In any era, firearms possessed terrifying lethality. When a mob of unarmed infected attempted to charge through a hail of bullets, the outcome was self-evident.
They didn't even get to see the machine guns. Under the precise sniping from above, they dropped dead one after another on the path rushing toward the villa's mansion.
The lawn was simply too vast!
In a sense, what killed them was the sheer power of wealth.
Before the gate shrouded in dense mist, the butler had ordered sandbags piled high and mounted two machine guns, establishing an overlapping crossfire to maximize firepower.
Two maids manned the machine guns, one each. Sturdily built, they held the guns steady as if recoil did not exist.
Unfortunately, they didn't even get to fire.
The maid sniper on the roof had stolen every kill.
Wayne sat behind the sandbags, equipped with a parasol, a small lounge chair, sunglasses, and black tea. Standing straight as a ramrod beside him was the monocled butler.
Recalling the cultist who had spewed tentacles from his mouth earlier, Wayne suspected these people had been parasitized by raw eggs. A wave of disgust washed over him. "What a revolting tentacle. Truly hideous!"
Neither the butler nor the maids panicked over the cultists' gruesome appearances. They knew magic existed in the world and had undergone professional training. The butler, in particular, boasted the formidable combat record of having slain four mages face-to-face.
As the saying went: within seven paces, a gun was both swift and precise.
Wayne picked up a pair of binoculars and looked up at the tentacles dangling high over the town, his brow furrowed in silence.
Judging by the situation, the sacrificial ritual had already begun. He wondered if Isabella could hold out. The Church of the Earth's Core gathering had drawn a massive crowd of townsfolk; had those innocent people already been parasitized as well?
Wayne disliked the Church of the Earth's Core. Whether out of righteous principle or personal grievance, he couldn't muster the slightest goodwill toward them.
Even when it came to their Logistics Chief, the Lord of the Void, Wayne had no intention of offering a single word of thanks. He had seized the four elements by his own capability—why should he thank them?
The arrival of the cultists made Wayne realize he had been singled out by the Lord of the Void. If Isabella fell, a swarm of mutated cultists would soon rush toward the mansion, accompanied by bishops, archbishops, and other powerful mages.
If the entire population of Enrold Town mutated, turning this into a real-life zombie siege, the mere thought made Wayne's scalp tingle.
He had faith that the butler and maids could hold the mansion for up to fifty-eight days. He just felt it was a tragedy; the townsfolk were innocent and did not deserve such calamity.
"I hope Isabella doesn't let Teacher down..."
Wayne muttered under his breath, when suddenly, he sensed a fluctuation of magical power.
There was another expert!
He sprang to his feet, signaled the butler to stay on high alert, and fixed his gaze in the direction of the magical surge.
On the lawn, the cultists blown apart by the sniper rifle twisted their ruined remains and crawled, squirming together into a single pile. Flesh and blood stacked upon itself, frothing with white foam as it stitched into a cohesive mass.
A mound of flesh sprouted limbs and pale, distorted faces, rolling in a frenzied dash toward the sandbags.
Its target was Wayne.
Both machine guns opened fire instantly. Lines of fiery tracer rounds intersected, concentrating their barrage on the rapidly rolling ball of flesh, blasting off splatters of blood and chunks of meat.
The flat lawn ensured there were no blind spots in their field of fire, yet the bullets only slowed the ball's movement; they could neither halt it completely nor shatter it entirely.
*Boom!*
The ball of flesh pressed down on something unseen. It was blown half a meter into the air by a violent blast, and after scattering in pieces upon landing, it brushed against tripwires set beforehand, sparking rising serpents of flame.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
A chain of explosions detonated one after another. Buried Molotov cocktails blew apart, clinging to the frothing flesh and purifying it with searing heat.
The effect was extraordinary. Having been infected by parasites and gradually assimilating into starfish, the flesh was extremely flammable. Within moments, a curtain of fire and black smoke billowed across the lawn.
Wayne raised a hand, took the silk handkerchief Fra handed him, and covered his nose and mouth.
The Molotov cocktails had been crafted by the butler. Per Wayne's request, motor oil with extreme adhesion had been blended into the gasoline, making the flames almost impossible to smother.
Flashes of blinding white light flared intermittently, dazzling and brilliant, reminiscent of white phosphorus.
Fra remarked, "Magnesium powder. I added magnesium powder!"
To ensure high-temperature sterilization, the butler had strapped magnesium powder around the bottles. He was a professional butler, thoroughly seasoned, and well-versed in the craft of incendiary devices.
As for the ruined lawn, the butler paid it no mind. A simple phone call, and Londan would deliver a fresh batch of sod.
Wearing his sunglasses, Wayne marveled at the butler's meticulous care. He could hardly imagine how slovenly his life would become if he lost the butler three months from now.
Before Wayne could finish marveling, an anomaly erupted on the field. More than a dozen earthen figures resembling heaps of rotten mud rose from the ground, pressing forward against the crossfire toward the sandbags.
Upgraded versions of Slimes, they completely disregarded bullet damage. Entry holes fused closed almost instantly, granting them near-total physical immunity.
They waded through the minefield, advancing head-on into the blasts.
