Chapter 121
Chapter 121
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Blood-Red New Moon (5)
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The flames had sputtered out without putting up any real fight, but that aside, the New Moon's death throes were far from over.
While sweeping through the mansion's first floor and smashing every trap in sight, they'd already run into more than twenty assassins lurking between them.
Once they'd cleared them all out and set foot on the second floor, the resistance grew even fiercer.
The variety of traps had dwindled compared to downstairs, but the number of attackers charging in had spiked.
Of course, it was all pointless—down below or up here, made no difference.
Whoosh!
A heavy yet crisp sound—contradictory in its weightlessness—rang out as the mace whipped through the air. It was a hefty weapon, but Lilia's strength made it dance.
The thrusting dagger snapped pitifully and ricocheted away, crushing hand and arm in its path, the mace barreling into the torso.
Splat!
The assassin—already reduced to half a hunk of meat—went flying raggedly into the wall before sliding down in a heap.
Seizing the gap left by his dying comrade, another assassin dropped from the ceiling.
Boom!
But he was nowhere near smashing into his target's skull—the mace surged upward first.
The assassin rocketed back up faster than he'd fallen, punching through the ceiling and embedding himself there, lower body twitching in the open.
Galen offered a silent prayer for the spasming figure before lowering his gaze, catching Lilia's faintly anxious expression.
He was about to ask what was wrong when she beat him to it.
"By any chance... does it bother you a little?"
"Pardon?"
Galen blinked at the abrupt question, prompting her to elaborate after a slight hesitation.
"Like, it looks cruel... or brutish..."
"Who? You, Lilia?"
"I just looked back and realized I might've been rampaging a bit too wildly..."
"It's not like this is your first time with a mace."
"Not against people! Just a little, against evil beasts."
"Oh, right."
Well, honestly, it wasn't what anyone would call a "beautiful" sight.
Forcing an underage restriction and slapping a gore warning on the genre would be the norm—and finding beauty there would mark you as a garden-variety psychopath.
But Galen sought no artistry in kill-or-be-killed brawls, least of all against assassins who merited zero human respect.
"By that logic, anyone swinging a blunt weapon is a brute."
"Not trying to insult it, but don't bludgeons just give off that vibe?"
"Huh... yeah, when you put it like that."
"Eek."
"Not saying you are, Lilia. My kill methods are brutal enough in their own right."
After all, weren't drowning and burning the textbook agonizing deaths? Galen wielded both water and fire—he had zero ground to stand on.
"The best weapon's the one that suits you. I love whatever you pick, Lilia, so swing away."
"Phew, good."
"Not a fan of the mace, though?"
"No! It's great. Sweeps the trash aside effortlessly."
True to assassin form, they weren't just body-slamming in—they kept pulling petty tricks.
Lilia bulldozed them all with raw mass. Simple. Effective.
"If they matched us in skill, speed would've hobbled these swings, but they don't."
"Assassin limitations."
This world's assassins weren't the fantasy ninja tropes from modern Earth's media.
No cloaking, shadow-melding, doppelgangers, or other parlor tricks.
Just specialized warriors.
The New Moon crew excelled at stealth—darkness, terrain, blind spots—but against Lilia? Useless.
No hiding spot was perfect; this wasn't tag. Stealth demanded a strike transition.
That instant hit her senses. Even with sluggish reactions, prepped assassins got blitzed.
First-rate, second-rate—whatever. Absolute chasm to a high bishop.
"Sheesh, again?"
Lilia shook her head hard at the faint malicious ping.
Flash!
Holy light bloomed from her, flooding the hall.
The creeping poison? Gone in a blink.
"Why bother when it never works?"
"Desperation calls for it."
New Moon was losing its mind.
Mages were fragile—no contest. Poison clipped even warriors.
Gold-rankers too, though their aura-hardened freakshow bodies tanked it. Still shaved condition.
Priests? Poison's nightmare—erased outright.
Purification had limits, sure. Ingested or wound-delivered? Maybe. Airborne fog? Lilia's cleanse laughed it off.
Assassinating high bishops or home invasions weren't on the bingo card—New Moon's blind spot, fair enough.
"Anyway, that's winding down too."
Swapping traps for bodies to attrition them; second-floor body count already topped first.
No endless hordes. Feeding scraps piecemeal for piecemeal defeats? Nah.
Final throes incoming.
No fear, but no slacking.
"Urk!"
"Gah!"
They pressed on, pulverizing traps and carving through assassins.
Then—
Crack!
