Chapter 224
Chapter 224
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 224
Chapter Title: Encounter (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Four magic portals hung in the air, and four corpse puppets emerged from them.
No one except Oliver had anticipated this development, so both the helped and the hindered showed equally stunned reactions.
Everyone hesitated amid the sudden shift, but the corpse puppets, summoned by their master, moved faster than anyone.
The first to act was the corpse puppet-Second, slotted into the sniper role.
Loving firepower and charging headlong, Second aimed eight gun barrels at the foe ahead without a hint of hesitation and pulled the triggers.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!!! Bang-! Bang-! Tat-a-tang!! Du-du-du-du——!! Clang! Clang!!
The deafening gunfire roared out.
Firepower rivaling dozens of gangsters erupted in unison, forcing the attackers to stagger back.
They'd remodeled all their guns at the Black Market following Sam's lead, then layered on black magic besides—even superhuman physiques found it burdensome.
Sizzle...!
Plus, a few bullets carried experimental disease-weakening black magic, nullifying regeneration.
Having thus shackled the enemy's advance with sheer firepower, Second leveled the sword-off shotguns gripped in both arms.
"Kyahaha—!!"
Boom——!! Boom——!!
With the signature tear of air, the enemies before the sniper were literally ripped apart.
Astounding firepower, as expected.
Of course, the other corpse puppets weren't slouches either.
Corpse puppet-Duncan synced with corpse puppet-Black Mage to max out their output, slew two incoming foes in a flash, then stood guard around Al and Forrest.
The fresh corpse puppet-Rag 2 split its gut wide, flipping innards out—and revealed the twelve arms stashed inside.
"Wow..."
Forrest gaped at the grotesque spectacle, awed for better or worse.
"Clack-clack-! Clack-clack-! Clack-clack-!"
Corpse puppet-Rag 2 chattered its teeth furiously, flailing dozens of limbs to repel the encroaching enemies.
Those arms concealed poisoned needles and razor blades—lethal enough. Distance offered no safety, though.
This new corpse puppet-Rag 2 packed extra features.
For instance, hydrochloric acid from the mouth.
"Chahahahahahaha—!!!"
True enough, as the foe retreated, Rag 2 gaped wide and hosed acid via its sprayer, blinding the target.
Enemies howled in agony. Duncan barreled in swinging tonfa, granting mercy to the sightless.
Thus, the Development Opposition Committee's ambush flopped entirely... no, worse.
In that split-second clash of judgments, the battle tide flipped completely.
Most committee members lurking for the perfect moment fell to the corpse puppets' counter in an instant.
Unlike Oliver, they held no mercy—recovery powers meant nothing.
"Kraaaah—!!"
The greatsword-bandage man, at his limit, butchered blocking allies and retreated from Oliver.
He bled heavily from the pounding, his body-wrapping bandages loosened and ragged.
Especially the face.
"...Huh?"
Noticing belatedly, he pawed at the sagging cloth.
Layers had crumbled, baring part of his face.
"Ugh...!"
Al, ever taciturn and dutiful, spoke up uncharacteristically for the first time.
No one could fault him.
Not after glimpsing the abomination beneath the bandages.
A nose jammed upside-down where the brow should be; ears where eyes belonged; eyeballs embedded at philtrum and chin.
Only the mouth sat right—twisted still, stirring primal revulsion.
Even hardened underworld types recoiled.
"Ah... Ah... Ah..."
The man himself reeled, frenziedly rewrapping while babbling, situation forgotten.
Oliver alone stayed unfazed.
Strange as it sounded, he felt no real disgust.
Just that initial off-kilter familiarity, tinged with pity.
Was that why?
"Wait."
Oliver halted corpse puppet-Duncan and Rag 2 mid-attack.
No concrete reason—he simply sensed now was for waiting, not striking.
The greatsword-bandage man hastily rebound his face, eyes blazing hate past rage at Oliver.
He'd botched badly, it seemed.
'Revealing my face worse than killing allies?'
He mulled apology, but change seized his body first.