Wayne frowned deeply, closing his eyes to sense for any mages nearby. The result was not encouraging. Not only was the enemy's magical mastery superior to his, but their concealment technique was extraordinarily refined; his hound-like nose couldn't catch the faintest whiff of their scent.
Wayne felt eager to test his hand. Crouching down, he pressed both palms against the ground. When it came to magical sophistication, he might not match the opponent, but when it came to mana reserves...
*Heh, my art style outclasses yours!*
Earthen walls surged up one after another, entrapping the mud figures and solidifying them in place. In an upset of the lower defeating the higher, basic magic triumphed over advanced sorcery.
"Basic" was merely Wayne's perspective. Bishops Kent and Melville certainly did not consider earthen walls to be simple magic. Moreover, the effortless ease with which Wayne summoned more than a dozen earthen walls in a single breath made both bishops inwardly curse at how troublesome this was.
The Holy Son possessed immense mana, and his willpower was exceptionally resilient, enabling him to cast and manipulate over a dozen spells simultaneously.
Taking the Holy Son away through conventional means was impossible!
Magical fluctuations rippled outward. Above the villa's mansion, dark storm clouds churned, crackling with arcs of lightning, on the verge of unleashing a torrential downpour.
Wayne's eyes lit up as he pinpointed the source of the magical disturbance. Speaking rapidly, he said, "Two o'clock, fifty meters."
Fra nodded, flipped open a briefcase on the table, aligned the coordinates, and pressed down.
A deafening explosion rang out. Earth and foul blood splattered into the air as the shockwave lifted half a charred corpse aloft, extinguishing Bishop Melville despite all his caution.
He had been cautious enough, but poverty had limited his imagination. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined the butler would be this thoroughly prepared.
The storm clouds above the mansion quickly dissipated. At Wayne's signal, the butler tapped his fingers repeatedly, unleashing a rolling sequence of explosions that plowed right through the lawn in front of the house.
Scorched earth stretched far and wide. Smoke billowed, and an acrid stench drifted in all directions along with waves of heat.
"Master Wayne, the enemy is dead. There appear to be no other intruders," Fra said, stepping to Wayne's side and bowing as he offered another silk handkerchief to mask the scent.
"I understand. Thank you for the reminder."
Wayne nodded and took a deep breath. Accepting the handkerchief with one hand, he pressed the other flat against the ground.
On the cover of the Book of Greed, the large eye turned toward nature. The connection clicked into place, and obscure, enigmatic knowledge flooded into the eyeball, settling within Wayne's body and dyeing his pristine white mana a vivid green.
Veins bulged along the back of Wayne's hand. An immense reservoir of mana, vastly exceeding that of a mere apprentice mage, surged into the earth. Bits of severed grass rapidly sprouted, and thick vines raced and intertwined beneath the soil.
The lawn around the mansion swelled like a stormy sea, rolling and surging unpredictably.
Amidst the churning waves and hidden undercurrents, hundreds upon thousands of vines wove together. The massive enclosing net tightened steadily, searching for any large rat that might be lurking beneath.
*Bang!*
A blaze of wind blades carved out a square section of turf. Bishop Kent leaped out, shouting frantically, "Holy Son, I am Bishop Kent of the Church of the Earth's Core! I have come by order of the Lord of the Void to welcome you. I am not your enemy!"
Wayne turned a deaf ear. He had nothing in common with the Church of the Earth's Core; allies of justice and villainous evildoers could never walk the same path.
He ramped up his mana output. Hundreds upon thousands of vines burst through the soil, grouping together in clusters to form massive leafy hands that reached toward Kent.
Kent naturally refused to sit and wait for death. Even as he called out, attempting to awaken Wayne's reason and conscience while pleading with the Holy Son to abandon his obstinate path, he treaded on thin air. Rings of mana rippled beneath his feet as he darted through the sky, continually shifting direction to evade the grasping vine hands.
At the same time, he swung blades of wind and fire, burning away any vines he couldn't dodge.
*Boom!*
Wayne's mana flared once more. Even more giant hands of vines surged from the ground, bridging the gap in finesse with sheer overwhelming numbers. Finally, one massive hand clamped around Kent's calf.
The vine constricted. The excruciating pain shattered Kent's focus, and as hands of vines swarmed in from all sides, a woven sphere of flora contracted and solidified midair.
"Heh, got you!"
A glint flashed in Wayne's eyes. The sphere of vines plunged deep into the ground, after which Wayne snapped his open palm into a tight fist.
*Thud!*
A dull sound resonated, exceedingly faint.
There was no scream, nor any sound of fracturing bones or gruesome compression. Kent met his end in utter silence.
Wayne sighed, turning to Fra. "Butler, does this count as murder?"
"As far as I am aware, without evidence, it does not count."
"..."
Wayne rolled his eyes, about to make a sharp retort, when Fra pulled a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket, wrapped it around Wayne's right hand, and gently wiped it clean.
"???"
A string of question marks floated across Wayne's mind. What was this for?
"Master Wayne, your hand got dirty."
"..."
Wayne: (눈_눈)
*Don't be like this, Butler. The more competent you are, the more terrified I am of losing you.*
Chapter 52