章 214: My Neck Will Be Your Sheath (1)
The Corpse Queen.
The skull mask that covered her face was pulled off.
Inside was a very familiar face, one that hadn't changed much since she was eight years old.
Eyes as big as deer's, always moist whenever she looked this way, dark eyebrows, a sharp nose, and plump lips.
The only thing that has changed a little is that most of the fat on the cheeks has disappeared, all the freckles on the face have disappeared, and the color combination of the black and white eyes has changed.
Morg Camus.
She was looking at him, her expression exactly the same as the last time he had seen her in Vikir's memory.
The face streaked with tears and snot, the expression that now refused to speak, the hoarse throat.
It was as if time had stood still since that moment when she had fought to the death against the 'Madame of the Eightlegs' in the depth of the Black and Red Mountain.
"...."
Vikir was silent for a moment.
Why hadn't he known before?
The original culprit. The main enemy. The Black Curtain.
He'd been running tirelessly, thinking he had to kill the demon and stop the age of destruction.
The appearance of the Ten Corpses in front of him completely excluded all thoughts and feelings.
He was only concerned with killing his enemies.
Was that why? Vikir could think of all the things he'd been missing, all the things he'd deliberately avoided thinking about.
Camus hadn't missed a day in the years since Vikir's disappearance.
After leaving the Light Faction of her uncle 'Morg Adolf', with whom she had such a good relationship, she joined the Dark Faction of his maternal uncle 'Morg Snake', with whom she had a bad relationship.
Afterward, she declared herself in a closed training and cut off all ties with the world.
Coincidentally, there was an event that occurred at this point.
A ghostly woman took the place of Morg Snake, who was supposed to be the Corpse King. The Corpse Queen, whose identity in life was unclear.
She raised the undead Morg Rose, who was killed in a war between her enemies and the natives of the Black Mountains, to pamper her.
She was also in possession of the remains of Ahheman, who was supposed to be abandoned in the depths of the Red and Black Mountains.
In hindsight, there were many strange things about her, even when we first met her.
The Corpse Queen was strangely enraged by Balak's archery skills, perhaps due to the memory of losing Vikir and Rose in quick succession.
Her flinching at the Baskerville-style sword technique at the end, and the way she grabbed Rose from behind when she fell unconscious, were both signs.
Vikir asked, trying to remain as calm as possible.
"Why did you become the Eight Corpse, and why does your voice sound like that?"
[...It's either because I've been crying for years, ever since you disappeared, or it's completely locked up].
The Corpse Queen's voice was even more husky than before.
How many times had she wailed, screamed, struggled, collapsed in exhaustion, passed out, woke up, and wailed again.
Her neck was already tattered.
Camus said, tears dripping from his black-and-white eyes.
[Fool... I thought you were... dead... and I was going to find your body or something...]
So you're saying that you've been searching the Red and Black Mountain depths for all these years, not missing a single day?
...That's understandable up to a point.
However, Camus next words caused Vikir to press a hand to his forehead.
[So... I tried to bring you back to life].
Black magic. The art of bringing the dead back to life, the resuscitation of the dead.
Was that why she left the Light Faction and joined the Dark Faction?
Certainly, Morg Snake, the leader of the Dark Faction, is a master of black magic.
Before his regression, he, too, signed a contract with the Eight Corpse Seere to reach the ultimate in black magic.
Then I remembered the testimony I had heard from Highsis, Midsis, and Lowsis in Red Fang Castle.
'If it's Camus, she's in closed training right now.'
'...Closed?'
'She split up with her Uncle Adolf.'
I was told that Camus had changed a bit since the search was stopped.
She'd lost a lot of her bubbly personality and spoke less.
Then, out of the blue, Morg Adolf announced his withdrawal from the Light Faction, of which he was a member.
Since Camus had always followed Adolf, who was his uncle and the leader of a Light Faction, like a parent, Morg was shocked even internally, but Adolf said that he did not express any official opinion on this.
He watched in silence as Camus defected and joined the dark facction, which stood in opposition to the light faction.
Knowing how sad Camus had been since "that night" in depth, and how much she had been beating herself up over it, he hadn't dared to dissuade her.
"...."
Vikir frowned.
Camus, who had forsaken everything and chosen the path of the Black Mage to bring himself back from the dead and make him undead.
What had happened to the woman who, if fate had its way, would one day become the Ironblood Empress, the Invincible, and rule the world beyond Morg?
Vikir asked in a low voice.
"So you're saying that you made a contract with the demon because of me? Why?"
[Do you ask because you don't know?]
"I'm asking because I don't know. It's said that you became the Eight Corpse to find my body and turn it into a undead."
[... It kind of sounds like that when you say it like that].
Camus thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. She then stated her position simply.
[If death would separate us, I wanted to be there behind it].
There was a moment of silence between them.
"...."
[....]
The Night Hound and the Corpse Queen removed their masks and faced each other's bare faces.
It was Vikir who broke the awkward silence between them.
"... But in the end, demons must die."
A man is a man. Life is life.
No matter how heavy an individual's personal feelings may be, they cannot be weighed against the fate of humanity as a whole.
Eventually, the picture became clear.
A man must kill a woman to prevent the destruction of the world.
A woman who doesn't care if the world ends as long as she can be with her man.
[....]
Camus has no answer.
Then, her lips parted.
[Okay].
Vikir's eyes widened a little. It was a completely unexpected answer.
But to his surprise, Camus didn't seem to mind.
[Ever since I joined forces with the demon, I knew my life wasn't going to end well].
