Chapter 23 The Warrior’s Helmet (Part Three) Please add to your favorites and recommend!

The mutated rat’s two ghastly incisors were impossibly sharp; any wood or plastic material under its claws and teeth was helplessly reduced to fragments. With the mutated spider’s powerful push, the obstacles outside the door couldn’t withstand their assault—they collapsed at the slightest touch.

A horde of monsters surged into the hall, reeking of blood and decay. Though the doorway was small and only a handful could enter at once, the overwhelming stench of violence and cruelty chilled every limb.

A scream echoed.

“Damn it!” Hearing the cries behind him, Liang Jing’s blade paused mid-swing, his brows furrowed in annoyance. He grew ever more impatient with these so-called teammates—were they not afraid that their loud voices would attract even more mutated monsters from afar?

“You women, get into that room and don’t make a fuss unless it’s necessary!” Liang Jing shouted, pointing to a nearby room, his tone full of irritation.

His outburst startled the others; they had never seen Liang Jing speak so loudly, not even when he was about to kill someone earlier. For a moment, no one dared utter a sound. The only noises filling the hall were the shrieks of the mutated monsters, as the women obediently retreated into the room.

They were unaware that Liang Jing had noticed: the more mutated monsters were slain, the thicker the blood stench became, spreading ever wider and faster.

If they stayed put, they would die; if they moved, they would die. If they didn’t kill the monsters, they’d be slaughtered by them; but each kill made the blood scent more pervasive, drawing even more monsters. It was maddening.

A vicious cycle!

Though killing monsters produced white spiritual light with restorative effects for fatigue, it only helped as long as they could withstand the monstrous tide. Facing such a torrent, numbers overwhelming, even protective leather gear would be torn to shreds in an instant. Injuries accumulated—white spiritual light aided healing, but wounds still required time to recover. Continuous injuries would result in blood loss and eventual helpless death.

And even if they could withstand the monster tide, who knew when it would end? When would the last monster fall? The white spiritual light slowly strengthened the soul and mental power, but its restorative effect was too slow, too weak.

Liang Jing’s short blade never ceased its dance. He took a deep breath, the pungent scent of blood flooding his senses, clearing his mind as he mulled over how to deal with the mutated monsters.

“Pockmark, you and the others, stop fighting. Push the boxes, cabinets, and sofas to block the doorway—don’t let go. Just slow down the monsters’ entry. Yang Yuyuan, you’re on finishing duty: help where danger arises, deal with any that slip through.” At this point, Liang Jing could only give direct orders.

No one objected; they moved swiftly, plugging the gap with furniture and boxes. Liang Jing followed suit, his blade slicing mechanically.

He still had other deadly moves in reserve, but now wasn’t the time. In this cramped space, using Violent Throw wouldn’t be effective, and with unknown enemy numbers, he didn’t want to exhaust himself in battle. He also had to stay wary of the four security guards, who’d been suspiciously quiet—he needed to keep a trump card, even against weak enemies.

For now, wielding the short blade in close quarters was highly effective, even better than expected. It consumed little stamina, and though the white spiritual light’s strengthening effect on Liang Jing was subtle, it continually bathed his flesh, bone, and deeper tissues, keeping fatigue at bay—he felt as comfortable as if soaking in a hot spring.

Having slain Golden Baroque, Liang Jing’s physical strength was now equivalent to nine ordinary men, far surpassing the mutated monsters. With the short blade, he killed them in a single strike; his leather armor provided solid defense, and the monsters struggled to break through. In the cramped space, he fought as effortlessly as a fish in water.

A crimson fireball, nearly fifteen centimeters in diameter, arced rapidly and struck a mutated rat about to gnaw through a wooden box at the door. With a thunderous explosion, the fireball burst, blowing apart the rat’s head. The intense flames quickly engulfed its dog-sized body, filling the air with the acrid smell of burnt flesh.

Yang Yuyuan’s fireball finally showed its might, startling all the mutated monsters inside. They froze for a moment, then became even more frenzied.

The hall was saturated with the stench of blood, rot, and burning flesh—nauseating, but in the face of death, retaliation was their only option. Otherwise they would perish. Pockmark and his group, faces pale, ignored their injuries and held fast to the barricades. Even the three women who had retreated earlier now joined in, pushing boxes and cabinets forward to replace destroyed obstacles.

...

Listening to Liang Jing’s shouts and the explosive sounds downstairs, the middle-aged security guard grew increasingly smug. “Now you know how to yell, Liang Jing? Have you reached your limit? Don’t die so soon—I still have more gifts for you…”

He laughed maniacally, while the other three guards grew more uneasy. The commotion downstairs was too loud—they feared the barricades might not hold, and wondered if hiding in this room would really let them survive. Regret gnawed at their hearts.

...

Under the orange glow of fire, the hall’s defenders worked together against the mutated monsters. Corpses piled up, covering the floor with a layer of black-red blood. The stench was almost tangible, filling the space as time trickled by...

A mutated rat, even larger than a household dog, moved with lightning speed. Its claws and fangs flashed coldly as it lunged at Liang Jing’s chest and abdomen. Liang Jing twisted his waist, dodged, and with a surge of strength from his spine, slashed upward. The blade gleamed deep red.

A hiss—

The oversized mutated rat was gutted mid-air, its entrails spilling out as it landed and struggled briefly before going still.

With a thud, Liang Jing pivoted on his left foot, his right whipping out like a lash. The powerful kick struck the head and thorax of a mutated spider trying to squeeze through the barricade. The spider’s body, nearly as wide as the doorway, had no time to dodge. It was sent flying, crashing into other monsters and finally slamming into the wall. Where it had been kicked, a near twenty-centimeter dent appeared, surrounded by shattered armor and splattered fluids. Its limbs twitched, but it was powerless to move.

The sheer force shocked the others—how much strength did it take to inflict such devastation? They knew the mutated spider was no lightweight, and its head and thorax were armored. Even hacking at it with kitchen knives barely dented its limbs. Only Yang Yuyuan could harm it, but killing such a resilient creature was a daunting task.

Now, Liang Jing didn’t even need a blade—one casual kick nearly killed the spider. The others watched him slaughter monsters, awe and fear growing in their hearts. Secretly, they resolved never to provoke this killer; a single kick from him would mean instant death for anyone without a spider’s tough shell.

Liang Jing had no time for their thoughts. During this lull, he spotted a brown-red leather helmet beside a rat’s corpse and silently picked it up, replacing his motorcycle helmet.

“Warrior’s Helmet. Quality: White. Resistance: 5. Toughness: 10. Weight: 5. Requirement: Strength 1.”

It matched his leather armor and leggings—forming a full set. It felt much more substantial than the motorcycle helmet and offered better protection. Wearing the latter always felt as if his head were separated from the world, impacting his combat effectiveness. That was a major factor when Hong Bin ambushed him with a gun.

Now, with this helmet that only exposed his eyes, Liang Jing could declare he was ready to face ordinary firearms head-on and launch a fierce assault.