"

"We're sure we can please the weather god!"

"..."

The first half of his speech was passionate and full of fearlessness, which stirred the emotions of everyone present.

However, things became increasingly abnormal as he spoke, and when he stopped, the cult members fell silent for a moment.

After a while, Bishop Miller's voice came from the depths of the thick fog, his tone tinged with apprehension.

"You're going a bit too far!"

Ron pursed his lips, unconvinced.

How can you summon a city of calamity without going to extremes?

(End of this chapter)