Chapter 200
Chapter 200
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Mage of Mages (20)
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At first, I thought it was just me being a bit tense.
A margrave was an imperial noble, wielding absolute power in his own territory.
Since I wasn’t visiting this great noble for pleasant reasons, my body must have stiffened up. Even so, it hadn’t felt like much yet—I could chat idly with Lucilla and maintain my persona in front of the butler.
Thump.
It started with a light offbeat. You know that sensation when something hits your chest hard, and the shock reverberates from the inside? The way the air trapped within rushes out in a half-breath, like a faint exhale.
“Starting from the left with the portrait of the first family head, these are the portraits of successive heads. As a founding merit family, its history matches the age of the empire itself...”
Step. Step. Step. Step.
As the butler guided us through the castle’s corridors and we ventured deeper inside, the eerie reverberation grew sharper and more vivid.
By then, I knew it wasn’t just my imagination.
My next thought was that this might be due to NPCfication.
Knights. Beings in this game world who had driven themselves to independence, carving out their own personal cosmos within the universe of GG.
With so many high knights gathered—monsters who could unbind the world using mana as their material—it made sense that I’d perceive their presence as some bizarre reality within the game, their pressure tightening my throat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
As we neared the drawing room, my head grew hazy, the pounding in my chest now so intense I had to struggle not to gasp aloud, and the strange thirst squeezing my guts turned Lucilla’s chatter via message magic and the butler’s recounting of family history into distant echoes. I clenched my teeth to stay silent, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I’d exhale like a beast.
Pressure? Sure, it was pressure. Partly due to NPCfication, too.
But it wasn’t from the knights. As we approached the drawing room where the lord awaited, I could feel that the pressure filling my organs to the brim—threatening to burst through my skin—was actually thrilling me. Yes. This was ecstasy. Like a desert traveler spotting an oasis. Like someone dangling from a cliff finally collapsing atop it to gaze at the sky. Pure biological bliss.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump—!
The source of the eerie throb was my heart. Racing full throttle, as if charging toward life’s end. Pumping blood so fresh it scorched my brain, each pulse swelling my aorta to capillaries visibly from the outside, like a roaring engine.
Only then did I realize it. My body—still unaccustomed to this game character harboring real-world senses—had already entered combat readiness without my sluggish mind noticing. The body that had grown through cycles of destruction and reconstruction, honing itself into a form ever more suited for battle, had sensed something and begun preheating before my brain could react.
“Th-the Hero of Light, Professor, and the noble lady Lucilla Aedran—!”
And then. As the massive drawing room doors parted, unleashing the trapped air within—
Clunk.
Creeeak—
Step. Step. Step.
...everything fell silent.
My rampaging heart stilled as if it had never pounded, pumping blood thick and sticky.
My head, on the verge of bursting with heat, cleared to perfect clarity in an instant.
Siiiip.
Haaaaah.
In a sensation where even the air seemed to flow sluggishly, I inhaled deeply, savoring it.
Moist air thick with the steam of freshly boiled soup. The aroma of food stirring hunger, pierced by the sharp tang of human scent mingling in—sweat, scalp oil, ingrained filth masked by cheap perfume.
And, ever so faintly. Like autumn leaves brushing past on the wind, grazing my nostrils and vanishing. Yet enough to upend my body inside and out, drawing forth a ravenous hunger. A fishy, metallic tang.
Only then did it click perfectly. Ah, ever since entering this state, I hadn’t consumed Mutation Blood even once. I’d depleted my stored supply crossing the mountains and spent days depleted amid battles and forced marches.
My human body might be full, but the rest—powered by Mutation Blood—starved terribly.
I simply hadn’t recognized the unfamiliar sensation.
No wonder. Why else would my reflection in that bronze cup, or the monster sprawled in the administrative office photo, look like it wore a white priest’s robe?
“Hero of Light... How peculiar. I don’t recall inviting you.”
“Even if you reject the dawn...”
My tongue spat the fitting reply, but every other sense—sight, smell, even the hairs on my skin—stood on end, scanning the drawing room for prey.
