Chapter 149
Chapter 149
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 149
Chapter Title: Necromancer of the Sword Clan
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“How have you been? Section Chief Nam Min-hyuk.”
Kim I-shin spoke to Nam Min-hyuk with a smiling voice.
But unlike his voice, his gut burned.
To think I have to borrow the Namdu Group's power.
From the Six Harmonies Spear Clan's perspective, the Namdu Group was both a business partner and a rival.
Both were companies involved in dungeon-related ventures, after all.
The items they handled were just a bit different.
The Namdu Group focused mainly on artifacts, while the Six Harmonies Spear Clan centered on byproducts from magic beasts and mana stones.
[Does contacting me mean it's your answer to the previous proposal?]
“Yes. Is the person you mentioned before, Section Chief Nam Min-hyuk, Shin Yu-hyun?”
[Yes, that's right. He's recently been making a name for himself.]
“I see. Then, is the proposal from last time still on the table?”
[Of course.]
“Perfect. I'll accept the proposal we discussed before.”
[Really?]
Nam Min-hyuk's voice lit up with delight at Kim I-shin's words.
Recently, because of Shin Yu-hyun—the third son of the Heaven-Splitting Sword Clan, who was starting to make waves—Nam Min-hyuk had been disrupted in his work several times.
So he had made a covert proposal to Kim I-shin, heir to the Six Harmonies Spear Clan.
Shin Yu-hyun would get in their way down the line, so let's crush him now.
The Heaven-Splitting Sword Clan was an object of love-hate and inferiority for the Six Harmonies Spear Clan.
Sword versus spear.
They had opposed each other for ages.
But Kim I-shin had sidestepped it politely with "I'll think it over."
Back then, he hadn't figured Shin Yu-hyun would interfere with his business.
Yet just days later, Kim I-shin had no choice but to rethink it.
Shin Yu-hyun had obliterated the surveillance team he'd sent to the Heaven-Splitting Sword Clan—and exposed their weakness in the process.
“Just as you said, Section Chief Nam Min-hyuk, that guy's definitely going to be a problem. Count me in on your plan.”
[Smart decision.]
“Then get back to me.”
[Will do. I'll reach out soon.]
After Nam Min-hyuk's satisfied voice faded from Kim I-shin's smartphone, the call ended.
“I'll show you what happens when you mess with me.”
No matter how much noise he was making lately, he was still just the Heaven-Splitting Sword Clan's useless third son.
Kim I-shin ground his teeth and resolved to smash Shin Yu-hyun for daring to cross him.
A hotspot of endless global conflict: the Middle East.
It was also a place overrun by magic beasts due to dungeon stampedes.
National structures had all but collapsed, turning it into a lawless wasteland ruled by extremist Muslims.
They clashed with magic beasts while superhumans from rival Islamic sects fought among themselves.
Every brutal crime imaginable ran rampant.
Drugs, murder, terrorism, human trafficking—you name it.
And right now, extremist Muslims were in the thick of it.
“Move it! Faster!”
Beneath the dim moonlight.
In a small village serving as their secret outpost, children with hollow eyes shuffled forward.
Their faces, flickering between the village's torches, were devoid of hope.
Stained with terror and despair.
Behind them, extremist Muslims snickered as they cracked whips against the dirt.
Crack!
“Eek!”
The sound made the kids jolt and tremble.
No telling when that whip would turn on them.
“Useless trash.”
The extremist Muslims eyed the children coldly.
War orphans, every one.
The extremists scooped them up.
Healthy ones got brainwashed into fighters; the weak got sold.
These kids were in rough shape physically.
Bound for some other buyer.
Who knew where. Illegal clinics for organ harvesting, maybe. Or black magicians for lab rats.
At the village outskirts, a truck idled by the entrance.
“Get in. Now.”
The extremists barked at the ten kids they'd herded here.
“N-no! I hate it!”
Some resisted, stumbling backward.
They knew damn well that truck led to hell.
“You little shits!”
One extremist raised his whip high.
Swoosh! Crack!
“Aaaagh!”
It tore into the back of a boy in his early teens, his scream piercing the night.
“You brat, you dare refuse?”
Crack! Crack!
The extremists lashed mercilessly.
