Chapter 78: Evolution Island (Part Four)

“So, it really is impossible to harbor any illusions?” Luo Hanya rolled his eyes, immediately unleashing his demonic transformation. A flicker of ghostly flame blazed forth, reducing the green-glowing vines to mere handfuls of ash. He strode out from the withered foliage, the ashes crumbling beneath his feet, and fixed his gaze on the forest ogres hesitating in terror. With a wicked grin, he declared, “Very well—let’s kill our way through.”

No longer concerned with conserving his strength, Luo Hanya unfolded the bone wings from his back. He became a blur of shadow, hurtling toward the distant volcano, a wild and joyous laughter spilling from his throat as if venting the pent-up frustrations of the journey. “Wahoo!” Luo Hanya reveled in the fierce winds howling past as he sped along, his face alight with glee.

Bang! An unexpected gunshot rang out, so subtle that Luo Hanya, lost in the euphoria of flight, failed to notice it. This bullet was unlike any ordinary projectile; it shimmered with an eerie glow, resembling a miniature black hole, emanating a sense that it could devour any obstacle in its path.

“Ah! What in the world is this thing?!” Luo Hanya was struck squarely in the back. Although the bullet only embedded itself slightly in his outer skin, a strange, compounded gravity immediately seized him. His body turned impossibly heavy, movements became sluggish, and his wings could no longer support him in flight. Like a cannonball, he plummeted straight down.

Thud! Luo Hanya collided with the earth in an intimate embrace. Hundreds of pounds dropped from over ten meters above, yet the ground did not yield even a dent; instead, Luo Hanya was left aching all over. Incredulously, he reached out and touched the ground, drawing a sharp breath. Thankfully, he’d been in his demonic form—otherwise, he might have been skinned alive, if not killed outright. Even so, the impact left him dizzy and his qi and blood in turmoil.

The ground felt as cold and hard as steel. Even more astonishing, resilient plants grew from this unyielding surface—truly an unfathomable sight. There was no time for marveling, however. With a grimace, Luo Hanya reached behind him and gritted his teeth, straining to extract the gravity-laden bullet.

“A hunter’s bullet isn’t so easily removed, ha ha! Prepare to feel a hunter’s strike!” A little man garbed in green emerged from the dense forest. He wielded a massive, oversized musket, its stock carved into a great fire-breathing dragon and its muzzle fashioned after a traditional Western dragon’s head.

Bang! Another shot rang out. This bullet, glowing faintly red, was unlike the last. When it struck Luo Hanya, a violent explosion erupted, engulfing him completely. The dwarf hunter, unconcerned, produced a small pipe from his slightly oversized green coat, struck a match, and took a few leisurely puffs, blowing a line of smoke rings. He seemed convinced Luo Hanya had been blasted to smithereens, not sparing him another glance, but instead gazing at the sky with a lonely master’s air, murmuring to the blue heavens and drifting clouds.

The smoke slowly cleared, and at the spot where Luo Hanya had fallen, not a trace remained. The dwarf hunter finally set down his pipe and burst into a raucous, raspy laugh. “Hahaha! I knew it! My marksmanship, my calculations—I don’t even bother to boast anymore. Invincibility is so dull!”

He hadn’t finished his gloating when an iron grip clamped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. The dwarf hunter choked, wide-eyed with disbelief at the turn of events.

Covered in soot and dust, Luo Hanya patted his clothes, the grime streaking his face, but a broad grin shone through—a flash of dazzling white teeth. “You really spoke my mind just now!”

The dwarf hunter, it seemed, resigned himself the moment he was caught, his arms limp, his face adopting a look that said, “a dead pig fears no scalding water.” Luo Hanya studied the red-pockmarked, yellow-bearded, boozy-nosed little man with curiosity, suddenly finding him oddly familiar. “Why does this fellow look so much like the dwarves described in movies?”

Luo Hanya eased his grip a little. The dwarf, sensing he could breathe, greedily gulped two lungfuls of air—then spat a foul yellowish breath at Luo Hanya. Was that his breath? Who knew how long it had been since the dwarf cleaned his teeth; the stench was a cocktail of stale beer, bizarre roasted meat, and pungent garlic, a medley of unspeakable odors.

Caught off guard, Luo Hanya’s face blanched instantly from the “mysterious and noxious” breath. “You—” Luo Hanya turned away in disgust, gulping fresh air as if to dispel the lingering stench.

“Hahaha! You’ve fallen victim to my breath of death! You won’t last a minute!” The dwarf hunter boasted, waiting smugly for Luo Hanya to collapse. But two full minutes passed, and Luo Hanya showed no signs of dying—in fact, his pallor faded and his color began to return.

“You—” This time, the dwarf was truly dumbfounded. He stared at Luo Hanya in disbelief and demanded, “What kind of monster are you, boy? Why can’t I kill you?”

Luo Hanya eyed the dwarf warily, covering his mouth and nose. The “breath of death” had indeed muddled his head for a moment. A weaker-willed person would have fainted from the stench alone. Fortunately, Luo Hanya had grown up in the great Celestial Empire, toughened from childhood, exposed to the fumes of countless factories. He’d developed a natural immunity to toxic gases, and with strong willpower, he withstood the assault.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you scoundrel!” The dwarf showed no sign of accepting his capture, raising his rough, grating voice to demand answers from Luo Hanya, as if he were the one in control.

“Oh, your scoundrel?” Luo Hanya smiled sweetly at the dwarf hunter, making him shudder involuntarily, goosebumps rising on his skin. In a gentle tone, Luo Hanya asked, “So, my friend, how would you prefer to die? Shall I burn you alive, or beat you to death with my bare hands?”

“Uh…” The dwarf fell silent for a moment, then burst out, “You caught me! You have to take responsibility! Otherwise my father, the bomb-crazed maniac Hammer Bartle Alexander Eibok Blotto—”

Luo Hanya stared in disbelief as the dwarf rattled off his father’s name—on and on, for a full two minutes without a hint of stopping, as if the name would never end. Now Luo Hanya was certain: the little man in green before him was indeed a dwarf. Who else but a dwarf would inherit such a lineage of names? The terrifying length of dwarven names was legendary; according to incomplete statistics, listening to a dwarf recite his full name was said to be one of the ten greatest tortures known to man.