In a room with drawn curtains, shrouded in calm darkness, an elderly man with white hair sat at a desk.
It was none other than Gaston Galimar, the headmaster.
He sat motionless, his eyes closed in deep concentration.
The teacup balanced on his fingertips was growing cold, untouched.
“...”
Not even the faintest movent.
The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive.
Though silent, it carried an undercurrent of chaos and turmoil.
The old man stood amidst the shattered fragnts of a future breaking apart violently.
And then—
“...Has it begun?”
The prophet murmured.
He sensed it—the foreboding from deep underground.
The beast’s howl, laden with fear, rage, despair, and sorrow.
The sticky stirrings of malice.
It seed the story was flowing unchanged.
In the end, it would not escape the prophecy.
The ticking hands of fate moved as inexorably as the executioner’s axe falling upon the condemned.
The old man set aside the teacup filled with red tea.
For a brief mont, the trembling crimson surface reflected his weary self, laid bare before duty.
His aged lips parted.
“Betrayer.”
To a certain boy, the prophet uttered a plea that would never reach him, his heart growing heavier.
“Please... take care of that child.”
His voice dispersed into emptiness, and the headmaster fell silent once more, as if swallowed by the waves.
***
In the academy’s underground, blood and corpses lay scattered everywhere.
It was a space steeped in darkness.
The ceiling was so high it couldn’t be asured, the damp air added to the eerie atmosphere, and the pervasive stench was overpowering.
The temple seed to embody humanity’s descent into depravity.
The very depths of sin.
And we stood at its center.
BOOM!
With an explosive noise, the ceiling shook.
The flow of demonic energy surged violently.
Its force raged through the underground like a storm.
Fragnts of shattered magic, blood, and flesh scattered in every direction.
The enemies were coming.
“Slaughter the lambs and offer them to the Lord!”
The cultists charged forward in unison, screaming their deranged chants.
Every one of them was weeping tears of blood.
If one were to depict a nightmare in painting, it would look like this.
Frowning slightly, I swung my sword lightly.
“Hmph.”
Slice!
I cut down an arrow flying straight toward .
The peculiar vibration carried through my fingertips.
It didn’t feel like cutting through tal or wood, but rather like slicing through flesh and bone.
After all, the weapon was crafted from human bones and flesh.
“Offerings... using life as a dium.”
A truly repulsive thod.
The flesh and organs still squird as if alive.
And whether due to the demonic energy’s corruption or sothing else, the areas stained with blood began to corrode.
It was grotesque, designed to evoke disgust.
I gripped my sword.
“This is troubleso.”
I needed to conserve my output.
The seal left by the Ancient Star had cracked under the demonic energy’s infusion.
Restoring it would require an unknown amount of power, so I had to limit my use of deception.
A frustrating restriction.
But of course,
“That doesn’t an I can’t handle this.”
It was just a complaint.
Having been personally trained by a swordmaster, I was far from powerless, even unard.
I’d fought my way through mud and filth countless tis before.
A thick layer of experience coated my steps as I advanced.
Clang!
A light swing of my sword clashed with the spear of a cultist in the vanguard.
Sparks flew in the instant of collision.
I aggressively broke through his defense and drove him back.
Clang! Scrape... screeek...!
While I was locked in a clash with the cultist’s blade, another cultist crept up from my flank, aiming a thrust at my neck.
The coordination was smooth and seamless, like flowing water.
However—
The mont they were seen, their plan was dood.
I flicked my finger lightly.
Snap!
With barely any output—so minor it wouldn’t even register—a thin veil of shadow covered the enemies’ eyes.
Their vision was montarily blocked as if they’d been blindfolded.
Their stance wavered.
“...?!”
It lasted only one second.
But in that brief mont, their attack missed its mark.
The blade grazed my cheek, leaving behind a faint sensation of warmth from bone fragnts.
The cultist’s position faltered, their balance lost.
I didn’t let the opening slip by.