‘Species capable of mimicking human form. Insomnia Crab. Skin Crawler. Mutant Doppelganger. Which one? Who’s my prey?’
Pretending to raise a cup, I scanned the surroundings in its smooth surface.
Those who don’t reflect in mirrors or glossy surfaces: none. Not a doppelganger.
I eliminated suspects one by one amid the conversation.
‘Insomnia Crab’s out too. Unlike mages, a knight’s body can’t be perfectly dominated at that level. They see themselves as one with their weapon—losing ego would trigger violent rejection.’
That left one option. With the target confirmed, my razor-sharp senses swept over the family head and knights in an instant.
‘...Found it.’
The beast within roared in rapture.
I hadn’t lost reason. If anything, my mind was several times clearer than usual. Even in this half-mad frenzy, I’d listened to the head, replied, and restrained myself from playing the church’s strongest card—“heretic”—until pinpointing the target.
Of course, the wait was over now.
“We’ve detected signs of heresy in Vizillen territory. By the church’s lawful authority, we request your family and territory’s full cooperation in our investigation.”
Boom!
“Such insolence...!”
As I declared him a heretic, Demicas shot to his feet.
How strange. All these knights had trained their bodies to the limit, veins bulging obviously on hands and arms without needing to check.
So why was this Demicas so mannequin-smooth? Like there was an extra layer of skin beneath.
Come to think of it, a hero might not hold political office, but their religious authority was immense—enough to earn robes worth three gold threads with one word. They’d known I entered the territory yesterday, yet no invitation or greeting until now. Suspicious.
I’d come hunting fake heretics with fake piety, only to find the real apostle of the evil god as the true hero.
[Y-You okay, Hero? Your face is... ugh...]
What about my face? In that instant, I felt my lips stretch ear-to-ear, baring white fangs.
‘Yeah. Not feeling bad at all.’
Thoughts flashed through my mind. The head’s son. Not the heir, but the second son key to family affairs. Even if it were treason, not heresy, the head would shield him first. Waiting longer, memorizing the castle layout on entry, then sneaking in at night to extract the mere-skinned mutant in holy oil or soul-rip it with Aldrich’s necromancy for ironclad proof before the head—that would’ve been easier. But against reason, my body had already declared him.
[Lucilla.]
[Y-Yes!]
[Hide. Now.]
[....!]
She didn’t ask from whom.
‘A monster’s body in a tall stone building.’
Suddenly, memories of Tobrun surfaced, and my talk with Hyde.
[Shell. You don’t know how to use your body, do you? Watching from inside must be suffocating.]
“So that’s what you meant, Hyde.”
Ah. Refreshing. If Hyde saw this. If he were here now.
Crack, spluuurt!
The priest’s robes I’d barely held together burst. The inherently frail skin tore, and muscle fibers sprouted eagerly from within.
Tough, condensed power overlaid the fragile flesh too weak to contain it. Black hide settled like a mix of reptile scales and insect chitin, glossy and dark, with bursting blood droplets seeping in to grow red armor over the gaps.
Snap, snap!
The effect of passive skill [Pain Reduction]. In game terms, just a skill dulling the agony of a body breaking apart.
[Pain Reduction (Mid): Having endured countless pains and fully internalized them, a portion of pain inflicted on the player is mitigated.]
Enduring pain to internalize it, reducing pain. Not a game effect, but real human change—it meant my nerves were utterly fried.
‘This... means my nerves are completely shot...!’
Euphoria like electricity frying my brain made my jaw tremble, fangs clashing densely.
My last shred of reason fretted.
‘This should be enough to think and move properly. Right? Hyde. You listening? I haven’t fully become a monster, have I?’
I felt the process of turning human to monster in real time—reason yielding to instinct, self twisting. Losing humanity. My body mutating like that, the human part reduced to data memories, now even those fading and warping. Terror at it all.
But that fear scattered like dust before the surging euphoria.
‘This feels natural, really. My outer body’s already perfected Form 3. Becoming a monster just means getting closer to those lost memories. Maybe my vegetative-state memories shaped the character like this.’
