V2: Chapter 61: The Cunning Tentacle Monster
"Pfft."
A trickle of blood seeped from Octaville's lips.
A tentacle with sharp spikes pierced her chest.
Instantly, other tentacles attacked, seemingly intending to riddle Octaville with holes.
"Lord Tower Master!"
The magicians dared not use explosion magic, fearing they might accidentally injure Octaville, so they drew their reinforced magic daggers from their pockets and rushed forward.
The other tentacles didn't even have a chance to get close to Octaville before being sliced off by the magicians. However, the tentacle embedded in Octaville's chest showed no sign of being pulled out.
Octaville was dazed for a second; she felt a strange sensation in her body, a gradual numbness, a loss of all feeling.
Something's wrong.
She looked down at the tentacle still embedded in her chest. It didn't hurt particularly much.
Damn, no pain is not a good thing.
Octaville gritted her teeth, slicing open the tentacle on her chest with her dagger, then collapsed heavily to the ground.
Her consciousness was clouded; as expected, the tentacle was also poisonous.
"Pfft!"
Octaville pulled the tentacle from her wound, and blood gushed out instantly, in gushes. She lay on the cold floor, blood flowing profusely from the wound on her chest, staining her robes crimson. Her breathing became rapid and weak, each inhale accompanied by excruciating pain. Her vision began to blur, as if shrouded in a thick fog.
The magician beside her took out healing and antidote potions from his pocket and poured them all onto Octaville's wound, finally stopping the bleeding.
“Quick… get out of here, take me,” Octaville’s words began to slur, the poison having seeped in.
“Take me away from here, quickly, don’t linger, danger!”
“Okay!”
Octaville was too tall; even the young male magician found it difficult to carry her.
The group hurried along, and just before leaving the temple, they used explosion and fire magic to blow up and burn down the sinister temple.
“Lord Tower Master!”
“Lord Tower Master! Don’t close your eyes!”
“Lord Tower Master…”
Through her blurred vision, she saw terrified faces and heard their anxious cries. However, she no longer had the strength to respond. She felt her consciousness fading, as if swallowed by darkness.
Finally, Octaville closed her eyes and sank into endless darkness. Her body became cold and stiff, lying lifelessly on the backs of the other magicians. She seemed to have left this world; only her faint breathing testified to her existence.
"What happened!" a female magician cried out. "That guy's body was completely shriveled! How did it suddenly inflate like a balloon and come back to life?"
"Don't talk about that now, quickly check on the Tower Master."
The female magician checked Octaville's breathing, her face grave. "Her breathing is a little weak..."
"Damn it!" Bradrick gritted his teeth. "Faking death like that, it's so disgusting!"
Behind them, the villagers discovered the evil god's temple was on fire, screaming for help, their expressions varied. The firelight illuminated their terrified, tense, even frantic faces; the entire village was plunged into chaos.
The flames roared, the roof of the evil god's temple was engulfed in flames, the wooden beams crackling in the fire, as if telling a final lament. Some villagers frantically carried buckets of water, while others waved branches in an attempt to extinguish the flames; their faces were etched with anxiety and panic.
However, amidst this chaotic crowd, some behaved strangely. Some laughed maniacally, as if witnessing something exhilarating; others wept bitterly, seemingly overwhelmed with grief over the fire.
The man laughing maniacally was the village drunkard. He usually lived a life of debauchery, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, indifferent to everything in the village. Yet now, he stood in the crowd, hands on his hips, laughing wildly, as if the fire were a long-awaited feast. His laughter echoed in the night sky, a stark contrast to the gasps and cries of those around him.
"Burn well! Burn well!" the drunkard shouted. "This evil temple should have burned down long ago! It has brought so much disaster to our village!"
His eyes gleamed with a mad light, as if he himself had started the fire.
Meanwhile, a woman knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly. She was a widow in the village, her husband having died of illness years ago, leaving her all alone. She had always worshipped the deity in the evil temple, believing the god would protect her and ensure her a peaceful and prosperous life. Now, seeing the temple engulfed in flames, her heart was breaking, as if she had lost her last refuge.
"God! How could you leave like this?" the widow cried. "How can I live alone in this world?!"
Her cries were piercing and desperate, evoking pity in all who heard them.
In the fire, each villager reacted differently. Some rushed into the flames, risking their lives to protect the evil god statue and extinguish the fire on the altar; others stood at a distance, watching helplessly, too afraid to approach. Their faces were etched with complex emotions—fear and worry about the fire, and complicated feelings towards the evil temple.
The fire raged on, turning the entire evil temple into a sea of flames. Despite the villagers' desperate efforts to fight the blaze, it remained uncontrollable.
Finally, the evil temple was reduced to ruins in the raging fire.
After the fire, the village fell into silence. The villagers sat around the ruins, their faces etched with weariness and sorrow. They had lost their faith, their emotional anchor.
The drunkard remained in his corner, indulging in his drunken revelry, but after the fire, his laughter seemed tinged with bitterness and helplessness. The widow prayed silently before the ruins, her eyes filled with a sense of bewilderment, as if searching for a new faith and strength.
They were all unfortunate people. Unfortunate people unable to control their own destiny. Unfortunate people in this era.
The village chief clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with a mad flame, as if he wanted to ignite the surrounding air. His voice was low and hoarse, each word like a curse crawling from the depths of hell, filled with endless rage and murderous intent.
"I will find out who set this fire!" he roared, his voice echoing across the empty land, as if to awaken the entire village.