The corridor wall they'd been strolling exploded. Not Lilia's doing.
Whoooosh!
A siege-grade, iron-braced, thick-pointed log speared through the thin partition.
"Not today!"
Lilia zipped in front of Galen, mace arcing at full power.
Claaaaang!
Iron plating buckled, log splintered. Heavy mass dinged her mace head too.
Swish!
As Lilia veered the log's path—
Shadows vaulted from the room beyond. Five total.
"Middle!"
Context-free shout, but Galen behind her nailed it.
Splash!
Water arrows fanned left and right.
No razor edges, but mass-plus-speed equaled sling stones.
Pock-pock-pock-thud!
Flankers ate full-body barrages before halving the gap, crumpling.
Frontliner—dodging the volley by bull-rushing—closed in.
Lilia knew him already.
Masked now, but build and aura memorized.
She charged Ilwol, mace cocked for max force.
Even she hadn't anticipated—
Whoosh!
Held back for potential capture, not kill—Ilwol dodged.
Suddenly nimble, he dropped low. Straight-thrust sword lanced her leg.
"Eep?!"
Shocked, Lilia yanked her foot back. Stance wobbled.
Rip!
Leg spared, but robe hem fluttered—severed.
Priest-hostile foes skipped no church-symbol courtesy.
"You dare!"
Fury ignited; Lilia whirled for payback—
But forward step into breach-room caught corridor floor yawning open under Galen.
He plummeted.
"Brother!"
Ilwol struck her blindspot in the panic haze.
Clang! Cling! Clang!
Lilia deflected barely; relentless follow-ups denied recovery.
Vital-hunting speed evoked vipers.
Blunt weapons lagged inevitably.
Scraaaape!
Sword-on-mace should shatter blade—yet mace chipped.
Gold-rank privilege: weapon enhancement beyond flesh.
Lilia scowled, mace-fury shoving Ilwol back. She retreated too.
"Getting antsy?"
Ilwol smirked at her face.
"Won't die, but hurting bad. Could've healed if you were there."
"This the plan from jump?"
Lilia grumbled. Ilwol's cold chuckle.
"Mage before priest? Obvious. Guy's cool-headed for near-death."
"Just dropped to first floor? Rattled me then—he'll climb back."
"If he climbs."
"...Meaning?"
"We target mages first."
Faint ruckus echoed up the hole.
Thud! Pock-thud! Thud!
Muted for chaos, but sharp ears caught it.
"Urgh!"
"Ack!"
Shatters, stifled groans, flops, crashes. Fight confirmed.
"Posers only on both floors. Elites held back."
"Not-normal priest, so decent mage. Injured—how long?"
"Dropping brother and piling on me with goons? Better odds."
"...Huh?"
"No vision—fake contract bait worked."
Lilia snickered, chucking mace aside.
Flash!
Radiant sword materialized in her grip. Ilwol's lip curled.
"Bishop confirmed. Mismatch for the look."
"Less shock than Gold-rank assassin."
No more chit-chat; they collided.
Dead-even start soon tipped.
Lilia's favor.
Ilwol's poker face cracked.
"Tch...!"
Mace in hand, he'd led. Sword? Flipped.
Assassin style favored ambushes over fair fights anyway.
Still, losing to this green kid? Unthinkable.
Worse—
"Mage not bugging you?!"
Lover schtick fake or not, comrade at least.
How'd priestess tunnel-vision sans flinch?
Zero loyalty?
"I'm asking that."
Lilia cool as ice.
"Minions okay?"
"......!"
Shake attempt backfired—Ilwol rippled.
Blade dulled. Jitters mounted. Dulled more. Spiral.
One hurt mage taking this long? No merge? Her calm real?
Boom!
Room wall detonated. Forced standoff.
Not corridor ruin—adjacent partition.
Gust whisked dust; Galen strolled through fresh hole.
Corridor blocked? Adjacent detour, wall-holed.
"Learn flight magic already."
"Ugh, sounds easy when you say it."
Casual quips blacked Ilwol's vision.
What? Mage unscratched.
Goons? Toast.
"Still dragging?"
"Gold-rank first-timer. Shame to waste!"
"Huh... no pure warriors yet."
"Assassin counts?"
"Wrap it. Wind sustain's taxing."
"Gotcha! Spare?"
"Why?"
Fog-brained, Ilwol parried Lilia's rush.
Lost clear-headed. Turbid? Doomed.
Slash!
Till radiant blade kissed neck.
Ilwol never got it.