Chapter 449
Chapter 449
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 449
Chapter Title: Otherworld Conquest Chronicle (1)
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⚙ DIMENSION INFO ⚙ - Dimension Name: Devour - Registration Number: A-034BM - Dimension Type: Phantasm Realm - Danger Level: Very High, Prioritize Survival ... This was the information from the Returner Association that Hans had memorized before arriving—a database that had stopped updating completely years ago.
He roughly organized the details floating in his mind and slowly scanned his surroundings.
'So this is it...'
The basement where he had appeared was decorated in the quintessential occult style straight out of an old horror flick.
From the blood-drawn symbols scrawled everywhere, to the stubs of candles worn down to the floor, piles of bones and skulls forming an altar, and atop it all, a human forearm and an eyeball still dripping fresh blood.
'The origin dimension of that Executioner bastard.'
Standing on the altar, he stared impassively at the body parts scattered at his feet before shifting his gaze forward.
To the young man who had held out decently at first but had eventually foamed at the mouth and passed out—one missing an eye and an arm.
'The Eternal Great Demon, was it?'
As far as he knew, that was the alias the Executioner had used in this otherworld.
This ritual seemed to have been an attempt to summon him.
Hans glanced around once more and shook his head slightly.
'What a mess. To think they tried summoning a demon with such shoddy preparations.'
No matter the differences in details, at his level, a single sweep was enough to tell.
There was no mystery whatsoever in this ritual.
Even someone with innate talent might have barely scraped the bottom barrel, but that young man showed no aptitude whatsoever.
"Guh... Gr-Great Demon... I offer my soul... Please, avenge my grudge...!"
As he inwardly clicked his tongue, a faint groan rose from below.
A pitiful voice, breaking off in gasps as if on the verge of death.
Hans looked down at the young man who had just regained consciousness, surprise flickering in his gaze.
[Hoh? Not bad.]
He was suppressing it to some degree, but the aura of terror emanating from his current body alone was enough to prevent most from even lifting their heads.
It was intangible violence incarnate, despair bestowed by mere presence.
Yet this young man, deprived of an arm and an eye in his weakened state, was enduring that pressure?
'His mental fortitude is impressive, at least.'
Hans slowly stroked his chin.
His appearance during the young man's ritual had been pure coincidence.
Who could have guessed that the very moment he set foot in this world, such a ritual would be underway?
...No, maybe not pure coincidence.
The Executioner was known in this world as the Eternal Great Demon.
For someone desperate to contract him, choosing a site linked to that demon was the obvious pick.
And he had been drawn here by that earnest plea.
'His stature was too high for precise location data. So I came with some margin for error...'
At this point, it felt more like fate than chance.
Hans lowered his blazing gaze to the young man, who trembled like a leaf but struggled to stay conscious.
[Keh, good. You don't lose your mind before me. You seem useful enough.]
"Ah, aaah... Th-Thank you!"
Arriving in a new dimension meant securing a local informant was essential.
The intel he'd gathered beforehand was long expired.
In that sense, this young man was the perfect candidate.
'First things first, though. He'll die soon if left like this.'
With a casual flick, the eyeball and forearm from the altar flew into Hans's outstretched palm.
Body parts the young man had seemingly severed himself as ritual payment.
But they were already rotting beyond recognition.
'Can't be helped, being so close to me.'
No matter. He wasn't a priest, after all—a black mage.
He had no intention of reattaching them pristine anyway.
Whoosh—
Black flames erupted from his grasp.
Flames as dark and ominous as peering into the abyss at the world's depths.
Yet instead of burning away, the eyeball and arm absorbed them, gradually regaining their form.
The only difference now? They gleamed with an obsidian sheen, as if carved from the stone itself.
[Now then—]
As Hans spoke again, the parts in his hand, wreathed in black fire, shot through the air.
Toward their original sockets.
Sizzle—!
"Gaaaaah—!"
A scream like flesh seared by hot iron echoed through the basement.
The young man thrashed wildly on the floor, reunited dramatically with his departed limbs.
A natural rejection reaction—the dead flesh infused with death's power rebelling against the living body.
[If you can't endure even this, you can't be my contractor. Prove your worth. We'll talk after.]
Hans looked down coldly at the youth, eyes rolled back in agony.
Not out of pointless cruelty, of course.
'Can't trust someone trying to contract a demon in a world like this.'
This was a leash and monitor to ensure no betrayal.
Essential terms before the real contract.
And it wasn't all downside.
He'd regained his eye and arm, and now carried death's essence, granting resistance to Hans's deathly aura.
No more foaming and fainting at mere sight.
'His body is now optimized for necromancy, too.'
Through the Eye of the Dead, he'd see what the living cannot.
With the Arm of the Dead, wield what none should.
Necromancy shone brightest in a death-ridden world like this—arguably the ultimate power here.
[Hmm, passed out after all. Still, impressive. I can expect great things.]
Hans nodded slowly at the writhing youth, finally succumbing to the shock of his new flesh settling in.
Leaving him be, he headed outside.
'No telling when he'll wake. Might as well scout the situation.'
The world of Devour—a dimension long fallen and sealed.
One outsider now set foot within.
A colossal step to shake its stagnant entirety.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ McCarthy was a rather special young man.
To survive, he'd done everything imaginable since childhood—including murder.
Just like everyone in this world.
