Four Split Personalities

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The three shards of tea egg didn’t have much effect; Sergei merely raised a semi-circular energy shield casually, blocking the not-so-strong shockwaves in front of him, then raised his right hand and heavily swept it, causing the energy burst to blow the eggshell pieces away directly.

But still, Sergei was delayed for a short while. By the time he accelerated to pursue Motan again, the latter had already successfully run to the side of the self-destructing sheep, withstanding a punch from Sergei that could’ve halved Motan’s health directly, using the "Knight Skill: Turtle Shrink."

"Hmm, quite troublesome,"

Sergei gently clenched his slightly numb right hand and sneered at Motan, who was hiding under the self-destructing sheep, "Give up. Dying a few minutes earlier or later makes no difference. In fact, it would be easier if you just let me end it quickly."

Having said that, he crouched down in a somewhat twisted pose, relied on his impressive sense of balance to sweep out a leg while half of his body was nearly parallel to the ground. He didn’t hurt the self-destructing sheep at all, but kicked Motan, who was kneeling under his own mount, out.

Sergei’s choice not to directly kill the obstruction in front of him wasn’t due to animal affection or getting charmed by cuteness, but because he discovered that this creature was not made of flesh and was very tough, even capable of repelling his hand that could easily tear through ordinary steel. Thus, he decided to keep this thing and later hand it over to the organization for some credit; as for Motan...

In Sergei’s eyes, Motan was already dead, just minutes away from being dealt with.

Meanwhile, not far off, the orc thief easily blocked Ji Xiaoge’s crippling black blindness paste. He whirled his long-handled dagger into a blur of silver, miraculously warding off the two cups of sticky, sweet black liquid in front of him.

"Such a cloyingly sweet scent, I thought this stuff was poisonous,"

He squatted calmly, looked at the wild grass on the ground that was smeared with the black blindness paste but showed no signs of withering or rotting, and scoffed, "Turns out it’s nothing at all."

The flying Xiaoge threw two flying discs at Sergei while coldly observing the orc thief and his panic-stricken face behind him, Rex Hawke Wood, without responding.

She had no interest or mood to chat with these deranged villains.

"Hey, what on earth is going on!"

Rex took a nervous half-step back, sweating profusely as he looked at his handsomely paid bodyguard, "Who exactly are they? Why are they here!"

Honestly, the appearance he revealed at that moment was very dissonant with his sharp and broad features, towering figure, and hefty armor, comparable to a frail saintess swinging a cross in a mutant horde to crack skulls.

"I am not sure why they are here, sir."

The orc thief slowly bent down, his body seemingly enveloped in a continuously shimmering black veil. He then viciously licked his dagger, revealing a murderous smirk, "But I can tell you explicitly that these two reckless intruders are garbage. I just need two minutes to..."

Pop!!

The orc thief had barely started speaking when suddenly he choked on his own throat and began coughing. Following that, his body started trembling like a sieve, and the shadowy "nighttime black veil" around him unexpectedly disintegrated. His deep brown eyes filled with terror slowly turned white, and after swaying on the spot, he convulsed and fell to the ground.

"Ah!!"

Rex, panic-stricken, accidentally stepped on his own cape and fell heavily to the ground, his face ashen as he watched his bodyguard, who had just talked tough before mysteriously collapsing, blank in mind.

Fuck!

Because Rex’s scream was so pitiful, Sergei, who was ready to rush up and beat Motan, subconsciously frowned and looked back just in time to see the orc thief foaming at the mouth on the ground, completely baffled.

Although they had never met face-to-face, Sergei had known from the beginning that the bad-tempered orc thief was a tough character; his undisguised ominous intent was very apparent. Even if Iron Bolt and Hawke Wood, who were only superficially strong, could not feel it, the highly-sensitive, high-level monk Sergei was acutely aware. He had no doubt the man had at least a three-digit body count, likely even stronger in real combat than himself!

So why did he just fall inexplicably!?

Could it be that his opponent had come prepared? Had the earlier acts been to numb him? Was there indeed a lethal trap hidden?

The client’s bodyguard had knelt, could it be his turn next?

All at once, Sergei felt a mixture of shock and suspicion, hurriedly looking around to assess the situation, even neglecting to chase the freshly risen Motan, who, at that very moment, was just as confused, just as clueless, and just as unaware of why the orc thief had collapsed.