Chapter 160: Familiar Face (4)
Geronto.
A thin female mage.
Her long red hair tumbles out from under the black sack she wears on her face.
Dolores spoke with a stern expression.
"She's a relatively recent recruit to the Guilty, and judging by her body type, she looks quite young...."
"...."
Vikir swallowed hard instead of answering.
Then, Geronto stepped forward.
A storm of dark mana began to engulf her entire body.
... Hiss, hiss, hiss!
Complex magic circles were drawn in the air, followed by crackling flas and tiny black spikes.
The spikes pierce the floor and shoot upward, red-hot from the flas.
Anyone who touched them would be burned and cut at the sa ti.
Dolores was stunned by the sheer amount of mana Geronto unleashed.
"This, a magic of this class should be at least 5th... or 6th class, he must have been an incredibly talented mage in his lifeti!"
Flaming iron spikes flew everywhere.
Vikir drew his Baalzebub long enough to deflect the flying spikes.
Crackle!
The wall of fire swirled around, impeding Vikir's movent.
Every ti Vikir hesitated, more spikes shot out from the floor, walls, and ceiling.
Red and black. It was a familiar sight.
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle...
Vikir backed away from the flas that clung to his shoulders, across his back, down his sides, and to his toes.
In the anti, the central lobby of Building 1 had been turned into a furnace.
A cauldron of lting molten iron, red-hot spikes of fla like teeth.
Crackle, crackle, crackle, crackle... Boom!
Geronto continued to summon fire and spikes from the other side of the furnace.
The flas continued to engulf the mass.
Each of the sharp iron spikes flying out of it was extrely threatening.
The air is so hot it burns your lungs if you breathe it in, and your vision is limited by the thick smoke and overly bright flas.
Pushed to the edge of the gate, Dolores called out to Vikir, who was directly in front of her.
"Night Hound, we can't even approach it at this rate!"
"...."
But Vikir didn't answer.
Instead, he stared out through the goggles attached to his mask at his enemies, the black landscape, and the red-haired mage standing beyond.
Then, with the growl of a night hound, he said.
" ...I need to see your face."
"What?"
"I need to see your face."
Leaving Dolores with a questioning look, Vikir took a step forward.
The floor had already been transford into a furnace of sharp tal spikes and blazing flas.
Vikir sprinted toward it.
Screech! Crunch!
Every ti Vikir stepped on the ground, a tal spike shot up.
It pierced his instep or heel and ca up to his knees.
Those protruding from the walls and ceiling were scorched by the flas, and gradually lted away, turning to boiling lava.
...POP! ...POP! ...POP! ...POP! POP!
The tal spikes that had sprouted from the ceiling lted away, and drop after drop of molten tal began to drip down the hallway.
Below, new spikes continue to sprout, and the flas grow stronger, raining fire and molten tal from the ceiling.
"...."
Vikir pushed forward on the thorny path, drenched in molten tal and spikes.
Puff-puff-puck!
Dozens of spikes flew at him, piercing every inch of his body, but Vikir was unfazed.
"Face."
Rage boiled up from the bottom of his throat, hotter than the bubbling mud.
"Let
see your face."
The sll of burning flesh, cooking blood.
Dolores was horrified to see Vikir endure this torture alone.
Why would he go to such lengths? Did he know the mage woman? And if so, what is their relationship?
The unanswered questions made her dry mouth and throat ache even more.
"...Ugh!"
Dolores squeezed her eyes shut and followed Vikir's lead.
Divine light is not very effective against elents other than darkness.
But even so, Dolores followed the path the Night Hound had blazed, plunging into a furnace of blazing fire, molten tal, and spikes.
Despite the stabbing, slicing, and burning pain in every part of her body, she pressed on, undeterred.
'Night Hound has a harder road ahead of him, and I can't whine about rely following him!'
Dolores gritted her teeth and followed Vikir, her body beginning to be covered in burns and cuts.
By this ti, Vikir had reached the end of the furnace.
anwhile. Geronto had run out of mana, and was stumbling backwards, unable to produce any more fire and spikes.
And in front of him stood Vikir, standing tall.
Iron spikes piercing through his body, flas burning through his veins.
But Vikir didn't care about any of that, his hand reaching out.
"Take off your mask."