That already eerie life force warped stranger still.
Yet familiar too.
Definitely felt it once before.
'Where, though?'
Oliver sifted memories back in seconds—and pinpointed it.
Fighting Puppet in the contaminated zone; devoured, he'd sensed something akin.
'Hell's gateway...'
Yes. Faint energy, but same essence.
Questions flooded.
How'd a contaminated zone dweller leak hellish aura? No mere mutant? Why so familiar to him? His mind reeled.
As Oliver pondered, the greatsword-bandage man's form shifted.
Size swelled slightly; scrawny muscles ballooned grotesque; limbs stretched 1.5-fold with extra joints.
Nothing normal about it—but worse, his life force exploded, muddied hellishly.
What was what... Insatiably curious.
Were all committee like this? Z Zone folk? So many questions.
"Mr. Forrest. Know anything?"
"Hate seeming useless, but no clue. Sorry."
Forrest's apology rang hollow to Oliver.
Al blanched vomit-pale at the transformation—not weak guts.
Hard to articulate, but that true face, that shift—it dredged humanity's raw horror and loathing.
Forrest keeping cool to answer? Admirable mental fortitude, no apology needed.
"No, it's fine. I'll ask straight. Third, False. Help?"
Third in Rag 2 clacked teeth! False in Duncan answered silent.
Transform complete, the greatsword-bandage man hefted his blade in enlarged grip, battle-ready.
Bang. Bang. Roll roll roll...
Pre-fight, a clear, lovely tink rolled in.
Fist-sized glass orb, seamless, brimming clear liquid.
Paang—!!!
Red black magic array on the orb detonated, vial shattering.
Blast sent innards fountaining; splashed, the greatsword-bandage man smoked and shrieked whole-body.
Sizzle...!
"Kwaaaaaaaaah!!!!"
Air-rending, raw anguish—like acid-doused.
Yet Oliver's black mage sight pierced: water, not acid. Uncommon sort.
"...Holy water."
Oliver noted the infused aura—near-identical to holy knights' divine power.
A man replied, stepping from shadow.
Beard scruffy, dark circles deep, hair greasy-swept artfully aside.
Traveler's thick cloak hid pricey garb beneath, fashion-faded.
"Oh, sharp eyes. Black mages' basics, though."
"Know him?"
Forrest asked. Oliver answered.
"No... but I think so."
The greatsword-bandage man quieted from holy water screams, whipped head to glare at the intruder.
He knew him, shockingly.
"You...!"
"Hey there? Keeping well, old timer?"
Not thrilled—growl rose. Man stood firm.
"Ease up. Ugly face gets uglier angry? ...Or try me?"
He dangled holy water vial-strung fuse. Cloak brimmed bamboo vials, herb sacks, drug tubes—arsenal ambulatory.
Uses unclear, but tools' black magic depth screamed elite.
The greatsword-bandage man, sensing it like Oliver, held back.
"Grrrrr..."
"Got it. Got it. Retract 'ugly.' So, fake a loss and bail? Business with the kid. Relay to the old man—I'll explain in person later."
Man thumbed Oliver casually.
Backed or brawny, pure nonchalance.
Greatsword-bandage man grumbled; man drew frog-faced glutton pouch, bag-sized.
Will roused it—bulging eyes popped, toothed zipper yawned, tongues lashed wet.
Dozens, arcing smooth past Oliver and puppets to snag, swallow committee corpses.
Ten-plus bodies gulped whole. Prime glutton pouch.
"Kyahaha...!"
Rag 2's Third, Duncan's False fumed at stolen stock—Oliver hand-stayed them.
Rare parts stung lost, but the spectacle enthralled more.
Man tossed frog-pouch to greatsword-bandage counterpart, who play-lost it and fled.
Wall-scaling one-hand, blade and bag borne.
Physical marvel anew.
Oliver watched, gaze shifting to intruder.
Man met eyes steady.
"Mr. Smith's master, perchance?"
"Yup. Nice meeting. Heard it pays."
He bowed theatrical, stage ham all.