NOVEL NEXT chapter 103 - Hydra (3)
One thing Carlyle knew for certain about the Holy Sword—
Was that, befitting the symbol of a Hero whose mission was to oppose evil, it emitted its unique radiance whenever it confronted something wicked.
And the more wicked the target, the brighter that light shone.
In that sense, the light that now filled this place made it instantly clear just how monstrous the opponent Carlyle faced truly was.
In one stroke aimed straight at the neck, the Holy Sword flashed—
and beneath that brilliance, the girl’s severed head fell onto the banquet hall floor.
[So they’re using the same trick as before.]
That voice echoed from within the Holy Sword.
[Approaching Father by wearing my likeness.]
Outwardly, her voice was as cold and merciless as ever, but after so much time together, Carlyle could tell.
She was about to explode.
⋯⋯Well, of course—anyone would if someone tried to get close by exploiting their feelings for them.
Calm down.
[I am calm.]
⋯⋯Calm down.
Carlyle repeated the plea to Gray, who was anything but calm, as he approached the duke slumped in his chair.
With the flat of the Holy Sword, he smacked him firmly on the nape of the neck.
With a choking cough, green smoke spilled out from the duke’s mouth.
After several more fits of coughing, the duke lifted his dazed eyes toward Carlyle.
“-Sir Carlyle?”
“It’s a relief I wasn’t too late.”
Carlyle grinned as he answered.
Truly, what a relief.
The moment he learned a demon had been summoned, he had rushed straight here—otherwise, it would have been disastrous.
Though, of course, the situation wasn’t over yet.
“-What is the meaning of this?!”
Count Grimbalz shouted, his face trembling violently.
As if horrified by what Carlyle had just done.
⋯⋯At least, that’s what it looked like on the surface.
“You madman—! What in the world are you doing—!”
“Yes. Quiet.”
Carlyle casually struck the back of the count’s neck as he bellowed.
Normally, as head of a martial family, he might have put up some resistance.
But now, without so much as a twitch, he collapsed.
The man was a “puppet.” Advanced reactions were beyond him.
It was around then that the surrounding guests, who until now had been too bewildered to understand, finally began to react.
“What in heaven’s name is happening?!”
“I don’t know! Suddenly, suddenly that man cut off the child’s head⋯⋯!”
Indeed, without context, it must have looked as though Carlyle had burst in and hacked down a girl without warning.
If left unchecked, all the consequences would fall squarely on him.
Carlyle quietly turned his gaze to the headless corpse sprawled on the floor.
⋯⋯The act was convincing.
And then—
Instead of answering the crowd, he drove the Holy Sword deep into the body once more.
Screams erupted from all sides.
The sight was too horrific, unthinkable in the Imperial banquet hall. Those confident in their own strength even moved to intercept Carlyle.
“⋯⋯.”
Ignoring them, Carlyle poured additional mana into the Holy Sword.
So that if the thing dared to play dead, it would be forced to “truly” die.
[⋯⋯Kh.]
In that instant, everyone in the hall froze where they stood.
From the girl’s corpse, a black miasma burst outward like an exploding balloon.
By no stretch of the imagination could this be considered the corpse of an ordinary “human.”
The body floated into the air.
And, pushing away the Holy Sword embedded in it, stooped to retrieve its severed head from the floor.
The sight of it tucking the decapitated head beneath its arm like some basketball was grotesque beyond words.
And then that severed head let out a cackling laugh.
[How did you know? Once the head’s been cut off, most would assume it’s dead.]
The voice itself was revolting, as if it rotted the brain simply by hearing it.
“When one fights your kind, your consistency in trickery makes you predictable.”
Feigning death just to put Carlyle in a difficult position—he had to admit, it almost deserved applause.
Such was the nature of creatures who did nothing all day but plot how best to torment others.
[⋯⋯You speak as if you’ve faced many of us before. For a mere human.]
The hydra spoke with the gaze of a creature regarding an insect, curling its body inward.
Then, as if its skin were bursting apart, the “human” form peeled away, revealing its true shape.
The closest comparison would be a centipede—its segmented exoskeleton and countless legs sprawled out.
[Well, if tricks won’t work, then I’ll just crush you head-on.]
