Chapter 309: Dock District
At ordinary speed, there was no way anyone could catch up within half an hour—but Zhou Ning wasn't an ordinary person, especially when it came to speed.
Judging by their route, the group was heading toward a noble estate somewhere west of Darkland. The path passed through parts of three of Darkland City's notoriously unstable weather zones, where thunderstorms and even large-scale lightning storms were common. To get there, they'd have to veer northwest and go through the dock district.
If he ignored the volatile weather zones and cut straight through, he was confident he could intercept them at the docks.
For someone wielding the Cortés Sword and possessing the skill [Weather Conversion], as long as his focus points were sufficient, none of that posed a problem.
At this time, it was still snowing heavily. Thick flakes drifted down from the sky, and there weren't many pedestrians on the streets. Zhou Ning slipped into a deserted alley, stepped onto the wall in one fluid motion, vaulted up, and climbed swiftly onto the rooftop. Letting out a puff of white breath, he began sprinting across the roofs.
This area was the northern trade district—mostly low, flat houses with little elevation change—so running across them wasn't difficult. Zhou Ning easily crossed the rooftops to the edge between the trade district and the canal district, where, across the street, a tall canal-side building loomed.
Stretching his body, Zhou Ning pushed off with both feet and leapt. With nearly 250 Agility points, he easily crossed a distance of almost thirteen meters, caught the edge of the wall, climbed to the top, and kept running deeper into the building zone.
Before long, the red dot on his minimap grew closer and closer.
Ahead lay one of those volatile climate zones—heavy rain poured down, thunder rumbling intermittently—but Zhou Ning didn't stop. Sprinting full speed, he gripped the hilt of the Cortés Sword and plunged into the rain curtain.
Instantly, a wave of greed rose in his heart—dark, invasive thoughts whispering that the entire world should belong to him. That was the Cortés Sword's negative effect. Yet at the same time, the downpour above him gradually dispersed, forming a narrow, rainless corridor. The thunder ceased abruptly, and moments later, Zhou Ning emerged from the unstable zone, cutting straight toward Darkland's northwestern dock district.
Countless ships from various nations were moored there, but what drew the eye most was a black steel behemoth anchored at a military harbor two kilometers away. Even from here, its silhouette dominated the horizon—a ship hailed as the most colossal vessel in human history, suspected to be none other than Pluto, the warship brought across worlds by the Pirate King himself.
Could his Triton Sword control it?
No—this wasn't the time for that thought. Zhou Ning released his grip on the Cortés Sword's hilt, pushing away the greedy impulse. Drawing his gaze back from the distant ship, he glanced at the minimap. His target was moving slower than expected.
To his right stood a massive glass-panel advertisement for the Simphwang Plantation Company—a newly popular form of billboard in Darkland, clearly player-influenced.
Not far away, a red dot raced toward him and entered his view—a carriage taxi drawn by two horned horses. The driver wore an Aiden Carriage Company uniform. Zhou Ning recognized him at once—it was one of the adventurer group members he'd seen earlier.
Using Observation Haki, he sensed over a dozen people inside the carriage. Spark Lambert had to be one of them.
Zhou Ning broke into a run, then leapt high. With a loud boom, he landed squarely on the carriage roof—splintering it apart. Beneath his feet, five people sat facing him in perfect formation.
Among them was Argus, his expression grim as he stared up at Zhou Ning. Slowly, a cold smile curved across his lips—and the other four mirrored the same eerie smile, sending a chill down Zhou Ning's spine.
The man he was after, Spark, lay bound in ropes on a nearby seat, tied in an elaborate tortoiseshell pattern, unconscious. Zhou Ning couldn't help but think, Guess they're into some heavy stuff.
"Hello there," Zhou Ning greeted Argus with a polite smile, spinning a white pistol in his hand before pulling the trigger.
Bang!
With a deafening crack, the bullet punched through Argus's skull, blowing out a mist of blood from the back of his head and tearing through the carriage front. The startled horned horses reared up, hooves slipping on the slick ground, causing the entire carriage to topple and slide into the billboard. The impact sent snow and glass shards flying like an avalanche.
Zhou Ning grabbed Spark and leapt free, setting him down on the ground before turning toward the shattered sign, wary and alert.
From within the glass debris, Argus rose slowly—as if nothing had happened. His expression darkened, and though his head was intact, black, spectral tendrils sprouted from it—identical to those of the Dark Spider Mother, Matalita.
The other four adventurers had surrounded Zhou Ning at some point, forming a ring as countless shadowy tendrils lashed toward him.
"Are they alive or dead?" Zhou Ning asked in his mind as he stepped back.
"I don't know," replied Molly. "They look alive, but they might just be bodies the Monastic Society created using Old God power or alchemy. I can sense faint darkness from them."
Zhou Ning nodded. Against beings tainted with darkness, nothing worked better than Ripple energy.
Just as the tendrils were about to strike, Psychic Counterattack activated. Zhou Ning opened his right hand and grabbed one of the black tendrils. Golden flames burst from his palm and raced along it.
"Ahhh!"
The tendril acted like a fuse, igniting the adventurer at the other end. Pain flared from deep within his soul, consuming all thought in an instant.
The dazzling golden flames immediately caught Argus's attention. He reached into his waist pouch, pulled out a handful of casting materials, tossed them upward, and shouted in Old Falric:
"Downpour!"
The materials merged midair, triggering a sudden torrential rain meant to douse the flames engulfing his teammate.
But Ripple fire was no ordinary flame—it couldn't be extinguished by mere water. Moments later, the burning man collapsed into a mass of charred flesh, which oozed toward Zhou Ning.
He didn't move. The blackened flesh ignited again on its own, turning to ash.
"It seems they still retain their original combat styles," Zhou Ning muttered. "Argus was a swordsman—and apparently a meteorologist too. The others look like an ice mage and a frost warrior."
As he thought this, a sudden chill ran down his spine—his instincts flaring.
At the same moment, two black tendrils lashed in from the left and right while a layer of frost spread underfoot. The meteorologist and ice mage had chained their attacks—a perfect combo, lowering the temperature to freeze him in place.
But in the next instant, black armor materialized over Zhou Ning's body. Almost silently, his grappling hook shot out, latching onto the shattered glass billboard. When the hook retracted, shards of ice exploded beneath him. He barely evaded the twin tendrils, vaulted off the glass wall, flipped head-down in midair, and fired two shots at the shadowy appendages clinging to him like bone rot.
Crack! Both tendrils caught Ripple energy and burst into flame, retracting instantly.
Without hesitation, Zhou Ning tucked his body midair, landed smoothly, and switched his weapon back to the Cortés Sword, charging straight ahead.