Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 703: Curse OF Magnus’s Beard

Suddenly—

A deep, thunderous bell rang through the air, its sound rolling across the island like a wave crashing upon the shore.

BOOOOOM!

Everything stilled.

The festival's music faltered, merchants froze mid-haggle, and even the rowdiest of pirates turned their heads toward the source.

Every soul on the island recognized that sound.

Pirates, locals, even the drunkards who had barely been standing knew exactly what it meant.

It was the signal.

The moment when the chief priest of Magnus began his procession, escorting the statue of the bearded God of the Sea through the streets.

For the people of the island, this was the heart of the festival—the moment where faith and tradition intertwined.

The Holy Church knights, however, did not understand the sudden excitement.

They stood in place, confused, watching as children darted between legs, scrambling onto chairs and walls, eager to get a better view.

Then, from a distance, it began.

The sun had barely begun its descent, yet a thick mist seemed to creep through the streets, clinging to the ground like foam upon the sea.

And within that mist—

A procession emerged.

Priests, each with long beards dyed a deep ocean blue, their brows painted in the same shade. Their robes were a flowing cascade of blue and silver ribbons, shimmering under the festival lanterns.

But it was the way they moved that drew the most attention.

Their steps were not normal.

Each stride was measured, deliberate, as if they were not walking, but flowing like water itself.

It was a technique, that much was certain. A movement reserved only for those truly devout.

And upon their shoulders—

The statue of Magnus.

A towering, carved effigy of the Sea God, his stone face etched with wisdom, his eyes cast toward the heavens as if recalling the day he lifted the island from the ocean depths.

But the most striking feature was his beard—

Long, intricately sculpted tendrils, made not from stone, but from water itself, cascading in constant motion, shifting and flowing as if Magnus still breathed life into them.

At the front of the procession, leading them all—

The Chief Priest.

Unlike the others, his beard was white, untouched by the blue dye of his disciples. A sign of his rank, of his wisdom.

And with each step forward, the island held its breath.

From his position aboard the floating ship, Brandon overlooked the island below.

His golden eyes scanned the festival streets, taking note of how every single person had ceased their activities, their gazes locked on the grand procession.

It made him frown.

He took a single step forward, his boots clicking against the polished deck.

But before he could move any further, a hand gently, yet firmly grasped his arm. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

It was Rihanna.

She swayed her body subtly, the movement almost hypnotic, as though she were dancing with the air itself.

"Don't do it," she murmured in her silky voice, the tusks in her mouth barely obstructing her words. She tilted her head slightly, her scarred face still strangely alluring, her lips curled in a knowing smirk.

"You'll regret it."

Brandon turned to her with undisguised disgust, his upper lip curling as though her very touch was filth.

He snapped his arm free from her grasp.

Rihanna sighed, swaying away with a knowing smirk, but she did not stop him again.

Brandon turned back to his men, his voice booming across the deck.

"Resume the search! Now!"

The knights below, hearing the command, immediately obeyed.

Like a tide breaking formation, they rushed forward, eager to prove their worth to their superior.

But in the crowd, an aged pirate, his face lined with countless years on the sea, merely shook his head.

Bottle of cheap beer in hand, he took a long sip and muttered,

"Damn fool."

Then—

It happened.

The first knight—bold, self-assured, righteous—stepped into the path of the God Magnus's statue.

And then he froze.

His eyes widened.

A single drop of water beaded on his forehead.

Then another.

And another.

Drip.

Drip.

His breathing hitched—then ragged gasps tore from his throat as his entire face turned pale.

A gargled cough ripped from his lungs, and suddenly—

Water poured from his nose.

Then his mouth.

His ears.

It streamed down his chin, forcing its way up from his throat in violent, heaving convulsions.

"Glkk—!"

He staggered, eyes bulging, hands clawing at his own chest as if trying to force something out.

More water gushed forth, as though an invisible force was pulling the very ocean from his insides.

His eyes rolled back—

Then, with one final, agonized scream, his entire body erupted with water, spewing from every orifice in his body.

His throat bloated—his stomach swelled—his veins bulged and burst—

And then—

SPLASH!

The lifeless corpse hit the cobblestone ground with a sickening, wet thud, a puddle of seawater pooling beneath it.

Silence.

Utter silence.

The crowd stared, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief.

A child clutched their mother's dress, their tiny fingers trembling.

A merchant, holding a tray of exotic fish, dropped it, the sound of scales and flesh hitting the ground barely registering in the overwhelming shock.

A younger pirate, mouth agape, gulped down his drink as if to wash away what he had just witnessed.

The aged pirate, still holding his bottle of beer, sighed and took another sip.

"Told ya," he muttered.

And no one dared to move.

Rihanna suddenly spoke up, "that is the curse of defying Magnus.

Anyone that moves before the procession dies by drowning."

Brandon's sharp eyes burned with rage.

His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white.

The silence that followed the knight's horrific death was deafening, but in his ears, it was a roar. A roar of defiance, a roar of insult—

A roar that mocked the Holy Church.

His breath came in sharp, angry bursts as he stepped to the edge of the floating ship. From his vantage point, he could see the frozen expressions on the faces below—their shock, their fear, their hesitation.

And it enraged him even more.

Then, he screamed.

"PAGANS! ALL OF YOU ARE NOTHING BUT FILTHY, GODLESS PAGANS!"

His voice boomed across the island, a declaration of holy judgment.

His rage was uncontained, his hatred unfiltered.

His outstretched arm trembled with fury as he pointed at the grand statue of Magnus, still being carried through the mist.

"Destroy it! Destroy everything! Burn this wretched place to the ground! Let it be cleansed in holy fire!"

A single moment passed.

Then—

Chaos erupted.

Holy knights, their faces twisted with zeal, drew their swords.

Pirates, sensing blood in the air, grinned wickedly as they unsheathed their cutlasses.

The blades of the righteous and the damned met in unholy slaughter.

And the festival of Magnus descended into madness.