Poison spewed forth from that centipede-like body.
The venom was so potent that everything it touched dissolved.
The nearby flooring, tables, dishes, food—
Wherever it touched, all melted into green sludge.
The toxicity was so extreme it was as if acid itself were consuming the world.
“-It’s sorcery of heresy! Summon the clergy!”
“Raise protective barriers! Bring consecrated arms!”
Cries rang out around the hall.
To their credit, as those who lived within the Imperial Palace, they responded swiftly even to such a sudden calamity.
But it was pointless.
This was not the kind of poison one could deal with through ordinary measures.
It was said that most demonic powers existed on a “conceptual” level.
Meaning—the poison this thing spread was not mere poison, but an ability closer to manifesting the very concept of “poisoning.”
Slowly, steadily it spread. But anything it touched would be poisoned without fail.
This hydra was not even a high-ranking noble demon, merely something above the level of a common wretch—and yet, even so, it could saturate the entire hall with such deadly venom.
[That’s how demons are.]
The Holy Sword spat out the words.
[Anything above a lowly wretch always has at least one specialty. Pathetic, really.]
Thus—
[Normally, I’d prefer to kill everyone slowly and unseen⋯⋯ but whether quick or slow, dead is dead, isn’t it?]
It possessed such an ability, and so even cornered as it was, it could remain so confident.
After all, whether slowly or swiftly, everyone here could be killed.
“You sure do talk a lot.”
Carlyle replied drily as he raised the Holy Sword.
“⋯⋯Wait, Sir Carlyle! I’ll assist you!”
Despite barely being able to stand, Lionel staggered to his feet at the sight.
Truly, he was a man of responsibility.
But in a battle against a demon, allowing a “normal person” to intervene was unacceptable.
“It’s fine, Duke.”
Responsibility aside—
To be honest, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) he would be of no help.
Things that strayed from the “track”—
Had to be faced by one who had also strayed.
“⋯⋯But⋯⋯!”
“Really, it’s fine.”
He had not known this young man for long.
But right now, he was unmistakably different from usual.
Lionel found his gaze drawn to Carlyle’s eyes.
Normally, they held harmless goodwill—the aura Carlyle always carried.
But the way he now looked at the demon—well.
“This will be over quickly.”
—The abyss was there.
At first glance, his eyes seemed unshaken.
But what held them steady was a pillar built on hatred and resentment piled up over a span Lionel could not even begin to fathom.
Just how much must one despise their enemy, to have eyes like that?
Lionel faltered at the realization.
And then, everything happened in an instant.
The first few seconds.
[Melt, you wormlike vermin—!]
Poison spewed from the hydra’s body, scattering in all directions.
The deadly miasma spread, and faces around the hall blanched.
The Reaper was moments away from scything through them all.
The next few seconds.
“That—he’s insane?!”
Someone screamed.
Likely after seeing Carlyle hurl his body straight into the storm of poison.
It was, indeed, madness.
With Carlyle’s current abilities, diving into that maelstrom bare-skinned was tantamount to suicide.
Flesh dissolved, muscles melted, fat liquefied—the agony seared through his body.
In a few more seconds, his limbs might have sloughed clean off.
But.
He was not yet dead.
And as long as he lived—if he could just get close enough to that thing—
[Truly the thought-process of an insect. Do you really think, in that state, you can kill me?]
“No. I won’t kill you.”
Yes.
He would not kill it.
Because there was far too much to ask.
[⋯⋯What?]
The hydra’s baffled response betrayed disbelief at Carlyle’s unshakable composure, as though he still held the initiative even now.
But Carlyle saw no need to explain.
Because it was the truth.
Activating Star’s Tear.
He circulated the Holy Sword’s mana through his body.
And then, the final three seconds.
Hero.
The opponent was an impossible being, capable of spreading “conceptual” poison.
But—
Control your strength.
[Hmph.]
⋯⋯And he—
Was one who wielded the violence that could twist even concepts.
Carlyle raised his fist.
His flesh melted, his muscles shredded and sloughed away, his form grotesque.
And yet—
[What—?]
With a dull thud, he threw his punch.
—⋯⋯
—⋯⋯!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The banquet hall split clean in half.