Chapter 178
Chapter 178
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 178
Chapter Title: The Predator of the Marshlands
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One of the Empire's most notorious forbidden zones was the marshlands—also Caron's home.
It was also the place teeming with the highest number of undead in the Empire.
The reason the marshlands were considered so perilous...
Some ancient, mighty nation had met its end there, or so the stories went. Caron couldn't have cared less.
That said, among the undead prowling the marshlands, there were occasionally ones clad in extraordinarily expensive attire.
The marshlands covered more than thirty percent of the Empire's eastern territory—a vast expanse that no subjugation force had ever bothered to reclaim.
The reason was simple.
For centuries, no one had found a way to eradicate them completely.
The marshlands were divided into the outskirts, the central zone, and the depths...
Truth be told, the outskirts weren't as dangerous as the rumors made them out to be.
Even the hut of Hyde Woodjack, the Empire's top ranger, sat on its edge. Monsters and beasts appeared now and then, too.
Of course, being a forbidden zone, even the monsters on the outskirts were no pushovers.
Caron recalled the toughest, most grueling hunt of his life.
He had been twelve, and it was winter.
His opponent was an alligator known even on the outskirts as the "Predator"—and it was on the smaller side for its kind.
Only a bit larger than Caron had been back then. Which made it all the more cunning.
It might be a prejudice to say small things are clever, but in the marshlands, where the law of the jungle was etched into every fiber of existence, it was truth.
The Predator had white scales atypical for an alligator, along with golden eyes.
Thinking of it even now made the scar on his nose bridge throb.
Caron's condition at the time?
Crushed fracture of the left forearm bone, open fracture of the ribs, multiple contusions, excessive blood loss, and impaired cognition and judgment from prolonged sleep deprivation.
At an age where he'd burst into tears over a scraped knee from a fall.
Yet Caron's eyes were coldly sunken, and he even felt relief that he was in better shape than his prey.
Because the Predator had fallen into Caron's trap—its tail severed, a hole punched in its belly, spilling its guts.
After four days of brutal combat, Caron had claimed victory.
It wasn't due to any gap between human and beast. The Predator had shown inhuman endurance.
The decisive factor was simple.
Caron had simply prepared more.
He'd scouted its size, traits, primary attack methods, and nest beforehand. He'd mapped its patrol routes meticulously and lined them with traps. He'd even built a simple hideout in a blind spot.
He'd already coated it with manrihyang on the first strike, so he could track its position to the end.
He'd sated his hunger with prepared jerky and his thirst with his canteen.
Pain, then, was no obstacle or hindrance to Caron.
'The situation's better than back then.'
Physically, at least.
Skull fracture, crushed eyeball, dislocated left shoulder blade. None were immediately fatal.
Thanks to that, even under the onslaught, Caron's remaining eye could still track the princess.
'Did she dodge?'
No.
It was my mistake.
Caron bit his lip in anguish.
He'd been too hasty.
Wounds accumulating on his body, mana and stamina steadily draining—he could feel it.
If his condition worsened further, he wouldn't be sure of landing a hit even at point-blank range.
Should he have held out longer?
Endured until the brink of death to close the distance?
Had he lacked resolve?
'Pointless thoughts.'
What was done was done.
Caron focused on the present instead of dwelling on regret.
The sword aimed at her throat had lodged in the princess's right shoulder blade. It had severed the tendons precisely, so at least she wouldn't be flailing around like she was playing piano in midair anymore.
Caron pinned his hopes on that.
He prayed that bizarre motion wasn't just some random spasm.
'If that grotesque movement was her only way to command the puppets...'
Losing one arm meant the collapse of her command structure.
"Ha, haha... P-pain! Is this pain? It's... way more vivid than I imagined...!"
The princess spouted nonsense, her face drained of color. She groped her skewered shoulder, then brought her blood-soaked palm to her face.
Soon her features were smeared like those of a cannibal after a feast.
'Crazy bitch...'
The moment he cursed inwardly, a chill whipped up.
Seren's ice storm.
Caron, who had been pinned and pummeled by the puppets, finally hauled himself up.
"Are you alright? I adjusted the direction as best I could, at least."
Caron forced his dislocated shoulder back into place as he replied.
"...Good enough."
Crack.
Seren stuck out her tongue at the sight. Did he really not feel pain?
Her brow had furrowed when the joint popped back in, so maybe not.
"You two okay?"
Evan had joined them in the meantime.
He'd seemed the most overwhelmed, yet he looked the least worse for wear. No visible wounds, not even much fatigue.
Evan seemed to grasp the looks he was getting and answered sheepishly.
"Suddenly the puppets feel like a disorganized mob. Probably thanks to Caron disabling one of her arms."
Caron let out a small sigh of relief. He'd thought it was fifty-fifty, but his hunch had paid off.
Seren murmured in a frosty tone.
"The tide has turned. Can you both still fight?"
Caron caught a faint oddity in her speech but nodded, figuring now wasn't the time to nitpick.
"Of course."
"Naturally."
