Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: Revival (1)
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It had been a rigged match from the start. The moment he realized that, slashes rained down. Dozens of red lines etched across his defenseless flesh. In his fading vision, Ronan's voice echoed.
"Sorry about that. You're just a lousy student."
Balzac's consciousness cut off.
.
.
.
"...Ugh."
Balzac opened his eyes. His ears rang, and his back felt cold against the ground. A familiar voice drifted in from somewhere nearby.
"Not dead, are you?"
"With three cores of pure essence, he won't die... Regeneration's almost complete."
"Good thing. Most guys drop dead from half that damage."
His head had barely regenerated. But patches of his body were still numb.
Balzac lifted his head and scanned his surroundings. He lay in the center of a massive pool of blood.
His regenerating body resembled a crudely glued-together porcelain doll. Fragments of his former flesh floated in the bloody water. Splash. He laid his head back down and muttered softly.
"...I lost."
"Oh, you're awake."
Balzac focused his mind in silence. The pool began to dry up rapidly. Soon, having absorbed all the blood and flesh, he rose to his feet. His fully regenerated body was stark naked. Ronan's face twisted in disgust.
"Ugh, fuck. Cover up or something."
"How long was I out?"
"About ten minutes."
"Enough time to kill me thirty times over."
Balzac picked up a rag from the floor and wrapped it around himself. Then, wordlessly, he placed a hand on his chest.
A crimson glow seeped from where his heart lay, coiling around his fingers. Balzac extended the core of pure blood essence and said,
"Take it."
"Straight to the point. I like it."
"We both played dirty. I lost, you won."
His voice carried no emotion. Ronan nodded. Ophelia approached with Cita, having watched the exchange.
Balzac turned to her and said,
"Ophelia. Sorry to show you such an ugly side on our reunion."
"No, you fought well."
"Spare me the platitudes. So, have you finally forgiven me?"
Ophelia realized she was now within three steps of Balzac. After a moment of silence, she spoke.
"Not quite... but at this distance..."
"The first advance in two hundred years. I'm touched."
Balzac bared his fangs in a grin. Ophelia remained expressionless, unresponsive. She and Cita began processing the pulsing essence in his hand.
"That's it, nice and slow. Like freezing it gradually."
"Pya."
A highly precise blood magic was at work. The lump of pure mana was transforming into a solid crystal.
Soon, the processed core—now a gem-like crystal holding every shade of red in the world—was placed in Cita's mouth. Ronan gently stroked Cita's head.
"Good job. You really carried us today."
"Pyaa~"
Cita, rumbling contentedly, passed the essence to Ronan. At that instant, chains of letters emerged from both Ronan and Balzac's solar plexuses. Confirming the blood pact's end, Balzac turned away.
"Well, I'll be off. Until next time, Ophelia."
"Yeah. Take care."
Suddenly, the cloak around Balzac fell away. Ronan cursed, but beneath it wasn't a naked pervert—instead, a massive bat with one eye gleamed gray-brown. The cyclops bat turned to Ronan and spoke.
"Ronan. I'll remember you."
"Suit yourself. Use the essence well."
"Get stronger. Next time, I expect a fair fight."
Balzac spread his wings—spanning at least four meters. With one flap, he vanished. Ronan stared at the spot and muttered,
"Thought he'd throw a tantrum. Surprisingly chill."
"Yeah. That's just how he is."
"Huuu... That was close. Really."
Ronan finally exhaled in relief. Just then, his polymorph wore off, returning him to normal. He'd been on edge, fearing Balzac might snap and charge back.
'Dirty strong. For real.'
He'd only won by pulling every dirty trick. In a straight fight, he'd have lost for sure. The need to grow stronger burned urgently.
'Rematch when I'm bigger. Too filthy for this kid body.'
Too tough an opponent for a child's frame. Composing himself, Ronan smirked. No honor in the win, but a win was a win. He turned to Ophelia.
"Thanks. Owe you my life."
"No... I didn't do much."
"When a guy saves your ass, you spit on the ground and demand everything he's got. That's the play."
He meant it. Without her, everything would've gone south. Stretching, Ronan turned.
"Head back first. Gonna poke around more."
"Graverobbing... not recommended."
"Hey, you think I'm some desperate punk stealing bone-dust cash? Just curious."
The architecture nagged him—too like Sarante's temple. Leaving those words, he exited the hall.
Still, shiny loot wouldn't hurt. Ophelia, standing blankly, trailed after him.
"I said go. Might take a while."
"No. I like this stuff... Nothing else to do."
"Alright."
Ronan nodded. They wandered the tomb together. Multiple lootings showed—smashed walls, scorch marks everywhere.
"By the way, been wondering—what's with you two? Old flames?"
"Just childhood friends. He grew up in our castle."
"Felt more distant than that. Treated you like a stray chasing shit."
"Well... he killed my little sister."
A chill silence fell. Fuck. Ronan muttered under his breath. As he pondered backpedaling, Ophelia spoke again.
