Black Sail
Chapter 123: CXXIII. Fallen Angel

Chapter 123: CXXIII. Fallen Angel

Thirty meters high, the retro high-rise building stood under the blazing sun, with the sea breeze blowing in gusts.

"If this disfigured face won’t come to his senses, then I’ll have to give it to him hard."

In Ben’s hands, four sets of cards were bent into an arch shape, and as his fingers relaxed and tightened, they were quickly and vertically shot into the air, one by one.

These thin cards could remain in the air for quite a long time.

Hundreds of cards, following the horizontal and vertical dance of Ben’s hands, burst out like a card dealer machine, unleashing a storm of slicing winds that blocked Morison off entirely; no living being could survive in this domain.

Morison simply pulled out a more convenient leather whip.

Ratatat...

Numerous crisp snaps exploded, and the shadow of the whip moved so fast it seemed as if it had split into more than ten strands. All the cards that came close were whipped into scrap paper, the trajectory calculated to intercept every card, not just a frantic lashing.

Even under such intense speed, the storm of cards seemed to be slowly diminishing.

"If that’s all you’ve got, then it’s time to end this."

The swirling cards in the air could incredibly boomerang back to Ben’s hands, endlessly, weaving an even more intricate and unpredictable path.

With a snap,

Morison couldn’t dodge in time; a piece of his clothing was cut off at the hem. It was about time to get serious.

Ben seized the opportunity to pursue his attack.

But he was far from done; amidst the chaotic dance of cards, he was even capable of dual-line assaults. One stream of cards flew like a powerful slash. Under the strain, it barrelled towards Morison’s head, aiming to cut him down.

With a single-arm Wing Blade unfurled, Morison, between the lashings of his whip, used his elbow’s sharp blade to tear through the storm of cards. He deftly pulled out a Flying Knife from the strap on his chest, with a force comparable to a Bed Crossbow, exploding forward. Three lines of attack proceeded at once, followed immediately by the whistling of Crossbow Arrows fired in quick succession.

"What?"

In disbelief, Ben barely sidestepped as the Flying Knife tore through the air, creating a gap. That knife then flew over a hundred meters, exploding against the wall of a building behind, scattering stones and dust.

But the predicted Crossbow Arrow, with a piercing sound, closely followed. Ben hurriedly drew a dagger to cut down several arrows.

By this time, Morison had already extricated himself from the storm, a sleeve sword springing from his sleeve aiming for Ben’s forehead.

These boomeranging cards were interlaced with specially made sharp steel wires.

Ben immediately ducked to avoid the sleeve sword, having already laid a net above and a snare below. He pulled with all his might, and these pre-arranged rings of steel wire were set to slice the disfigured face into over twenty pieces.

"Too fancy sometimes is not a great thing."

The reason Morison used the sleeve sword, of course, was to free up his hand.

Only now did Ben realize that in his palm were a few of those cards, connected to the wires. Pulling these six out, he ruined the arrangement.

Ben quickly retreated. What on earth was going on with this guy? Too weird.

Crack crack crack!

Six cards burst forth towards Ben, he dodged five, but the sixth slashed at his calf, tearing the flesh and spilling fresh blood.

"But... let me show you what real fanciness is."

Morison carried an entire armory with him. Besides heavy weapons, almost every light weapon could be found on him.

This man was no match for Marcus but was stronger than Zahak. It was time to up the ante.

He pulled out two curved iron boxes from the straps at his waist, each twenty centimeters long.

He held one in each hand, unfolding them to reveal two custom-made, outsized Butterfly Knives. They spun wildly in his hands like juggling props, the sunlight glaring off their constantly shifting trajectories, nearly blinding, and a slight misstep would cut off his own fingers.

Ben finally realized.

Unexpectedly, on this kind of island, there was actually... a superb master.

"Is now the time to be distracted? With that level, how do you make a living?"

The Butterfly Knives were also thrown by Morison, rotating under their inherent gravitation and kinetic energy in strange trajectories.

Ben hurriedly dodged, clearly out of reach.

But the butterfly knife could also fold back, and its speed was countless times faster than that of the cards, producing only a black ring of flash. By the time it returned, Ben was too slow to dodge and his arm burst open with a gash, tearing raggedly as blood poured out profusely.

Morison deftly caught the butterfly knife.

It was unimaginable how he did it, with no fear of cutting his fingers.

Realizing he was no match, Ben immediately combined two streams of cards into a Cross Slash, and from within his wide black robe, he launched a Hook, leaping towards another high-rise building.

The two butterfly knives in Morison’s hands whirled wildly, taking less than a second to slice all the cards into countless neat fragments.

Ben had already escaped, pulling back with one hand as he swept towards another building.

And at that moment,

he realized why Morison could get there before him.

Morison’s iron whip blade had already shot out, hooking onto a streetlight on the other side, from where he leaped and then swiftly wrapped it back around his hand.

Both men were in midair, with Morison following like a ghost on the wind.

Click, click, click...

As the butterfly knives spun wildly, Ben drew out a dagger to defend himself, but such demonic and chaotic skills were completely overwhelming, utterly disordered.

His chest, abdomen, and arms were slashed open with dozens of cuts as blood sprayed wildly; Morison landed a heavy kick on his body.

Upon impact, Ben crashed to the ground like a kite with its string cut, hitting hard.

A mouthful of fresh blood gushed from Ben’s mouth.

Even the bystanders on the street, accustomed to rough scenes, had never seen a fight from the sky to the ground, and they too were shaken by the two combatants, scattering away.

Morison landed steadily on the ground; his crocodile leather clothes were already in tatters, cracked and with several new burn holes.

He didn’t care about the damage at all and wiped the blood off the butterfly knife onto his clothes, folded it neatly, and reattached it to his waist, securing it with a buckle.

And at that time,

Rein, with the fastest footwork, had arrived, witnessing the unscathed Morison and the contact lying like a dead dog.

"Damn, our cooperation was freaking awesome!"

Rein couldn’t help marveling. True to Brother Sha’s reputation, one hit, one kill, what else was there to say? Some so-called heist of the century, just a vacation for Aran, a splashing of water, while incidentally making Black Sail famous.

Morison was stunned, a forced cooperation, indeed.

"With Lord Rein’s aid, it’s a guaranteed death."

Morison knew Rein enjoyed close calls, just as during the standoff at Lavender Town; it was probably Ox taking the lead in that crazed close call.

Liszt, Fen, and others also arrived at the scene.

Their perception of Morison’s terrifying abilities refreshed once again; he annihilated everything instantly—air, earth, and sky—The Iron Blood Warrior, commonly known as Little Killer.

"Everyone scatter, whoever crowds around again gets chopped."

Ox brandished the Special Large Sword to disperse the onlookers; this matter had to be kept absolutely secret.

On their way, Liszt and Swan pondered the situation as they rushed to the scene.

In the end, they could only conjecture.

A Killer from the Thief Guild had intercepted Lostra’s contact, and due to various reasons, a major mix-up had likely occurred, mistaking Dragon for the Netherworld Stele.

Such bullshit.

Lighting a cigarette, Liszt started to smoke, but perhaps it was for the best.

The Dragon Lady was named by Goria, called Fafna.

In this manner,

they would spend New Year’s together, smashing dumplings, and henceforth... vying for supremacy in the Central Plains.

Plus, five dogs were waiting for their turn to be killed.