I shoved the cultist I had been facing, seized their flowing hair, and yanked hard.
Though the shadow over their eyes lifted, restoring their sight, it was already too late.
“Ta-da.”
Slash!
A silver arc traced through the air.
And then,
their severed head fell into my hand.
The headless body collapsed soon after.
As I shifted my stance backward, the cultist I had shoved earlier charged at again.
Their bloodshot eyes were filled with madness, tears of blood streaming down their face.
With a scream-like prayer,
“!!Dasinrubu rliu sekesinma!!”
The cultist swung their spear with a shout.
I angled my sword to deflect the incoming attack.
Simultaneously, I grabbed the severed head by its long hair and swung it like a flail.
Whack!
The sickening thud echoed as the head struck the cultist’s temple.
Staggering from the impact, the cultist lost their balance.
Without hesitation, I thrust my sword into their heart.
Squish!
Rancid blood splattered.
“That makes five.”
Exhaling calmly, I assessed my situation.
Even though I needed to conserve output, it didn’t an I couldn’t make use of deception to assist in combat.
I clapped my hands.
Snap!
A golden afterimage flickered, and I reappeared in the midst of the enemy lines.
Forming projectiles from shadow with my fingertips, I unleashed them.
“Where do you think you’re looking?”
Thwack! Thwack!
The cultists didn’t even have ti to react.
The obsidian shards pierced through their foreheads, scattering blood and flesh like leaves in the wind.
I steadied my breathing, slightly strained.
While fighting barehanded was taxing on stamina, it wasn’t difficult to handle the small fry for now.
"The problem is..."
The sheer number of them seed endless.
Malice charging at us relentlessly.
Even with their bodies pierced, slashed, or their limbs severed, the puppets continued to attack.
Their movents were so blindly chanical it felt unnatural.
Clearly, this wasn’t an easy opponent.
I glared at the man standing at the center of the blood-soaked temple.
It was a familiar face.
"The Puppeteer."
Among the cultists, there were occasional anomalies.
Katasto.
A phenonon where demonic energy fused with an individual's innate talent—be it music, art, or depiction—breaking the boundaries of their original capabilities.
In terms of rarity, they were as uncommon as the [Stars].
And each of them possessed power akin to a calamity.
In the original story, they often appeared as harbingers of destruction—hunting key figures, collapsing cathedrals, and leading the world toward ruin.
This man was one of them.
"So, you’ve shown yourself."
The Puppeteer.
Known in common parlance as Marionnette.
In the original, he was a mid-ga antagonist.
A top-tier asset among the cultists and a grim reaper who amassed countless corpses.
The small fry around us were all his thralls.
"As expected... such a troubleso ability."
The seemingly infinite swarm of soldiers, driven by the will of their master.
The puppeteer wasn’t just controlling chiras and humans.
Now, even the corpses littered across the floor were rising under his command.
Rather than cleaning the battlefield, the chaos only deepened.
My breathing grew heavier from the intense battle.
It was clear that conserving output wouldn’t be enough.
"But."
The situation changes when you’re not alone.
I signaled to the fox, her hair now dyed a fiery red.
It was ti to call for judgnt by fla.
"Irene."
"Yes."
"Burn them down."
"Leave it to ."
In an instant, a streak of fire shot across the air in a straight line.
Flas erupted, consuming everything in their path.
The intense heat turned the corpses and puppets into re ashes.
A deafening roar filled the temple.
BOOM!
The sheer force of the flas seed capable of bringing the temple to ruin.
As I brushed away a spark grazing my cheek, I turned to the princess.
She, as if waiting, planted her sword into the ground.
"Your Highness."
"I’ve been waiting."
Her lips spoke the words to overturn the battlefield.
"Let the sword bloom."
-Charlotte’s Domain Swordsmanship Secret Art-
‘Ashen Garden’
Rumble!
The marble floor cracked as steel vines began to sprout one by one.