"...I get it, though. She tried assassinating the Archduke. Balzac saved his family and the Night World. Hero, basically."
"What?"
"Still couldn't forgive him. I loved her so much."
Ophelia continued calmly. Her once-vibrant sister had changed overnight—despairing everything, cynical in all things. Eventually, ranting that pointless order must crumble, she tried killing the Shadow Archduke.
"She was... off back then. Like a different person."
"No guess why?"
"Hmm... No clue. After she changed, she barely left her room."
"Too bad."
"Yeah. Hearts... are complicated."
Ophelia fell silent. They walked dark corridors in quiet. Soon, a dead end. Ronan scratched his head.
"Knew something was here... Guess not."
Nothing left to dig. Gut miss. Shit happens. As he turned, Cita tugged his collar.
"Pya. Pya."
"Huh? What?"
Ronan turned. Nothing. Then Cita fired a fist-sized blood bullet at the blocked wall. Boom! Part shattered, mana leaking through.
"This...?"
Familiar mana. Ronan gripped his hilt. Seven slashes later, the wall crumbled, revealing a hidden room. Ophelia's eyes widened.
"A room like this...?"
A small chamber with intricate reliefs on three walls. Faint mana drifted inside. Ronan raised a brow. In the center stood an ugly rock.
"...Seniel?"
Shape differed, but the feel matched. Identical to Sarante's temple statue.
The Seniel idol, shaped by a millennium of wind and rain. Sarante had said her great will dwelled within for Ronan, then turned to stone.
Ronan approached entranced, placing a hand on the bumpy surface. A bizarre chill raced through his veins like cold water. His eyes widened.
"Damn, what?"
He yanked his hand back, but the sensation lingered. Ophelia muttered, startled.
"...It's gone."
"Huh?"
"The mana from the rock... vanished."
True enough. Room mana gone too. Circumstances screamed he'd absorbed it.
"...What?"
Ronan groaned, brow furrowed. No answers came. The chill faded soon after.
He bowed to the idol like Sarante had, then left the tomb. Watery swamp scent thickened nearing the exit. As stone doors parted—
Thwip! A thick crossbow bolt flew straight at him. Ronan drew and swung. Thud. Halved bolt hit ground.
"Now what?"
"Hiiiik...! M-Monster!"
Ronan eyed the noise. A shady man held a crossbow, staring. Ophelia beside him spoke.
"Smells familiar. One of those kids' minions from below."
"Ah. Kill him?"
"Yeah."
Ophelia nodded. Man bolted toward swamp. She raised a hand to chant—Ronan blocked her path, mid-thought.
"Uh...? What?"
"Wait. Feels like now's the time."
Ten steps away. Ronan focused, swung Lamancha at him. Splat! Sword aura along the path hit man's thigh.
"Gaaah!"
"Knew it."
Man screamed, tumbling. Ronan closed fast. Deep gash to bone on thigh back.
"S-Spare me! No more vampires, I swear!"
Man flailed half-severed leg backward. Spraying blood soaked grass. Ronan clicked tongue.
"Tch, didn't quite sever."
"How...?"
Ophelia asked, shocked. Ronan's sword aura stronger than vs. Balzac. He shook head.
"Dunno. Probably that rock. Sudden like this."
Range tripled from three steps—huge leap. Recoil on firing felt lighter too. As Ronan raised sword for neck—Ophelia tugged his sleeve.
"Wait... Can I have him?"
"Huh? Why?"
"You know... that thing."
Ophelia blushed, hand on belly, avoiding eyes. Right, vampire. Ronan nodded, patted shoulder.
"Got it. Take your time."
"Uh... Thanks."
"Wait, 'take your time' eating?!"
Ronan walked off without reply. Man scrambled back in terror. Ophelia's parted lips gleamed white fangs. Swamp mist swallowed them. Then—
"Gaaaaah!!"
Mist cleared. Only shed skin remained.
Ronan arrived at Phileon Sunday morning. Stepping into the courtyard, exhaustion crashed. Hard to believe it all fit one day.
"...Gotta handle business first."
Wanted to crash socks-on, but no. Straight to Phileon Tower 41, Jarodin's lab. Knock knock. Dry voice soon replied.
"Ronan?"
"Yes."
"Wait."
Latches clicked. Door opened—gaunter were-jerboa appeared. Ronan frowned.
"Damn, you eating at all? Look skinnier."
"Mind your own. What is it?"
"Gift. Ta-da."
Ronan pulled blood essence from pocket. Jarodin's blank eyes bulged.
He yanked Ronan's wrist inside. Bang! Door slammed. Trembling voice:
"Th-This... Where'd you get it?"
"Professor's friend gave it."
"Friend...?"
"Whatever. You sure you're okay? Still look sick."
"I'm fine. Not the point."
Jarodin raised hand. Seven latches locked—floor shifted. Spiral stairs to lab emerged. Grabbing Ronan's shoulders:
"Time for Experiment 144. Right now."