The man’s body is as massive as a mountain.
As if sculpted by Hephaestus himself, it is a divine work of art.
Therefore, Bazdilot asking this question
–Wait, that’s not blood.
If one didn’t see his human form, they would instinctively think he was so kind of monster wearing human skin.
Is practically a death wish.
Due to the machinations of the gods, he once mistakenly killed his own children, eventually falling into madness.
The surrounding atmosphere becos heavy in an instant, and the Heroic Spirit’s expression darkens along with it.
But, as light flashes before Bazdilot’s hand, the magical energy within him begins to stir uncontrollably.
Transcending consciousness, their bodies seem disconnected from their minds, unable to move even if they wanted to flee.
It would be good for him to learn a lesson.
He simply issues commands to the Servant with extre coldness, never batting an eye no matter what kind of pain he suffers.
Bazdilot raises his right arm and says coldly.
–I must eliminate him before I am completely corrupted.
That filth, that darkness—
"Ugh...?"
–This man is dangerous, he possesses power far exceeding that of the magi of this era.
His towering muscles are sharply defined.
He removes the glove from his left hand, revealing the crimson Command Seals to the air.
His consciousness is as if wrapped by sothing.
Heracles notices the anomaly, what is overflowing from Bazdilot’s eyes is so kind of black mud.
Heracles’s hand is only inches away from him, about to strangle Bazdilot’s throat.
Regardless of the order in which they were encountered, one after another, the figures of people overlap and disappear. Heracles seems to relive his past life, with joy and pain, the latter being more prevalent.
They show terrified expressions.
The tyrant who knelt before him, wailing and begging like a wild dog, unsightly to the extre.
He is the renowned great hero of Greek mythology, the one who overca the Twelve Labors and ascended to godhood.
–We’re going to die, we’re going to die!
However, Bazdilot remains unfazed, saying: "I have long since disregarded life and death. It seems the Command Seals will co in handy after all."
Even in the face of such pain, he still endures it and reaches out his hand towards Bazdilot.
He emanates an extrely strange and gloomy aura.
However, he is still the great hero renowned throughout the world.
To think that Command Seals alone could restrain this great hero would be a grave mistake.
His sons, whom he killed in his madness.
Most astonishingly, every muscle fiber and every drop of blood flowing within his veins is filled with pure magical energy that could be called divine.
"The one who decides that question isn’t , but you, isn’t it? I have a question I want to ask you, great hero of Greece."
Before Heracles can even think of acting, Bazdilot speaks again: "Again, in the na of the Command Seals, I command—Rember all the humans you have ever t!"
The great hero still upholds his nobility towards humans, but he has clearly misjudged one thing—
Bazdilot stares at the man.
"What’s wrong? Answer the question quickly. Are you capable of killing children to achieve victory?"
Heracles has the resolve of a hero.
"Impossible. How could I possibly do that? If anyone dared to give such an order, that person would be my enemy."
Not only is it gushing out from Bazdilot’s sleeves,
"In the na of the Command Seals, I command—You, do not conceal!"
Everything floods in like a torrent.
"You, accept the clothing of humanity!"
Heracles doesn’t understand for a mont.
He stands there like a gargoyle, unmoving, as the sounds of cracking bones and bursting blood emanate from his body.
Facing this great hero who overca the Twelve Labors and beca a god, Bazdilot must endure the intense pain caused by the backlash of his magical energy, even with the aid of the Command Seals.
If the Heroic Spirit’s aura is described as sacred and majestic, then Bazdilot is like a demon imrsed in a swamp.
It’s like intuition is kicking in.
The mafia subordinates outside the summoning circle
In a daze, an ominous premonition arises.
Heracles simply watches him do this.
The subordinates accompanying Bazdilot are already moved to tears.
Black blood tears flow from Bazdilot’s eyes.
Heracles has no ti to consider the second command, his mind directly plunges into the depths of his mories—
It is an exclamation of solemn and sacred things.
Even for the sake of the lives of those he has never t, he cannot allow the other party to continue.
His beloved wife who chose to take her own life.
The Heroic Spirit’s identity goes without saying.
Whether it is the good or evil of people, none are spared.
But, he seems to have been born without emotions.
At this mont, a pressure like being targeted by an arrow locks onto Bazdilot.
Because, they are more afraid of dying at Bazdilot’s hands than being killed by the great hero.
So, it would be better to let the other party stumble.
At this mont, Heracles understands the truth of the man nad Bazdilot before him.
Clearly, Bazdilot’s question has displeased the Heroic Spirit, and the nerves of those around him tighten.
Even if they wanted to stop their boss from speaking, they couldn’t.
Madness surges into his mind.
"Ask away."
"Again, I command you with a Command Seal—"
His na is—Heracles.
That golden-haired captain who always wore an air of smugness, making one want to smile wryly...
Even the surrounding mafia subordinates are trembling with fear, their faces as pale as wax.
Just observing him for a few seconds is enough.
But also from the wounds on the surface of his skin.
He should not be asured by the standards of ordinary people.
This man is a non-human who feeds on madness.
Bazdilot seems impatient.
He repeats the question once more.
And also, his close friend who understood him like no other, the man who resolutely chose to rebel against the gods for the sake of all he loved, doing what he could not.
"To achieve victory, are you capable of harming children?"
The mont Bazdilot speaks these words,
He harbors within him all the evil of humanity in this world!
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