This is definitely not a kick an ordinary person could muster, this person's strength is more terrifying than some magical beasts...

"Kill them." Lance had no intention of playing any longer, didn't they appreciate the chance of survival he graciously offered them?

If they want to resist, then let them resist to their hearts' content! 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

That shout reawakened everyone present. Dismas didn't hesitate to raise his gun and shoot at the figure in the black robe, then charged ahead, his short sword already drawn, waiting for blood.

Never give a spellcaster time to prepare, it's a very useful little habit.

The lead bullet undoubtedly hit the black-robed figure, but instead of the dull sound of flesh being torn by a projectile, there was a crisp sound, followed by some broken white bones falling out from under the black robe.

Bone Shield.

This reminded Lance of the armor woven from bones by the cannibal witch in the wilderness and the substitute little voodoo dolls; indeed, these spellcasters have many ways to save their lives.

On the other side, Reynard had already begun to ride, but the heavy armored knight showed no intention of fighting and directly surrendered instead.

"I was forced, I surrender!"

A rather unexpected voice made Dismas pause, and a hint of hesitation inevitably appeared on his face.

Seeing this, Dismas couldn't help but stop in his tracks, not because he was soft-hearted, but because he knew the Lord seemed to particularly like dealing with these transcendent individuals.

On the other side, Reynard didn't have the slightest pause, easily catching up to the heavy armored knight on horseback and slashing down directly with his sword.

Armor is not invulnerable; Reynard was more aware than anyone of the weak points at the connections and knew exactly how to swing the sword from behind an enemy.

But when the longsword struck aside the helmet, what was revealed beneath wasn't a human head, but a grotesque visage sealed with white wax, the little exposed skin showing a ghastly pallor.

At a glance, it was clear this thing was dead, yet it hadn't decayed and was still mobile, truly bizarre.

This was not Michelle's guard at all, but a puppet made from a human corpse by this spellcaster.

No wonder, no normal human could wear such heavy armor for long, and only a living corpse created by a transcendent ritual could ignore most fatal injuries and be immune to poison.

Lance looked on with some curiosity, observing that the wound on the living corpse's neck just sliced open revealed the white wax inside.

Interesting! These transcendent individuals always have some strange and messy techniques up their sleeves.

"Wait a minute."

Lance halted Dismas, who was advancing, and quickly approached the spellcaster.

"My horse is worth five thousand gold coins, you'd better pray you're worth that much."

His overwhelming presence forced the person a step back involuntarily, even the black robe couldn't hide the intense unease.

"You..."

Just at the moment he was about to speak, Lance delivered an uppercut straight to his jaw, shutting him up before he could finish, causing him to straighten and fall backward.

Most spellcasters are paper-thin; this uppercut had him sleeping soundly.

Lance held back a bit of his strength, otherwise, the jaw would have shattered, and the neck would have snapped, leading to instant death.

"Damn it! Does surrender mean no beating?"

Looking at the fallen spellcaster, Lance cursed; if not for his curiosity about supernatural powers, this person wouldn't be alive right now.

Lance only grants opportunities to those who are valuable.

Bending down, he lifted the hood, revealing a young face underneath; this guy turned out to be a pretty boy.

In the true sense, a pretty boy, for his skin was pallid as a corpse, even whiter than one dead for three days.

Lance couldn't be bothered with that and started looting the body directly, focusing on extracting the extraordinary equipment first; this bastard had just retrieved items barehanded, so he definitely had storage gear.

Indeed, spellcasters are wealthy; Lance pulled quite a number of strange things from him, and the most important was a ring of bizarre shape.

However, this thing wasn't for direct use; it seemed to involve some sort of sealing ritual.

Lance didn't bother with it, tossing everything into the exhibition room to be studied later at leisure.

Lance got up to find Dismas still frozen, immediately urging, "Why are you watching me? Get a move on."

Dismas snapped out of it upon hearing that and couldn't help but look towards the carriage.

After escaping prison, Dismas was filled with hatred and anger, with only one aim: to find and kill that person.

But over the years, he hadn't been able to find him, as time gradually erodes his hatred; with Hamlet giving him new support, he began to let the matter go.

Yet, just as he decided to break free from that depravity, his enemy was delivered right in front of him.

Dismas didn't know if this was a revelation from God, but he knew what he should do.

Striding towards the carriage, each step seemed to intensify his aura, with his strong emotions almost palpable.

Reynard did not know the details but seemed to sense something and wanted to go up to assist, but just as he was about to move, Lance raised his hand to stop him.

"He's been waiting for this day for a long time; let him handle it himself."

The carriage was certainly luxurious, and the materials were solid, but it was just a carriage, perhaps more like a prison at the moment.

The door didn't hold for long before being opened; Dismas burst inside, ignoring the opulent decor, focusing on the person with the somber expression.

Michelle, after all, had seen the world; though irritated with the personal guards for being useless enough to let bandits get right in front of him, he remained composed.