Purgatory Artist
Chapter 555 - 0880

Chapter 555: 0880

"How many have you killed?"

"15."

"11."

"9."

"Pathetic. I’ve got 21," the questioner sneered.

"Tch, I was off my game today. 0901’s group has already hit 18—they’ll catch up soon."

"Bring it on. I’ll still come out on top."

The speaker was a golden-haired boy around sixteen or seventeen, with clear eyes and a tall, lanky frame. His tone dripped with arrogance.

He stood up from the riverside, scanned the area, and suddenly grinned. "I’m heading north. Don’t follow me and steal my kills."

His companions exchanged glances and listlessly acknowledged him.

The tall boy tied the 21 severed heads together, slung them over a pole, and dashed northward.

He traversed forests, mountains, and rivers, finally spotting his target on a snow-blanketed plain.

"Haha! While the others are still clueless, I’ll strike first!"

A sharp whistling sound pierced the air.

Boom!

The boy cratered the ground upon landing, then sprang up and waved at the elderly man across from him.

"Hey there, old-timer."

"Greetings. Who might you be?" the old man asked warily.

"I’m here to hunt. Your getup is new—are you a fresh profession?" the boy asked eagerly.

The old man’s expression hardened as he noticed the dozens of heads strung behind the boy.

"I merely stumbled into this place. From whence do you hail?"

"Enough talk. Let’s settle this with action," the boy said.

He set down the pole and lunged at the old man.

"Insolence!"

The old man brandished a staff, summoning fiery phoenixes to intercept the boy.

"A mage? How antiquated," the boy said, disappointed.

Yet his speed increased, as if bored and eager to end this quickly.

The phoenixes exploded against him in showers of sparks—leaving him unscathed.

He sliced through the flames, his arm blurring into a lethal arc that severed the old man’s head.

Blood painted the snow crimson.

"Score! Another point ahead."

The boy cheerfully collected the head, adding it to his grisly collection.

As he turned to leave, he noticed the blood pooling into a twisted sigil.

"Huh? What’s this?"

Intrigued, he examined several of the heads—each now bore a flickering rune.

"A teleportation array? Some obscure spatial mage’s variant... But what’s the point?"

As he mused, space rippled imperceptibly.

Then—

A haunting melody filled the air, ethereal and sublime against the silent tundra.

The boy froze, entranced—then snapped alert, scanning the emptiness.

No system alerts.

Not in the playbook—so not an attack.

Is this... scripted ambiance?

"...Fascinating. What is this tune? I’ve never heard it before," he murmured.

A voice spoke behind him:

"It’s a new profession skill called: All Who Hear Shall Be Severed, Their Souls Cut Down Here."

The boy whirled—

His body and soul split apart before he could glimpse the speaker.

Darkness.

Oblivion.

Liu Ping stepped over the disintegrating corpse, whispering, "The price of bloodsport is paid in blood."

He morphed into the boy’s likeness.

Lines of fiery text cascaded:

[Target assembled all teleportation runes.]

[You have been summoned to this world.]

[’Deception’ activated.]

[Heroic Spirit interface has recalibrated your identity, syncing with current personnel records.]

[You killed your opponent.]

[You have become him.]

[Updating interface...]

[Update complete.]

[New interface displayed:]

[Heroic Spirit Interface (Temporarily hidden due to low utility)]

[Nightmare Playbook:]

[ID: 0880]

[Current Role: Apostle (Candidate)]

[Annual Mission: Head Collection]

[Reward: Annual evaluation based on completion rate.]

[Time remaining: 11 hours.]

Liu Ping absorbed the data, then stood meditating in the snow.

This desolate northern expanse held nothing but wind-whipped plains—perfect isolation.

More text appeared:

[’Joy of Slaughter’ has taken effect.]

[Combined with the soul energy from the profession designer you killed earlier, your breakthrough can no longer be suppressed.]

[Tribulation commencing.]

Boom—

Thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

Liu Ping sighed. "This is bad. They’ll notice soon..."

Focusing skyward, he activated Special Effects Artist.

Instantly—

All tribulation phenomena vanished from external perception.

Though the heavenly punishment raged unabated, its presence was now utterly concealed.

This wasn’t mere illusion—it was existential erasure.

Compared to the crude "heavenly realm" effects his "colleagues" had conjured earlier, Liu Ping’s artistry was transcendent.

He tossed another dummy twenty meters away.

A lightning bolt struck it, scattering jagged arcs.

"Too close. Getting zapped hurts," he muttered, retreating further.

Suddenly—

Figures descended from the sky, landing nearby.

More youths.

"0880, 22 kills already? You’re fast," the leader said.

His ID floated above him: [0901]

Liu Ping noted their positioning—they stood mere meters from the invisible tribulation field.

"What are you looking at?" 0901 demanded, following Liu Ping’s gaze.

He saw nothing.

Special Effects Artist had veiled the cataclysm completely.

These hunters stood obliviously at the apocalypse’s edge, posturing arrogantly.

"0901. What do you want?" Liu Ping asked.

"Hand over your collection, or die here," 0901 said.

Liu Ping blinked.

0901 laughed. "Maybe you haven’t grasped the annual mission’s true meaning."

"Right... Any heads will do," Liu Ping realized.

"Exactly. You’re not leaving here alive," another youth sneered.

Murderous intent thickened the air.

Liu Ping sighed. "Even here, it’s kill-and-plunder? How... unoriginal."

"Now!" 0901 shouted.

The group charged—

And crossed into the tribulation zone.

Heaven’s wrath, compounded by karmic judgment from Liu Ping’s Six Paths cultivation, erupted.

Whether celestial tribulation existed in the playbook’s rules was irrelevant.

BOOM!

Lightning vaporized the lead attacker.

Screams erupted as the others writhed in electrified agony.

"Effective... but not perfectly so," Liu Ping observed.

0901 gaped, then drew his sword. "0880! What technique is this?!"

He still perceived nothing amiss.

The special effects maintained flawless illusion, masking the apocalyptic reality.

"Nothing... I just appreciated your advice," Liu Ping said calmly, untouched amidst the storm.

"What advice?!"

Liu Ping smiled, drawing his blade.

"Any heads will do."

He vanished.