Chapter 55: Bug Hunting
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 55: Bug Hunting
While Sion and Olivia were asleep, the night grew deeper.
In the slums, where the darkness lay especially thick, things that had turned their backs on the world moved in hushed silence.
"Ugh... my head..."
A man soaked in booze stumbled through the alleys of the shantytown.
He was a piece of trash who enjoyed spending his days drinking away the money he forced street urchins to beg for. To him, the dregs of the slums were no different from bugs—convenient playthings with no value beyond that. He was the kind of man whose foul personality made it unsurprising if he were stabbed to death by a beggar at any moment.
Four men with concealed faces approached him.
"What the hell? You bitches... you here to do me in?"
The man roared, his voice thick with intoxication.
He had a decent level of Mana Adaptation and was confident in his fists. Though he had lost his nerve to enter the Labyrinth after losing two fingers, he was an expert at exploiting those even lower on the social ladder than himself.
As a notorious thug even by slum standards, he believed he could easily take down the men who had come for him at this hour.
"You little shits have lost your damn minds! You think I’ll be scared just because you showed up at night? You think four of you are enough to bury one of me? Not a chance, you vermin. Fine, come and die today."
The man put strength into his fists.
He had been an adventurer in his prime. He possessed two Abilities and was confident he could knock down any number of slum losers, whether it was four or five. He had done it many times before.
He wasn't the first to try and kill a drunk man in the dead of night. Arrogance born of experience gave him courage. Unaware that it was mere bravado, the man lunged at the four figures watching him silently.
"Huh?"
His chest felt hot.
The man stared blankly at his chest as a burning pain flared up.
"Wha—what is this?"
Before he knew it, a dagger was buried in his chest. It was a blade of pure black, seemingly dyed that way to prevent it from reflecting the moonlight.
He hadn't even seen the strike. The gap in their skills was so vast he couldn't even perceive the movement.
"Cough...!"
Without a moment's hesitation, the men swarmed him, driving their blades into his body. They plunged their daggers in relentlessly before he could even think of resisting. Judging by their lack of hesitation, they were experts at taking lives.
He flailed his arms, swinging his fists, but he couldn't touch them. Only then did the man realize that these masked figures were leagues above him. They were at least Silver Badge level.
Once that realization hit, a question followed: Why would four Silver Badge experts go out of their way to come to the slums at this hour just to kill him?
There was no logical reason. He might have exploited the beggars and dregs of the slums, but he had never caused trouble for those in the "upper world." He had lived his life quietly tormenting the weak in the shadows.
Why would four Silver Badge warriors waste their time on him? It didn't make financial sense. With the money required to hire four such experts, one could simply leave the slums altogether.
The man couldn't understand it. He hadn't done anything prominent enough to deserve such a brutal death.
"Gah...!"
Finally, a black dagger pierced his heart. The man wanted to let out a belated scream, but he couldn't even manage a breath. Another dagger had punctured his back, piercing his lung.
Blood filled his chest. His scream was drowned in a muffled surge of gore.
"Ku-hurgh."
A fountain of crimson blood erupted from his mouth. The scent of iron was so strong it masked the smell of alcohol, paralyzing his sense of smell. The man collapsed, retching at the scent of his own blood.
Despite the noise, the residents of the shacks did not come out. The man was a public nuisance who frequently enjoyed drunken shouting matches, so there was no need—and certainly no loyalty—to check on the situation.
Everyone in the alley wished for his death.
Thuck.
Thuck.
Thuck.
Only the sound of tearing clothes and rending flesh echoed through the dark alley. The unpleasant noise of slicing muscle and snapping bone broke the silence. The butchery of the fallen man continued for a long time.
It was a ritual of sorts—an offering that went beyond mere murder. Perhaps it was even a game. Like pulling the legs off a bug, the heretics hacked at the dead man's body with ecstatic fervor.
"Haa... haa..."
"Take the head. Melt the body."
"Yes..."
The men pulled the blood-soaked head from the slum-dweller's shoulders. Then, they poured acid over the remaining remains. The corpse dissolved completely, seeping into the ground until it vanished. Only bloodstains remained at the mouth of the alley.
They were deeply satisfied with the fact that they had prevented the man's Resurrection. Since the body was gone, he could never be brought back. And since they were taking the head into the Labyrinth, this nameless pauper would face permanent death.
"That makes five."
"It is not enough."
a man wearing a veil counted the sacrifices on his fingers. A man wearing a mask made of goblin skin shook his head. Five was insufficient. They needed to take at least two more.
To open the gate, more sacrifices were required. More Abilities were needed.
Clink—
As the men were choosing their next target, the sound of a glass bottle breaking rang out. Someone had walked into the darkness. The men turned in unison toward the source of the sound.
They sensed a presence. A single person.
"An Ability user. Capture them."
At the command of the man in the goat mask, they vanished back into the shadows. If they caught just two more Ability users, they could return to the comfort of the Labyrinth. They had to fill their quota, even if it meant pushing themselves. Otherwise, they would have to face the morning outside the Labyrinth.
