The Return of the Ir Chapter 337: Trap (1)

Chapter 337: Trap (1)

When you look into 'it', 'it' looks into you.

Those who hunt 'it' must be careful not to beco 'it' themselves.

Beyond the veil of good and evil, on the fringes, far beyond the bounds of human thought, the "It"'s are sprouting up toward this side.

-『Notes of an Old Naless Demon Hunter』 (This is the last record found in his corpse's arms) –

* * *

'...!'

Vikir opened his eyes in the darkness.

There was no body. Only the severed head remains, floating in the air.

Vikir smiled bitterly.

'So it is. Was I dreaming?'

A brief dream, the mont his head was cut off.

Everything was just a montary dream.

In the dream, Vikir had accomplished so much.

Vikir had gained all the things that had been taken from him since his infancy.

He uncovered the dark side of death, took revenge on his family's brothers, and entered the academy, where he beca friends with future great heroes.

He also hunted down and killed countless large-scale demons.

... But all of this was a dream. It was nothing more than an illusion.

Now Vikir was facing reality again.

A burning land. A mountain river of corpses and blood. A flock of crows swarming in the sky.

An age of destruction. The battle between the human and demon worlds had ended in victory for the humans.

But it was a hollow victory.

99% of humanity was wiped out, and the bloodlines of countless great heroes were cut off.

Once opened, the Gate of Destruction would never be closed, and there was no telling when a second or third wave of demons would arrive from within.

For this reason, Vikir could not close his eyes even in death.

His bloodshot eyes remained open despite the fact that his throat had been cut by the thoughts of his comrades who had died and those who were still alive.

Then.

'Vikir.'

A voice called out.

Vikir tried to turn his head, but with only his neck remaining on the pole, he couldn't see behind him.

'Vikir.'

But the voice was coming toward him first.

Then, a warm hand on his cheek.

He turned his head to see a soldier looking down at him.

A woman with a long scar on her cheek. She had vague, blurry features.

But Vikir recognized her at a glance.

'Sergeant Janet, 1st Platoon, 4th Company, 207th Regint, you're alive!'

But she wasn't the only one.

Many more faces followed.

Vikir knew each and every one of them.

'Captain Kirke, Ensign White, Sergeant Kuberin, Corporal Saladin, Private Miryamu... all, all alive! I thought you were dead! I thought.... you were dead!'

What could be more joyful than the return of a comrade you thought was dead?

Vikir cried out at the top of his lungs.

...?

The sight of his comrades in arms before him was a little strange.

Had blood dried on their corneas? The red and blurred appearance of his comrades was quite different from the last ti he rembered them.

'Sergeant Janet. Co to think of it, the stab wounds and burn marks that covered your entire face have completely disappeared? your face is so fine, you looks like a well-grood beast.'

'Captain Kirke. Didn't you lose your left leg in the last battle? I believe I even made you a prosthetic...'

'Ensign White. You've got your... ear back, haven't you?'

'Sergeant Kuberin. You lost my sight in one eye....'

That wasn't all.

There were junior officers, junior non-commissioned officers, and soldiers who had spent their entire lives in poverty and hardship, only to be dragged into the war.

Every single one of them looked healthy and happy.

Those who were missing limbs, eyes, ears, and other parts of their bodies were fully functional, and those who had suffered from poverty, hunger, and disease were dressed in rich, lavish clothes.

A mont.

Sothing flashed through Vikir's mind.

In his dream, Vikir had t a woman nad Cindy Wendy.

She had sponsored many of his future comrades-in-arms early on.

Is that why?

Every single comrade-in-arms he t again was alive, not dead.

They were doing what they wanted to do, living their lives, and enjoying themselves.

And now they were together.

Each holding Vikir's arms, fingers, legs, toes, ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.

'Vikir!'

They cried out in unison.

Suddenly, the body parts carried by his comrades-in-arms rushed toward Vikir.

A whirlwind of emotions spiraled through his mind.

Sorry.

I'm ashad.

I'm burdening you with everything.

I'm rooting for you.

Be strong.

Move forward.

So many words make his vision spin.

And then.

Vikir heard one word from everyone that echoed deep in his head.

'Thank you.'

* * *

-Ting!

[Exits the underground 9th floor 'Demonic Dradon's Laboratory']

[Entering the 10th underground floor, 'Lost Paradise']

A series of loud beeps hit his ears.

"...!"

Vikir opens his eyes.

The ceiling is unfamiliar.

"... I see. This is the reality."

For the first ti in a long ti, Vikir had a dream that wasn't a nightmare. Sohow, he felt like he had regained so of his strength.

'To think that my comrades-in-arms in my dream gave

strength... is too sentintal.'

Vikir looked up, rembering the details of his dream.

The color white. A vast expanse of nothing but white.

'This is just one more level down from the Demonic Dragon's Laboratory.'

The mont he was crushed by the Ryumajin's fist on the 9th floor, Vikir turned into a dog once again and was barely able to escape.

He would have been pinned down if Sinclair hadn't used his magic to save him at the last second.

When Vikir opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his reward.

- / Level / Golden

A candy that raises your level by 1.

Tastes sweet.

-Level

1

50 golden candies.

This was a huge reward, worth five thousand ordinary candies.

It was probably a combination of the reward for escaping from the Demonic Dragon's Laboratory and the reward for escaping the Demonic Dragon's pursuit.

'Surprisingly, no items.'

Could it be because Vikir had told the fairy several tis that he didn't want an item reward? Strangely, only candy was being offered as a reward.

'As a normal challenger, it's hard to complete missions without items. The fairies' trick to make it harder for

was actually helpful.'

Vikir checked the rewards and stood up.

He wasn't wearing any clothes, so sothing soft touched his naked skin.

'By the way, this is...'

He looks around and sees a cozy soft couch next to him.

Vikir was now lying on a large, fluffy soft bed.

Beside him is a desk and a chair, and on top of them is a silver candlestick and an assortnt of delicious fruits and bread.

Vikir already knew the information about this floor.

In fact, there's not much information.

Most of the settings on this floor are open, except for a few hidden ones, and they're written on the walls in nice detail.

.

.

.

.

.

And next to it was a catalog with the prices of the items sold in the shop.

.

.

.

That was the end of the notice.

The large empty space can be filled with things from the store.

Necessities and luxuries that are reasonably priced.

No threats to survival, and plenty of ways to relax and entertain yourself.

Above all, you could send a ssage to your family or friends who might be worried about you outside the tower.

All of these things were not dreams, fantasies, or mirages; it is a stark reality.

...And Vikir thought to himself.

'This is the worst.'

Before the Regression, the most dangerous floor, where all the great heroes who said they were going to fly were holding their tongues.

A trap set by demons to hunt down challengers.

The vilest, most despicable, and most blatant trap in the entire tower was here.