"Good. I'll pin down the puppets. That's what my power's best for. You two finish off the princess in the meantime."
There was no time for more talk.
With a crunch, the frozen puppets shattered free of their icy prisons all at once.
Seren summoned another surge of cold.
Craaack...
She felt the tips of her flowing silver hair starting to freeze.
Seren thought.
How many times had she used the "Forgotten God's" blessing so far?
She couldn't recall the exact count, but she knew one or two more was her limit.
If she staked her life on it, maybe one extra.
'Three times max, then.'
With that in mind, Seren unleashed the first wave of frost.
Whoosh—! A torrent of cold swept through the room once more.
The puppets, freshly thawed, froze solid again.
Watching them, it belatedly hit her: her powers didn't mesh well with the weapon she wielded.
Ice and a thin sword.
Had she really chosen this idiot combo herself?
'A big iron mace or club would've been far better.'
Something to smash the frozen foes to bits. She sighed.
Why did these realizations always come in the heat of battle?
Obviously, because outside a battlefield, no one ponders efficient ways to kill enemies.
And if you mulled over killing methods in daily life, you'd be a psychopath.
Seren chuckled for some reason.
Had the frost that iced her hair seeped into her mind?
She didn't know why, and it didn't matter.
Snap!
Seizing the opening Seren created, Caron and Evan charged.
For a moment, it felt like a smooth path stretched straight to the princess.
It was a shame they couldn't fully escape the frost's aftereffects—their spines still prickled, their movements sluggish.
But they were even more awed by Seren's blessing.
Even if they were puppets, flash-freezing hundreds of foes and halting them in their tracks was an extraordinary feat.
'No way she can do it repeatedly.'
Caron saw right through it.
His eagle-like gaze fixed on the culprit behind it all.
The princess sat slumped on the floor, blood dripping from her wound.
Her neat hair was disheveled, and between the curtain of black strands, crimson eyes glinted.
A person's expression reveals much.
Especially in a dire situation like this.
A shoulder wound far from minor.
A puppet legion unable to help.
Two enemies closing in by the second.
"......"
Even taking it all in, the princess's eyes seemed calm...
So Caron and Evan thought the same thing.
There's still something more.
The princess raised her uninjured left hand.
Her unusually pale fingers twitched as she whispered something low.
Crunch!
The ceiling caved in that instant.
Caron and Evan weren't startled...
But when they spotted the writhing foe amid the dust cloud, they couldn't help narrowing their eyes.
'This puppet...'
It was the ball-jointed doll the princess always carried.
Deathberry or whatever its name was. Only then did they realize what she'd whispered—it was the puppet's name.
It seemed a bit larger than the last time they'd seen it.
At least now, if the princess tried hugging it...
It'd be like embracing a girl a few years younger than herself.
Not very threatening in size as an enemy, but it put Caron even more on edge.
Just like the marshlands Predator—size didn't always scale with threat level.
And Evan was stunned for a different reason.
'What the hell is this magi...'
Vice Sect Leader Evan realized.
It was absurd, but the magi swirling around this girl puppet was deeper and denser than that of every puppet in the mansion combined.
Don't let the small size fool you.
Don't drop your guard just because it held no visible weapon.
Boom!
Even so, Caron—who'd been running alongside him—vanished in a flash.
When Evan snapped to, Caron was embedded in the wall, a mangled wreck.
His rolled-back eyes proved he'd lost consciousness in one blow.
"What the...?"
The words slipped out.
If that attack had targeted him instead, Evan would've been the squid-smashed mess.
He hadn't sensed a thing right up until Caron disappeared.
Evan didn't stop at heightening his tension. Desperate, he fixated on Deathberry's every move.
And he spotted something silver glinting on the puppet's pale finger.
'Thread?'
He saw the thread extending from Deathberry's finger...
And realized it was stuck to his clothes the moment—
"......!"
Evan instantly shrugged off the cape draped over his shoulders. The discarded cloak, flung into the air, whipped sharply to the right.
Slash!
Another silver thread shot forth. Evan drew his sword, pondering if he should use his magi...
"......"
But he set the thought aside with a grim expression and countered with Raven.
The darkness hid much, but once he locked onto the glinting thread, he didn't lose it.
Its speed was blistering, demanding top-tier swordsmanship to sever precisely.
'Manageable.'
Evan was confident.
Raven was honed for moments like this.
A sword art born from utter defeats—picking at animal carcasses, insects, food scraps like a scavenger raven...
In one word: tenacity.
Evan's gaze tenaciously tracked the thread.
Shing!
His sword swung at the absolute perfect instant.
Crack!
So when the thread shattered his blade like glass, it wasn't inexplicable that Evan's body froze up.
"What the...?"
Faced with thread pulverizing metal, Evan panicked hard.
Even as a vice leader tempered in real combat, with memories of malice awakened—he was still just a sixteen-year-old boy.
Talent and aptitude didn't grant experience.
Boom!
Evan's body slammed into the wall too.
'Damn it...'
As consciousness faded, Evan thought.
If he'd used magi from the start...
Would the outcome have been different?