However, his sanity had been corrupted by the evil god; his anger and murderous intent were out of control.
One night, he found that indescribable object, and the village chief felt his heart being devoured by a force. His thoughts became chaotic and blurred, and his behavior grew increasingly extreme. He began to believe in the power of the evil god, believing that only destruction and slaughter could save the village.
The fire plunged him into an abyss of madness. He firmly believed it was the evil god's will, a test and punishment for the village. He would find the arsonist and use the power bestowed upon him by the evil god to punish him severely.
Those who still retained some reason tried to persuade the village chief to calm down, but he became even more violent. He brandished his scepter, shouting the name of the evil god, as if to drag the entire village into a dark abyss.
Octaville and the others had already escaped back to the inn.
"Quick! Draw the teleportation array! Back to the Magic Tower now!"
The magicians frantically drew the teleportation array, needing to draw it twice, as the town was quite far from the imperial city.
"Wait, Maysfield (the young magician), you escort the Tower Master back. We'll stay," said the older female magician. "Things definitely won't end so easily. If we all go back now, this town will probably descend into chaos."
"Senior Eleanor is right, Maysfield. You escort the Tower Master back first. After you get back, call Nicholas (a respected magician within the Magic Tower). I'm a little uneasy..." said the young female magician.
“After you see the Tower Master off, don’t come back. Stay there and take care of her. Then,” Eleanor seemed to have made up her mind, “go and call Hewlett (an older magician) to bring Prescott back. The Tower Master is injured; that guy will definitely not stand idly by.”
Maysfield listened, somewhat stunned, but he memorized everything she said.
“Okay, I understand.”
At this moment, the teleportation array was completed.
Maysfield carried Octaville on his back and walked into the teleportation array.
A flash of white light.
Five minutes later.
Inside the Magic Tower, exclamations of surprise rang out.
"The Tower Master!"
"What happened to the Tower Master?!"
"A monster could actually harm the Tower Master!"
Maysfield, without time to explain, placed Octaville on the bed and shouted urgently, "Where's Senior Hewlett? Quick! Call him out!"
When Hewlett came out, he was holding a half-finished magic potion. Hearing that the Tower Master was injured, he rushed out without even putting the potion down.
"The Tower Master?! The Tower Master is injured?!"
Maysfield immediately repeated Eleanor's words, "Senior Hewlett, Eleanor told me to tell you to go find Prescott, tell him the Tower Master is injured, and then have him come to the Magic Tower, probably... to have him heal the Tower Master."
Hearing this familiar name, Hewlett's expression faltered slightly.
"...I understand."
"What does that monster look like?"
"It looks similar to other tentacles monster, but it can feign death, even escaping the Tower Master's notice. So... it must be some new species?"
"I understand. Have a few people stay here to take care of the Tower Master. I'll be right back."
Less than ten minutes later, Prescott, still in his pajamas, and his daughter Joe appeared inside the Magic Tower.
He didn't have time to marvel at finally returning to the Magic Tower after so many years, nor to lament that the tower was now deserted, many old friends dead on the beach.
He rushed to Octaville's side, his eyes flashing with heartache and worry as he looked at her pale face and weakened state.
She was, after all, the child he had watched grow up, the one he had taught magic to, practically a daughter to him. Now, his child was injured, lying in bed, on the verge of death. How could he not feel heartache?
Just moments ago, Prescott, still fast asleep, sensed a magical aura. He awoke with a start, his eyes wide, and he cautiously looked around.
Knock, knock, knock!
Someone knocked on his door.
Joe, also awakened, rubbed her sleepy eyes and came downstairs.
"Who is it?" Prescott stepped in front of his daughter.
"It's me, Prescott, it's me, Hewlett."
Hewlett?
An old friend.
Why is this guy coming to see me so late?
Prescott realized something might be wrong, something important and urgent. So, he grabbed his magic wand and opened the door.
"Hey, Hewlett, your hair's thinning! It's practically a bald patch now!" Prescott couldn't help but joke the moment he saw his old friend.
Hewlett wasn't in the mood for jokes and cut to the chase: "The Tower Master is seriously injured. Eleanor sent me to call you back, Prescott. I don't think you'll refuse."
The Tower Master is injured?
Prescott's smile froze. Clearly, he hadn't grasped the information.
"The... The Tower Master? Octaville?"
Hewlett, still annoyed by the earlier comment about his baldness, retorted, "Are you crazy? Who else could the current Tower Master be but Octaville? So, are you willing to come back with me or not…?"
"Let's go now."
Prescott didn't hesitate for a second, his nonchalant smile vanishing completely. "Joe, grab all the potions. We're leaving now!"
Joe, realizing the seriousness of the situation, immediately rushed into the room and packed all the healing and antidote potions into bags.
"Let's go, let's go."
Back to the present.
Prescott looked at the unconscious Octaville on the bed and examined her wounds.
"Hiss~" He gasped, frowning involuntarily. "This wound is quite deep, no, it's more like it went right through... this..."
He looked at Hewlett and asked, "How did this happen?"
Hewlett looked at Maysfield, who then recounted the events of the town to Prescott.
"A new species?" Prescott's expression turned serious.
"Joe, get me that antidote potion you've been working on lately." Prescott held out his hand to his daughter.
Ever since Octaville first appeared and asked for his help, Prescott had inexplicably started researching healing potions for monsters again.
Joe handed him the bottle, and Prescott poured the entire potion onto Octaville's wound.
Ten seconds passed.
"Aaaaah!"
Octaville screamed in pain.
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