The Children of Eve drew their daggers from the shadows. Silently, they waited for the person who had walked into the dark alley of their own accord.
It was a beggar. A pathetic-looking beggar draped in nothing but tattered rags.
They felt a faint aura. It was the kind of weak energy one would have after only two or three rounds of Mana Adaptation. Furthermore, the smell of alcohol wafting from the beggar made it clear he was another drunkard.
Like the man they had just killed, he was likely a piece of slum trash who had given up on being an adventurer to live a bottom-tier life. The slums were full of such people—those who clung to the meager Abilities they gained as adventurers, living recklessly while intoxicated by nostalgia.
They were like cracked blades, weaklings who would break at any moment. They were low-lifes that Silver Badge-level men didn't need to fear—trash they could crush whenever they pleased.
As they had done before, the Children of Eve drew their blades and lunged at the beggar to collect their sacrifice. Moving like streaks of lightning through the dark, they expected to take his life before he could even resist.
This nameless beggar was as good as their sixth offering.
CRASH—!!
"!?"
The head of the veiled man was slammed into the ground. He flailed as the impact shattered his face. He hadn't even been able to react to the beggar's movement.
It was an impossible speed, backed by a terrifyingly immense strength. Gold Badge? No, higher.
"...!!!"
Leaving the fallen heretic aside, the beggar used his elbow to crush the jaw of another heretic who had tried to stab him in the back. Only then did the Children of Eve realize that this was no ordinary beggar.
That wretched appearance was a trap. The faint aura had been a disguise to lure them in. They realized too late.
A hound of the Guild had caught their scent.
It was too late to run. Spiderwebs had already spread across the entire alley.
"You there. Fox mask. Don't move."
At the beggar's voice, the heretic attempting to flee froze. At least one of them had to escape to report that their presence had been discovered, but they were already moths caught in a web.
A thread was draped around the fox-masked man's neck. A silver thread, so thin it was invisible to the naked eye. It was strung everywhere like a spider's web. One move, and his head would be gone.
It was a trap set by the Spider of the Guild.
"I came because the smell of blood was overwhelming... just how many have you devoured?"
No one answered the Spider's question. These were not the type of people to spill information; they would rather die. The Spider knew this as well. Heretics were notorious for being tight-lipped. They would never talk through ordinary means.
Therefore, he had to capture them and use extraordinary means.
"I guarantee you... you will talk in the end."
The Spider smiled.
Kill them and resurrect them. Wound them and heal them. Feed them drugs to force the truth out. He had done it countless times. Among those who threatened the city, none had ever failed to spill their secrets once they fell into the Spider's hands.
"Urgh...!"
The heretics thought quickly. The worst-case scenario was being killed, resurrected, and dragged to a torture chamber. Being tortured wasn't the problem—pain was part of their path to seeking the truth. What they truly feared was leaking information about their brethren during that process.
They were going to die anyway. If they died, they would be resurrected and dragged away. Therefore, the best option was to ensure they could not be resurrected. Death was inevitable.
The heretics reached a consensus. They could not allow their bodies to remain intact after death. They knew they wouldn't be able to withstand the information leak in the torture chamber.
The heretics activated their sorcery without an incantation. The seals engraved on the backs of their heads glowed faintly. Their heads and upper bodies would blow apart simultaneously. Their bodies would be destroyed beyond the point of Resurrection.
The Spider realized they were going to self-destruct. If they blew themselves up and damaged their corpses, he wouldn't be able to bring them back. He had to kill them before they could die on their own terms.
"Oh, dear."
The Spider twitched his left hand, and the fox-masked man's head flew off. He couldn't kill the others in time.
The blood and flesh of the other heretics sprayed in all directions, creating a mist of gore. The alley was instantly turned into a mess of exploded heretic fragments.
"Nasty bastards. A Forbidden Art, I see."
The Spider picked up the relatively intact corpse of the fox-masked man. He had killed one just in time. That alone was a significant harvest.
"Why were they only trying to take the heads?"
The Spider pulled out the five heads contained in their sacks. There was no commonality in age, gender, or race. However, it would later be revealed that they were all former adventurers. It would also be revealed that they were specifically hunting those with Abilities.
Heretics who had been subjugated long ago and recently resurrected in the Labyrinth were now sneaking into the streets. The four entrances connected to the Labyrinth were under strict surveillance. They were supposed to be monitored 24 hours a day so that any emerging threat could be dealt with immediately.
And yet, the heretics had crawled up like cockroaches. They clearly possessed some means that the Guild had yet to identify. Perhaps they were sending souls up to possess human bodies, or perhaps a new entrance had been created.
Or, there was a very high possibility that they had an accomplice within the city.
The Spider could not ignore the possibility that an entrance other than the four located at the cardinal points of the city had been opened.
"I'll find out once I bring him back to life."
He was confident in his ability to extract information. Once he resurrected the fox mask, he would be able to find some clues.
The Spider slung the corpse over his shoulder and melted into the darkness. The Platinum Badge monster headed toward the Church, carrying the heretic's remains.