Chapter 483: The Marquis of Discord (3)
Tsutsutsutsutsuts...
Darkness falls.
So dark that if you stretched out your arms, you couldn't even count your fingers.
But even in the darkness, some objects were unusually clear.
A figure rose up in front of Vikir's eyes.
"...Sergeant Janet."
Vikir muttered, his voice cracking.
The person standing in front of him was unmistakably familiar.
A former comrade in the same unit before he was regressed.
One after another, familiar faces appeared.
Comrades-in-arms he had left behind in the Age of Destruction. Subordinates, comrades, and superiors stood bleeding and glaring at Vikir.
[You won't come back?]
[You could have brought us back].
[Are you abandoning your comrades?]
[Was the world after regression so comfortable?]
[Yes, you can live well after the sacrifices of your comrades-in-arms].
[I trusted only you....]
They shouted at Vikir with tears in their eyes.
A thick cold sweat drips down his face.
The trauma in his heart resurfaced like an evil spirit, tugging at his heartstrings.
[Did you regress to flirting with women?]
[Did you really try your best to prevent the destruction of humanity?]
[And yet you are a demon hunter?]
[You don't even remember the sacrifices of your comrades-in-arms anymore!]
[...Traitor! ...Traitor!]
The ghosts of the past began to wail in a mournful wail.
They opened their mouths wide enough for their lower jaws to fall out, and from within, they drew out their tongues, sharp as spears, and spat out words that flew toward Vikir.
...peoeog!
One of the tongues became a spear and flew out, stabbing into Vikir's chest.
After that, countless tongues were flying like daggers.
peopeopeopeog!
Vikir stumbled back, feeling his entire body covered in blood.
A quick check revealed that he was unharmed.
Was that fountain of blood just an illusion?
'Andras specializes in playing with the minds of his opponents. One should never be fooled.'
Vikir desperately tried to ignore the spears and daggers that pierced his mind.
Then.
Vikir turned around and saw something else this time.
[Who are you to refuse a contract at will?]
[You don't listen to us?]
[You were at least born into a noble family].
[I was buried in a garbage can as soon as I was born.]
[I froze to death in a coin locker on a magic train].
[Eung-ae- euaang-]
There stood the children who had died in the orphanage.
Children who didn't live long enough to live, or who died as soon as they were born.
Beings forced to be born by their parents.
They were casting resentful glances at Vikir.
And there was one girl standing at the front of the group.
[Brother. No, Mister].
Nymphet.
The one who had died so long ago, the one who had become his first sense of guilt since the Regression.
Nymphet turned to Vikir.
[You speak well of the human desire for development and upward instinct..., Are you qualified to say something like that?]
"...that."
Vikir opened his mouth without realizing it.
But Nimpet didn't wait for it.
[It sticks out like an awl in your pocket? Hohoho – you mean my tongue?]
The ghost with Nymphpet's face chuckled hysterically, then spat out a long spear-like tongue from its mouth.
...Puck!
Nymphet's words, lodged in Vikir's chest, were sharp and cold as hell.
Just like this world.
Then, the remaining comrades from the Age of Destruction and all the children who had died in this world surrounded Vikir.
[How dare you, you unworthy bastard!]
[Hang him! Hang him!]
[Throw stones!]
[Kill him! We must kill him!]
At the same time, the daggers continue to strike.
...peog! ...peog! ...peog! ...peoeog!
It was not only piercing his mind, but also his body.
It's not a metaphor or analogy, it's really hurting.
"...!"
Vikir drew his Baalzebub long and sharp.
kwakwakwakwang!
Baskerville 8th Form. The stage reached through extreme practical experience. The final destination of the living.
After this, it is the realm of the dead.
It is a realm beyond the reach of mortal life.
Vikir bared his eight teeth, scattering the darkness around him.
But the stings of the tongues continued to fly, embedding themselves in Vikir's body.
'Where are you?'
Vikir continued to run through the blinding darkness.
Andras's voice echoed in his ears.
[You will die here, but if you accept the deal, even now, I can make it all go away.]
The voice sounded so sweet and soothing.
It felt like all you had to do was take the outstretched hand and everything would be fine.
Like the promised salvation, the flower path, for mankind.
...But.
peoeog!
Vikir stood steadfast despite the barrage of daggers piercing his chest.
The surroundings have already become miserable with blood flowing down and spears and daggers stuck on the floor.
It is the thorny path of asceticism itself.
The flowery path promised before his eyes was in stark contrast to the thorny path I had walked so far.
[Are you scared? Are you afraid? You will be, because that's what humans are like. Well, even now...]
Andras's voice stuck like honey in his ears.
But.
"Demon."
The aura Vikir emitted grew even more ferocious and wild.
"Kill!"
The crimson half-moon slashed through the black clouds around him.