An intricate display of swords and roses unfurled, carving a path forward.
As her delicate hand twisted the sword embedded in the ground, thousands of petals, sharp as blades, scattered through the air.
The shards pierced the hearts of the puppets, staining the flowers with blood.
Watching the scene unfold, I murmured to myself.
"The flow isn’t bad."
I calmly assessed the situation.
Two allies, each effectively holding off the puppets.
Although the opponent was formidable, the small fry were being cleared out efficiently.
The continuous symphony of fire and steel carved a straight path forward.
A path leading to the altar.
"I can finally see it."
Beyond the sll of burning flesh and the scattered remains, the Puppeteer ca into view.
He stood with one hand on the seal, staring at us with cold, vacant eyes.
It was as though he fully recognized our presence.
"Judging by the state of the altar... progress is still below 50%."
There was still ample ti.
For now, clearing the area would take priority.
I cloaked my hands in shadow.
The opponent wasn’t to be underestimated.
While not as dangerous as the ‘Conductor,’ another [Star]-tier enemy, the Puppeteer was still one of the most dangerous antagonists.
Especially with my output restricted, he wasn’t an adversary I could approach carelessly.
I compressed the thinly spread deception around .
Just as I was ready to unleash it—
"So... I see."
The Puppeteer suddenly spoke.
His gaze fixed in one direction.
His madness-filled eyes reflected nothing but the golden serpent.
As if he had realized sothing, he muttered,
"We’ve heard about the one who stands against our will."
I was ready to ignore his ramblings.
But the next words froze in my tracks.
"It was you, ■■■■."
He used that na.
My na.
How did he know?
For a mont, my mind stalled.
"Wait, what did you just say...?"
"I cannot defeat you."
That much was true.
How could a re mortal challenge the vessel of a god?
However, failure was not an option.
For the sake of His will.
"Thus... I offer everything."
Crunch!
The Puppeteer took sudden action.
Still reeling from hearing my na, I failed to notice the suspicious movent in ti.
He bit down on his tongue, scattering demonic energy around him.
From the altar, a crimson light began to rise.
"A self-sacrificial offering...!"
He had offered his own life.
The soul of a Katasto—one of the rarest and most powerful beings on the continent—was more than enough to shatter the already fragile seal.
And it happened in an instant.
CRACK!
The sound of shattering glass echoed.
The seal broke into countless pieces.
At the sa ti, pitch-black light surged from the temple floor, accompanied by a whirlwind of demonic energy that obscured all vision.
Blood and body fragnts were tossed around in the chaos.
I created a shadow barrier to shield my allies.
BOOM!
The relentless storm of demonic energy devastated the temple.
The Puppeteer’s body was torn to shreds, and even his puppets dissolved without a trace.
I gradually increased the output of deception, holding back the violent storm.
How much ti had passed?
As the ferocious energy began to subside, the true calamity revealed itself.
"...This is bad."
Clicking my tongue, I looked up.
The sight before was nothing short of horrifying.
A massive creature’s head nearly grazed the 50-ter-high ceiling.
Its enormous wings and tail covered the ruined temple entirely.
Black flas flickered within its maw.
Though it was a living being, the word "life" felt out of place.
Its flesh and organs were rotting in several places, including its heart.
[EP23. The Birth of Evil]
-Blood and malice scream for death-
The episode's boss monster.
According to the lore, it was the embodint of death, [It], an ancient dragon corrupted into a chira form.
In modern terms, a Death Dragon.
We were staring directly at the calamity.
ROAR!
A deafening roar shook the entire underground.
Feeling the chill run down my spine, I muttered a complaint.
"So, it’s co to this."
Clenching my fists, I gripped the shadow-forged blade with both hands.
My closed eyes slowly opened, revealing dangerously glowing white pupils.
The serpent spoke.
"Hunting isn’t my hobby, but there’s no choice."
It seed I’d have to resort to the second plan.
Reviews
All reviews (0)