'Kill first, or be killed.'
That was the truth of life he'd learned young.
Thanks to it, he'd stubbornly survived into adulthood.
Even as his parents and gang died off one by one.
That's when he realized his uniqueness.
'This place is dangerous. I need to flee.'
His survival instinct was nothing short of miraculous.
He sensed approaching crises with eerie sensitivity, even without precursors.
Not pinpoint timing, but enough to survive—just bolt far away.
He wandered as a drifter, visiting everywhere.
Xenophobic cave villages, bandit-infested canyons, ruined underground cities, surface castles ruled by demon contractors.
Inherently tougher than most, he endured life-threatening perils and clung to life.
Seeing much of the world's grim tapestry.
A perpetually dim sky without sun.
Barren earth with only monstrous plants.
A handful of survivors scraping by in civilization's ruins.
And demon contractors lording over them, parasites on devils.
No land for proper farming.
Groups were raider bands; larger ones, slaves under demon contractors.
McCarthy figured he'd die a street beggar, wandering forever.
Until he stumbled into a ruined village and met his fated woman.
'Delia...'
She'd saved him when a minor injury festered near-fatally.
In a world where killing was survival, her altruism shone like a beacon.
'I'd have killed him and looted first.'
Her kindness wasn't just for him.
Struggling herself, she whored to shelter orphans.
A ray of light in utter darkness.
Falling for her was inevitable.
The drifter settled, helping her for over a year, nurturing their bond.
He'd never been so grateful for his sturdy body.
And love—that poison piercing his lonely heart—
Enslaved him utterly, plunging him into despair.
Whoosh—
Fierce flames and black smoke.
The acrid stench of burning corpses, all too familiar.
A village devoid of life amid collapsed homes.
The warm haven stained with blood and death.
Yet he could do nothing.
'Why.'
He'd warned her of danger, but she ignored it.
She understood but couldn't obey.
Too many dependents to abandon for just the two of them.
And McCarthy, as always...
'......'
Returning late, regret hit hard.
He should have kidnapped her and fled.
Or died beside her.
He thought he'd grown numb to loss, but the heart's void lingered.
'Who.'
Unmasking the culprit was easy.
No need to hide such deeds.
The lord of the grandest surface castle.
Rapua, contractor to the Infinite Great Demon—the apex devil.
His 'Hunting Festival' for his master caused this tragedy.
'Infinite Great Demon. And Rapua.'
Revenge? Impossible.
Forget and flee for survival, as always.
Like just recently.
But he didn't give up.
Maximizing his instincts, he scoured for a way.
And found one record.
'Eternal Great Demon.'
Once called the world's strongest, before the Infinite one.
Vanished a century ago—one key culprit in ruining the world, slaughtering heroes.
'If only I could contract him...!'
Didn't matter if same kind as his foe.
Demons and contractors killed each other plenty.
Apex demons like lords had bad blood—might welcome his proposal.
Thus, he braved death preparing the ritual to summon the Eternal Great Demon.
[Eternal Great Demon...? Where'd you hear that lowly name?]
Failure.
[Kekeke, I am the king of all the dead, lord of death—Hannibal Strauss.]
Yet he didn't despair.
If this being dismissed the century's strongest as 'lowly'—
Claiming 'Lord of Death'—opportunity remained.
'Even if it's demonic lies.'
Begging with his last strength...
Whoooosh—
High above, ground dizzyingly far below.
"Guhhh...!"
Biting back pain from wind-lashed left eye and arm, McCarthy snapped from reverie.
He drew a deep breath, gazing at his 'master' calmly surveying the land from on high.
[Hmm, I see. So that Infinite Great Demon and other devils are the root cause of this world's ruin?]
"Y-Yes... Though it's ancient history, and as you see, no proper records survive. Only the devils themselves know the truth—and their contractors who've heard from them."
He answered faithfully, as always.
His wandering had gifted him ample rumors to field most questions.
[Right, got it.]
A sinister echo.
Whoooosh—!
They plummeted earthward.
Pain surged in his arm and eye, but he swallowed his scream.
[Details don't matter.]
Touching down lightly, Hans murmured without glancing at the staggering McCarthy.
He knew what to do from the explanation alone.
[Bottom line: devils are the cause. Just wipe them all out. Kekeke!]
The monster spoke absurdities with low chuckles.
But McCarthy couldn't protest.
Through his bound limbs, he instinctively knew: no bluff, pure confidence.
'No way, really...'
As he swallowed hard unconsciously.
Chaos had begun.
Kiyaaaa—
Woooo—
Uhehehe—
Startled by wails from all sides, he looked skyward.
Through his left eye—the dead's obsidian orb—he saw clearly.
"Ah."
Countless souls blanketing the murky sky, who-knew-when-arrived.
Far beyond ten thousand, surging like waves toward here.
And leading them, a ghost in black-veiled hat and mourning dress, prostrated before the king.
[Olivia.]
[Your command... my king... This girl... has arrived...]
Banshee Queen Olivia, Intelligence Chief of the Immortal Legion.
Obeying orders since McCarthy fainted, she'd gathered this land's ghosts and bowed politely.
[Find them.]
To her great master, reaching beyond one world to another dimension.
[This world's apex rulers.]
[As you command...!]
In that instant, her infamy transcended Aouterica, taking root in Devour.