The Strongest Curse Master

Chapter 277: Lazy Thieves

"Where the fuck are you, Gael?!" the mutated rust worm screeched, its voice twisting through the throat of the former C.I.B. director. Her frenzied footsteps echoed as she scoured through the third floor, scanning every corner for her target—but he was nowhere to be found.

Earlier, her minions had telepathically confirmed to her that Sir Beyton wasn’t in the holding cells on the eighth underground floor. This could only mean that the C.I.B. was most likely keeping him on the third underground floor instead.

Despite her small window to escape, she’d made the detour anyway. Twice, she scoured the entire floor, overturning every possibility. Nothing.

"Fuck!" she spat, frustration seething in her voice. She turned to bolt, but a few feet from the exit, she froze, finding C.I.B.’s two Void Tier operatives standing in the lobby, blocking her only way out.

One sat perched on a stool, holding his walking stick, eerily casual. The other was sprawled on the floor like a discarded puppet. The scene wasn’t wrong, they were confident in their combined abilities. She knew this and wasn’t about to make the first move.

Instead, she stood her ground, muscles coiled, eyes darting between them,

And, by some miracle, his prayers had been answered sooner than he expected.

"Sigh…" With a weary breath, the old man pushed himself to his feet. His gaze lingered on the hollow shell of his old friend, and for a moment, his eyes misted over, lost in memories of better days.

But before he could take another step, the ex-director’s body began to… change.

Blood seeped from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, dark rivulets carving unnatural paths down her skin. Then, without warning, her entire body started to collapse inward, folding in on itself in an impossible, grotesque compression—until, finally, she was gone.

Just… gone.

"What the hell was that?" Janice’s uncle muttered, lifting his head. His instincts screamed teleportation, but something about it felt… off. He glanced at Atticus, expecting him to react, to do something—but the old man remained still.

If senior Atticus wasn’t stopping her, then… was there something he was missing?

"It destroyed her body in exchange for me letting it go," Atticus finally spoke in a low, almost tired voice, with his back to the latter as a single tear rolled down his left cheek as he watched his friend fade into peace.

"Damn it. You let it go?" Janice’s uncle snapped, hauling himself upright. His frustration boiled over as the realization set in. They had her cornered. Since it had a Void-tier shell, that rust worm was high up in the ranks of the renewed Immortal Sect—if they had captured it, they could’ve extracted information from it, prepared a full-scale attack, and wiped them out before they could even respond.

But now? Now, they had nothing.

All because he’d let Atticus take the lead. All because he hadn’t been willing to peel himself off the damn floor a second earlier than he needed to.

He was so annoyed because, if his guess that the Immortal Sect had returned was correct and they were strong enough to openly attack a C.I.B. branch, then they were not just the C.I.B.’s problem, but the entire country’s, including the McSuiles’. He still recalled how shaken his father was after the fight with the Immortal Sect. Even though they had won, they could not allow history to repeat itself, as the cost had been too high. This time, it had to be different.

"You and your daughter have turned into a couple of lazy thieves," Atticus snarled suddenly, his voice laced with unspeakable rage. "I asked her to guard this place with her life, and what does she do? She kills an inmate and steals my trophies." He wiped his cheek, his movements sharp, then turned, his eyes blazing with deliberate anger.