Camus and Vikir's gazes locked together.
Camus took a step in front of Vikir.
Her shoulders and chest straightened.
[Now, kill me].
"...."
Vikir hesitated for a moment.
One of the Ten Corpses says she's going to give her head, so why is he hesitating?
The faces of so many comrades-in-arms flashed through his mind.
But despite his guilt and sense of debt, Beelzebub, the magic sword at his wrist, does not move.
Finally, Camus speaks again.
[What are you doing, kill me?]
"...."
[Kill me! Kill me!]
Suddenly, her voice rises.
kwakwang! hududug- hududug- hududug-
Emotions and mana surged, and showers of fire and iron skewers began to rain down around them.
Tears well up in Camus's eyes and trickle down her cheeks.
[Yeah! You obviously don't like blackened witches like me, so you can kill me now and get it out of your life or not! Your meddlesome ex-girlfriend will die right here and now, and you can live happily ever after with your innocent bagel current girlfriend, Saintess!]
"????"
Vikir's reaction was incomprehensible.
What was an ex-girlfriend and what was a current girlfriend? And why the name of St. Dolores?
Vikir knew there was a fatal misunderstanding, but it was hard to explain.
To add insult to injury, the demonic energy emanating from Camus seemed to be growing stronger.
The closer it got to midnight.
Camus unleashed a barrage of magic that seemed to use up every ounce of mana in her body, and then she slumped back in her spot and began to sob.
[You bastard! It's been a while since we met, so the demon must die? Who doesn't come from the Baskervilles? … pup! You bastard!]
"...."
Vikir stood still, unable to speak.
This was the third time he had seen tears in Camus's eyes.
The first time when they met at age eight, then again when they were older and reunited at Red Fang Castle, and now.
All three times, Vikir has been unable to offer any comfort in response to Camus's tears.
And as if Camus was used to it, after a while, she stopped crying on her own.
[...I know, you're not good at comforting people].
I suspect a similar conversation took place when she lost her cousin to the Rococo tribe.
Rose, who was next to Camus, who still had red eyes, hugged her and comforted her.
Then.
…with a pop!
Camus pulled a tattered booklet out of her arms and threw it in Vikir's direction.
[It's my diary].
"...."
[Even if I disappear, read it at least once, there's a lot of stuff I can't say to your face].
Of course, even if Vikir answered, there would be no Camus in this world this time.
"...."
Vikir picks up the diary from the floor.
It is quite heavy for a book made entirely of paper.
It was the weight of all the time a woman had written to a man, inscribing feelings that would never be answered, that would forever remain questions.
With , Camus loosened his front cloth.
The bony armor cracked to the left and right, revealing a white neck in the middle.
[Now do it].
"...."
[You're good. No, you're the only one who deserves it].
"...."
[I gave up on the prize when I made my contract with the demon anyway, I might as well go to your hands].
Camus stepped in front of Vikir and knelt down silently.
She took Vikir's right hand and brought it to the hilt of her own throat.
[My throat will be your sheath].
Camus' lips touch Vikir's right arm. Vikir feels a small trembling breath.
"...."
Vikir was still unable to move.
Ten demons who crossed over from the demon world to the human world. The giant gates they would later open. The age of destruction they will bring.
Before those gates open, I must kill all ten demons.
…Boom!
Vikir clenched his hands together.
Camus looked up at Vikir as if he was determined.
But why? Vikir's hand didn't move.
It was due to an emotion that lurked in the depths of his heart, unknown even to him.
Suddenly, Vikir's mind was reeling with the details of Baskerville's seventh form.
-To reach the pinnacle of the sixth level, you must let go of your emotions.
-But to open the door to the seventh, you must embrace it.
To reach the highest level of the Graduator, you must become a being of steel, with no emotions.
But to reach the next level, the highest level, Swordmaster, you must bring your emotions back to life.
Vikir has lived a life of hardened steel.
A killing machine, stripped of all emotion and driven strictly by command. A hound of death.
Throughout his life, he has loved no one and been loved by no one.
That was also proven in the Dantalian match. Aside from comradeship, there was no bond that connected Vikir to the world.
But.
But Vikir was agitated now.
The girl kneeling before him, opening her arms and chest to receive his sword.
As he looked down into the demon's face, he could feel a faint emotion he hadn't realized existed stirring within him.
No matter how heavy an individual's feelings may be, they cannot be weighed against the fate of the entire human race.
... But in the face of such a heavy sense of duty, an iron heart becomes a superhuman heart.
A wall began to appear in Vikir's vision.
The wall of the Swordmaster, the ultimate in swordsmanship – the ability to cut through anything, even a formless spirit or abstract concept – loomed large in front of him.
And at that moment.
…Pow!
Pain shot through his lower abdomen.
This sensation of something hot piercing through.
[...what?]
Camus looked dazed for a moment.
A metal skewer extended from her hand and pierced Vikir's stomach.
At the same time.
Tsutsutsutsutsuts...
A black mist began to rise from Camus's back. It was forcibly controlling her body.
[It's midnight, little lady].
An eerie voice flows from a crack in the fog that is torn like a mouth.
.
Danger Rating : S
Size: ?
Found in: 'Serpent's Womb', Deep inside the Gate of Destruction
-Nicknamed 'Eighth Corpse'.
One of the Ten Plagues, natural enemies of mankind, incomprehensible and unkillable.
"Herds of cattle and animals shall perish."
– The Ten Commandments 10: Top.
It was a demonic voice, tangled up in half of Camus's consciousness.
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