Blood scent. Fishy, fragrant. The thick life aroma sustaining me from five years ago to now.
On my final deep inhale, the monster’s slit eyes snapped open.
Until now, aided by the system—merely skimming the surface through its veil—this body embodied all GG’s combat data fully internalized.
Shing.
“...They say beyond the mountains, it’s full war with grotesque monsters. But those zealots who birthed this... hardly have room to talk.”
“Grrrrr. Alessio Vizillen. By church law... I grant one appeal. As of now, Hero of Light Professor declares your son a heretic tainted by the evil god. Did you know Demicas Vizillen was its apostle?”
Boom!
“Father! Ignore that monster! Between blood kin you’ve shared half your life with and a non-human beast, which do you believe? Isn’t it obvious!”
“Lord Demicas is right! Since when do Vizillen knights parley with monsters! Head, slay that beast at once—”
Shwick!
“Silence.”
The head’s downward blade cleaved the table mirror-smooth. Aura refined flawlessly, guarding the knight who’d sealed the territory against endless undead and beasts without fail.
With one breath technique clearing most obstacles, the head stared into the monster’s eyes unwavering.
“Demicas... had talent and brilliance. He turned inferiority to his brother into drive. Even when he rushed out at new monsters in the mountains and returned acting strangely, I thought it mere thrashing against that complex...”
Even as the white-robed priest before him ballooned into a ceiling-touching monster, the head’s eyes held serene light unperturbed.
As if reading something in Professor’s eyes, he growled with resignation and resolve.
“As Vizillen, imperial guardian... not one foe has crossed here.”
“Father! It’s me! Demicas Vizillen! You handed me this sword yourself, we fought the mountain monsters together— Kraaaagh!”
Slash—
No wind-up, no hesitation. Just the blade tip shifting sideways, slicing Demicas’s forearm soundlessly.
“Kraaaagh— ugh, grrr, keeeek, guroook!”
The head stared impassively at the blood-soaked, root-like tendrils writhing from the stump.
“...Cleric. Does the church... heal that?”
“Flay the skin, excise the corruption, purify the tainted flesh with fire.”
“...Behind the castle lies our family’s ancestral graveyard. Mine awaits. My son’s too...”
“Keeeek! Fa— Fath— How, whyyy—”
Shwick!
“One spot must stay empty. Can’t bury that beside my wife.”
With firm lips, the head decapitated what was once Demicas in one stroke.
“The Vizillen family has executed its own... heretic blood kin. Will you accept the appeal, cleric?”
The margrave spoke, breath ragged as if emotions surged, voice boiling yet cold.
Professor cared more for the Mutation Blood trickling toward his toes, but he didn’t rush.
As the death rattle pierced ears upon the thing’s demise, his senses snagged more prey.
A beast craving beast blood bared fangs, savoring the flow at his feet.
“Partially. Accepted.”
“...Partially. Even after I beheaded my son myself, it’s not enough?”
“Grrrr. The family’s innocence is proven. But for the whole territory? Insufficient. Knight Demicas oversaw wall guards and patrols. Margrave. How many soldiers entered the mountains with him after your son changed?”
“...Damn it all.”
The margrave’s composure cracked, curses spilling as—
Boom!
“H-Head! Emergency! Wall guards suddenly turned to monsters, massacring citizens— Hiiiik! Monster!”
A gasping soldier burst in, confirming the head’s fears.
The head raced to the terrace, eyes meeting flames and slaughter.
Craaash. Clang!
A monster shattered the narrow glass doors, standing beside him.
“Going?”
“To save survivors... kill the rest. Isn’t that the hero’s duty?”
“...Repulsive thing. Wipe that drool first.”
The monster wiped its mouth with its hand. Saliva pooling, overflowing. Not enough. One small Skin Crawler. Far too little!
He’d ethically, heroically, as a player, created a situation demanding total extermination. Now he could indulge fully.
“Grulk. Take survivors to the inner keep. Watch for hidden mutants among them.”
“Anything else?”
“...Recommend not looking my way.”
Whoosh!
With that, the fully prepped monster launched toward the city.
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