Tender skin split on kids barely past ten, blood spraying.
“Why the hell do I gotta babysit these runts?”
“'Cause you lost the bet.”
“So'd you.”
“Tch. Others're probably having a blast right now.”
The extremists vented their irritation with every swing.
Islamic extremists viewed any woman not shrouded in chador, burqa, or niqab as mere sex objects—subhuman.
Under their twisted doctrine of Jihad al-Nikah, they even preyed on young war orphan girls.
Elsewhere, their comrades were deep in it now.
But these ones had to haul ass through the night to the next village.
Mood soured, they took it out on the kids.
“Least once this is done, boss'll hook us up. Can't wait.”
“Damn straight.”
They nodded with sleazy grins.
“Load up! Move!”
One hoisted his whip again.
That instant—
Slash!
Something sharp grazed his wrist.
Too late to notice; the swing was already in motion.
Whoosh!
“Huh?”
He blinked, stunned.
Should've been a whistling crack, but his arm just drooped.
He lifted it blankly.
Realization hit.
His hand was gone.
Spurt!
“Argggghhhh!”
Pain hits after the mind catches up, or so they say.
Blood gushing from the stump, he wailed.
“What the—!”
“Who's there?!”
Chaos gripped them as they scanned wildly.
Clack clack.
There—under the pale moonlight, a tall woman approached.
Red eyes gleaming from the shadows, silvery-white hair tumbling to her waist.
Deep chocolate skin, clad in a sharp red suit. A stunning beauty, late twenties.
“A chick?”
“A woman dares?!”
Spotting her, their glares sharpened on the red-suited stunner.
They were Islam's mighty warriors.
A woman attacking them?
Shing!
Scimitars rasped from their belts.
Vmmm!
Aura bloomed along the blades. These extremists were superhumans too, mana-wielders.
“We'll make you our slave!”
That exotic beauty under the moonlight? Irresistible. Their grins turned vile.
Just one woman.
Unarmed, even.
Confidence surged.
She smiled back.
“You fucking lunatics.”
Flawless Arabic.
Then she flicked her arm their way, casual as you please.
Bam!
“Guhk!”
One's head snapped around; he flew like a ragdoll.
Five meters away, at least.
Yet hit clean.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Kek! Urk!”
She conducted like a maestro; they screamed, spewing blood.
Heavy strikes hammered faces, torsos.
“What the hell's hitting us?!”
Frowning, they flared their senses outward.
To pinpoint the attacker.
Formless mana, probably.
Meaning—she was a mage.
“Gah! N-no fucking way?”
Terror twisted their faces.
They'd seen it.
Red blood, hovering midair.
“Th-the Witch of Fresh Blood!”
Her response to the horrified yell: a intoxicating smile.
The red-suited woman was none other than the Witch of Fresh Blood, Camilla.
Executioner of the Getia Worshippers' Ashen Order.
Some dubbed her Conductor of Fresh Blood for puppeteering it with gestures.
“R-run away!”
They bolted, voices cracking.
Camilla slashed the air.
Rip!
“Gaaaaah!”
Fleeing legs sheared clean off.
“You thought I'd let you walk?”
Cold smile.
She turned to the sobbing kids on the ground.
Just past ten years old, wretched sights.
Bruises everywhere, skin flayed from brutal lashes.
Worst: their eyes. Dead. Infinite despair, surrendered to pure terror.
Grit.
Camilla's teeth ground.
One unforgivable sin.
“Filth that touches kids.”
Her voice: frigid enough to freeze blood solid, laced with venom.
“M-mercy...”
Slash!
“Aaaaaargh!”
Floating blood morphed into a razor sickle at her gesture, lopping off his arm.
Blood jetted skyward.
Hers to command.
More enemy blood, more power.
Her unique skill: Bloodline Magic.
Most mages bent elements; she bent blood.
Specialty: weapons from it.
Blood Hammer first, to bash them.
Now Blood Scythe, carving limbs.
“No easy deaths for you.”
She smiled.
Beauty incarnate—to them, the devil's rictus.
Under moonlight, red blood orbited her like a halo of doom.
Then, icy command:
“I'll drain you dry. Every. Last. Drop.”