Black Sail
Chapter 198: CXCVIII. Evil Beheading

Chapter 198: CXCVIII. Evil Beheading

Morison said it offhandedly.

Liszt’s hand, which was reaching for the cigarette, trembled slightly as he pondered the significance of those few words. The cigarette had already slipped through his fingers and fallen to the ground, as he swallowed hard.

So this was the damn ultimate Boss.

He glanced sidelong at Morison, who, as if nothing had happened, was devouring fruit from a seasonal platter on the train, his insides churning.

After getting rid of that kind of person’s close guard, could he really join the battle again?

But these were minor issues.

Why the hell did you get on a sightseeing train, you unlucky bastard? And now you’ve run into horse bandits?

Liszt took a deep breath, wanting to pick up the cigarette from the ground, but it had already been soaked in the pool of blood and was unusable.

Just his fucking luck.

Two minutes later.

At this point, the front of the train had long since disappeared from view, and all the Magic Puppets had been cleaned up.

Liszt’s expression was as dark as still water; he hadn’t yet decided how to deal with the VIP in the last carriage and put it aside for the time being.

He gave his pirate subordinates five minutes to strip the entire train clean.

If they stayed too long, the people at the next station would notice the missing train and would certainly come galloping to the rescue.

The cruel cheers and savage howls never ceased, and Liszt naturally had other matters to attend to.

Fen had mentioned that during the battle at the front of the train with Joshua, he had spotted two men.

If Liszt wasn’t mistaken, they were William and Mu Ran.

All the carriages were being guarded by pirates; not even a fly could escape. In the last three carriages, Mu Ran and William, seeing Joshua defeated and their armed forces dissipated, didn’t dare to make a rash move. Nothing was more important than their lives, and these money-seeking horse bandits likely wouldn’t harm them.

They just stayed put.

William had suffered an injury to his thigh; Joshua’s hand blade had severed his muscles, and he could no longer walk. His sleek, oily hair was now in disarray, and he sat slumped in a corner, waiting for the bandits to come and collect their money.

Mu Ran leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, unthinkably calm. His own prepared Magic Puppets turned out to be useless, and the Security Guards and noble guards on the train might as well have been feeding off the state for all they did.

In the end, it was still the mysterious man dispatched by the Royal Court who took on the task, but alas, he couldn’t hold on either.

Considering the capabilities of this group of bandits, no one on board dared even think about resisting.

Without a doubt, in the meticulously strategic Royal Court, his political career had encountered a severe defeat. He wiped his hair with his hand, his contributions to the Royal Court immeasurable.

If it were anyone else, they would have been left out in the cold for life, but as the person in charge of the Aran National Bank, the one-eyed soldier, they would certainly not give up on him so easily. He still could seek redemption through meritorious deeds.

At that moment.

Liszt, along with Fen and a few pirates, had arrived in the third carriage. Even a mosquito was still flesh; they couldn’t overlook the money of the crew members.

Despite using the two Cult Holy Daughters as mediums, Fen was still somewhat affected, pinching the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing, but he pressed on.

Fen was about to inform Liszt of Mu Ran and William’s identities.

But there was no need for him to say anything; Liszt recognized the two men.

The battle had ended.

Back in Londen City, Liszt had made a decision: he must chop William five times to stack up Blood Rage, then administer the Guillotine. He hadn’t expected the time to make good on that to come so soon.

"Long time no see, Mu Ran, or should I say, Court Astrologer?" Liszt’s right arm, enshrouded by the Blood-red Ghost Shadow, swayed as he toyed with the Big Anvil weighing over two hundred pounds. He spoke in Mandarin.

Mu Ran immediately shuddered, his gaze cold as he turned his head to look over.

William, not understanding Mandarin, was clueless, but Mu Ran had already sensed the immediate threat of death, his eyes scanning for the nearest window with the intent to escape at once.

Liszt clicked his tongue. Was there any use in being afraid now?

"Threatening my woman, huh."

Liszt spoke in English.

William looked to the side.

The chain mace had already fiercely smashed toward his head, and before he could react, his consciousness was already buzzing and faint. Then, four blunt blows followed in succession.

William let out a piercing scream; the spikes of the chain mace had torn away a large portion of the flesh on his face, and his blood rage was already piling up.

Bang!

In an instant, William was struck down.

Flame Scholars Promotion.

All that was left on the ground were severed limbs and a pool of flesh.

Fen pressed her temples and soothed herself for a moment. This was not Liszt’s style. There were no psychopaths who delighted in needless slaughter on the ship. These two still had some value.

Morison, no longer possessing his usual composure and elegance, suddenly dared not move away from the car window. Through Liszt’s eyes and the warrant issued some time ago, he had recognized him.

"Is it you?"

Morison could hardly believe it, but he also quickly understood. He had already wanted William to kill that bitch Sharon, but William just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Now that everything had come to light, he was truly incompetent.

It must have been Sharon who somehow got a hold of his people’s information. The Eternal Sect’s influence was vast, having invested a lot of money in the infrastructure of Aran Country.

Then Sharon leaked the information to Liszt. Was this a mission of vengeance?

"You’re acting like a damn Qing Hui, aren’t you, dog rarity?"

Liszt didn’t take Morison seriously. How could this comparison ever be made?

The flesh soup that was once William was now spilling toward Morison’s boots.

He immediately stepped back several paces.

His mind was filled with myriad thoughts, distilling the most crucial words needed to save his own life.

But even with Morison’s intelligence, he was momentarily at a loss. Facing such a desperado, there seemed to be nothing he could promise.

Especially given the current circumstances.

He had no choice but to play on emotions, speaking somewhat awkward words.

"Ten years ago, in the Northern Prison, we together killed that magician’s apprentice. Have you forgotten? It was all out of necessity. We were captured by him and had to follow orders. And it was all led by William. Liszt! I’ve never killed any Han people; I’m not that rare!"

Morison was almost roaring with rage. Under the influence of his culture, the term ’rarity’ surpassed all other insults.

A look of disdain flitted across Liszt’s eyes. Sharon had told him otherwise. He hadn’t done the deed himself, true, but there were seven or eight fellow countrymen who likely never expected to be killed by one of their own.

As Liszt displayed some anger, Morison couldn’t allow himself to die so simply. As he pondered the method of execution,

Morison, realizing it was too late to turn things around and that nothing could change Liszt’s mind, climbed up to the car window, ready to escape.

The pirate under Liszt’s command made a flashy move, immediately hacking a scimitar at Morison’s leg.

However, Morison seemed to have some training, and his physical condition was not poor; he agilely dodged the strike.

But the next slash was not so easy to avoid.

It cleanly severed one of Morison’s legs, blood spurted out like a fountain, and he collapsed to the ground, falling heavily, his head covered in blood.

Liszt strode over, retrieved the Blood Shadow, and the Big Anvil crashed to the ground. This man could not be killed quickly.

Taking a scimitar from another pirate, he chopped away like slaughtering livestock, for a good ten seconds. The fine clothes were torn with numerous cuts, and the flesh was gashed open, yet he was still not dead.

Liszt stabbed the knife through the neck and, using his own strength, lifted and then fiercely slammed it to the ground.

He was dead beyond any doubt, now just a corpse riddled with holes.

Liszt withdrew the scimitar.

There was still one matter unresolved.

Liszt was avoiding it, but there wasn’t much time left, so he had to face it head-on.

The VIP in the last compartment had to be dealt with properly; he couldn’t just walk away without care, for it would surely lead to trouble later on.

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