Geronto's throat was clamped shut, and Vikir used his other hand to remove the black sack that covered her face.
Boom.
The very mont the black sack was removed from Geronto's head.
[Gurgle!]
Geronto spat out a bloodcurdling sound as he struggled.
The mana in his body turbulent like crazy.
Vikir realized what it was and quickly pulled his hand away and stepped back.
"W-what!"
Dolores exclaid, barely able to hold her breath.
Quack, quack, quack!
The mana in Geronto's body that had run amok instantly turned into a giant bomb, destroying everything in its path.
...Boom!
Geronto's body, burned from the neck up, fell backwards.
Flutter.
Only a single black sack remained untorn and unburned by the explosion, lying on the ground.
"...It looks like they planted a bomb in her head."
Dolores said, frowning.
anwhile.
"...."
Vikir stands, speechless.
He was staring at Geronto's body, now sprawled on the floor in front of him.
A woman's body, shrouded in black robes.
After a mont of silence, Vikir moved.
Dolores's eyes widened slightly.
"Night Hound, what are you doing....?"
She had every reason to panic.
Vikir was now undressing Geronto.
Thud, thud, thud!
The tough robes were torn to shreds by the strong grip.
The white-skinned woman was now naked.
But there was nothing obscene about it. Her head had been ripped off, and she was a corpse.
Her body was covered in patchwork marks of iron, leather, and other materials that had been pieced or sewn together.
The lack of intact flesh and bones suggests that the pieces of her body were not fully assembled when she was resurrected as an undead.
...This ans that before she beca undead, she died without leaving her body intact at the ti of her death.
In other words, she died a very painful and grueso death.
"...."
Vikir stared at Geronto's corpse for a mont.
Then.
"No."
He added briefly.
Dolores asked, puzzled.
"Did you know her?"
"... I thought I did, but I guess not."
Vikir thought of Morg Camus in his mind.
In fact, Vikir was thinking that Geronto might be Camus.
They were the sa age, the sa height and build, and even the magic they used was similar.
Even the color and length of his hair was the sa as the last ti he had seen her.
Furthermore, Camus had not only left the prestigious academy for no reason, but also joined a dark hall known for its black magic, and had even recently entered the closed-door training.
However, after checking it himself, Geronto was not Camus.
Geronto was slightly shorter than the last Camus he saw.
There was also a slight difference in secondary sexual characteristics, with Geronto being slightly less developed.
This suggests a difference in age.
Crucially, Vikir had seen Camus naked as a child. He was eight years old when Camus burned off her clothes during a combined training exercise.
'She definitely had moles on his chest and under his collarbone.'
But there are no such marks on Geronto's body.
Her red hair, strong magic, and skill with iron and fire make her look like one of Morg's won, but she's very different from Camus in many ways.
'...The question is, why is she here, as an undead?'
Morg is not alone. The Baskervilles, Don Quixote, and the young n of the Quovadis were also turned undead.
How far do the roots of demons reach?
Vikir realized he needed to step up his demon hunting.
Then.
"I've heard that the tombs of so of the great houses have been robbed a lot lately."
Dolores said with a hint of concern.
At that, Vikir stroked his chin with his hand.
"Grave robbing."
Normally, grave robbers were after the gold and silver treasures buried with the bodies.
But this case was different. The body itself was the object of the grave robbing.
"...demonic bastards."
Vikir picked up the fourth leather sack that had been covered over Geronto's face.
Once again, this black sack held powerful magic.
Together, the four were almost as powerful as the magic sword Beelzebub.
'What kind of artifacts are these, anyway? I'll have to investigate them later.'
Vikir clutched the four black sacks in his arms.
With that, the troubleso gateways were over.
Ephebo, Hebe, Pedo, and Geronto.
With all four hounds gone, there was truly only Guilty, the Lord of Indulgentia.
Vikir thought back to the steps he had taken to get to this point.
He'd earned his derits within the Academy, spent the entirety of the Golden Holiday volunteering and serving as a scout.
And now, all that remained was the final goal of this assassination.
Vikir composed himself and was about to take the final step.
Clap-Clap-Clap.
From beyond the pitch darkness ca the sound of applause.
"...!"
Vikir and Dolores looked up to see a familiar face.
Guilty L. Indulgentia.
He was sitting on the railing and looking down with a smile on his face.
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