Vikir. The scarred hound stood on the thorny path, gasping for breath.
The air around him was thick with blood, and his heated body scorched the air.
"I am not afraid of death."
Vikir had already died once.
Twice, if you count his experience in the Hell Tree.
The end of a line he'd crossed countless times before. And now this.
"I've been decapitated by the guillotine and I've taken my own life. It's not a metaphor, it's a real experience."
A man who has experienced death so many times that others have never experienced it.
An anomaly who had actually experienced death and was still breathing right here.
Vikir moved his hand and raised his sword.
The sword that had always guided him through the countless deaths he had faced.
Vikir swung the sword.
Perhaps it would be the last Sword Form he would ever use.
Eight trajectories began to glow like guiding stars.
However.
peopeopeopeopeopeopeopeopeog!
There was nothing to be done about the countless tongue stings from the darkness.
Vikir fell to his knees, spewing fountains of blood.
"...."
Vikir shook his head, unable to utter a groan.
The darkness cleared before him. Andras appeared, clicking his tongue.
[Too much rigidity will break you].
Andras gently touched Vikir's bloodied head with his toe.
[Is he dead? Hmm – is his mind dead as well? Alas, I must have misjudged my power control. Where should I look for the Second Prince then?]
Andras tugged at his hair, his expression gradually turning to irritation.
...Peopeong! ...Bang!
A bombastic sound from far away. An earthquake that traveled through the floor.
The battle outside the Imperial Palace seemed to be getting more and more intense.
[I'll have to clean up the mess outside first].
Andras frowned in annoyance.
Then, as Andras was about to slowly turn away from Vikir.
" ...Demon."
There was a groan that sounded like a gut being ripped out.
Vikir lifted his unfocused eyes to stare at Andras.
"Kill."
[Hahahahaha- You're like a bloody dog.]
Andras laughed at the absurdity of it all.
But regardless, Vikir could only move slowly, his body stiff with exhaustion.
...one. ...two. ...three. ...four. ...five. ...six. ...seven. ...eight.
His mana is drained, and not even a faint aura emanates from him.
His hands are moving, but the teeth can't be felt on his tips.
Just before reaching the threshold of death, the now familiar dry and crumbly sensation was repeated eight times.
Andras, of course, does not care for Vikir's final act.
And because of that, Andras missed one thing.
...nine.
The trajectory of the 9th, the one that followed the 8th.
And finally.
pas-
A frighteningly intense burst of light began to emanate from the tip of Vikir's Beelzebub.
[...Hmm?]
Andras turned his head.
There, there was a burst of light so bright that it burned out his pupils, who were accustomed to darkness, in an instant.
[Eeh!?]
His tightly closed eyes burned.
A thick cloud of pungent smoke was billowing out through his eyelids.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
...and Nine.
When Andras opened his eyes, the tiny dots of light had transformed into a gigantic ball of light that filled his entire field of vision.
-[Only those who step into the realm of the Supreme, and continue to run without resting with the same mindset as when they first picked up the sword will gain something.]]
CaneCorso once said of the 8th Form.
-[You will probably not attain this in your lifetime, for the realm of the 9th Form lies beyond the threshold of death].
The 6th Form.
A state that can only be reached by transcending all emotions.
The 7th Form.
A state that can only be attained by reclaiming emotions that have been abandoned.
The 8th Form.
A state of mind that can only be attained by grasping a sword and fighting through a series of desperate battles.
And the 9th Form.
An incomprehensible zone at the core of the highest realms that only those who have truly experienced death can ascend to.
"...."
Vikir was staring blankly at the nine glowing trails beyond his fading vision.
Across the swirling darkness, he heard the voice of CaneCorso, a voice he had once heard.
-[This realm defies normal human understanding, empathy, comprehension, faith, common sense, probability, and causality. No being who has not experienced death can ever set foot here.]
-[Ah, it looks like you have a lot of regrets in life. but. You're not old enough to have even contemplated death yet].
-[You are not yet ready].
Words that, at the time, he didn't understand.
... But now, for some reason, it seemed to make sense to him.
As an anomaly who had experienced death so many times despite being alive, he had witnessed countless other deaths that he had missed at his fingertips.
And a certain realization that came unexpectedly at the crossroads of life and death had opened a new gate, one that lay somewhere beyond the other side.
Vikir stretched out his hand and peered into the world beyond the gate.
For a brief moment, a fleeting glimpse, a dot of light scattered into countless fragments.
The upper level of the Supreme realm seen in such a short period of time.
The landscape he saw with his mind's eye was burned into his retina, leaving a mark.
And as he absentmindedly moved his hand along the trace, it soon became the trajectory of a cluster of living stars.
...Flash!
Finally, the 9th tooth began to fully reveal itself.
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