Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Rampage in the Holy City
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Chapter 103
The first time Pien saw him, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
A man walking through the middle of the Holy City holding a human head. It was impossible.
It had to be a well-made prop from a play—that was his first thought.
But he couldn’t just ignore it, not with the shocked citizens staring wide-eyed. Anyone would be stunned.
To fulfill his duty as a guard, he approached the man.
He sensed something off when he was about three meters away.
The swirling snow had made it hard to see clearly, but the man was barefoot. In this cold? With snow falling?
As he took another step closer, Pien realized it wasn’t some play prop.
A chill ran up his spine, and he thrust out his spear. Derant, who’d been patrolling with him, was approaching too.
“Halt!”
He shouted, but the man kept walking forward like he was deaf. This was no good.
Pien exchanged a glance with his comrade and blocked the man’s path.
“State that you have no intention of resisting. Otherwise, we’ll restrain you under the Holy City Stability Act!”
He jabbed the spear tip forward, but the man didn’t respond. No chance of talking this out. Subduing him was the only option.
Derant moved first. As he raised his spear tip and closed in slowly.
His comrade’s head vanished. Pien had only blinked once against the flying snow. What the hell?
Even as Derant’s body crumpled, Pien stared blankly at the man.
Was this a nightmare? Had he dozed off in the break room earlier and was still dreaming?
His comrade’s corpse fell onto the piled snow. Pien reflexively thrust his spear. Muscle memory from endless drills.
The man in front of him disappeared. Where’d he go? Pien’s eyes darted frantically, searching.
How many seconds passed? A sharp sting in his chest. He looked down, wondering what it was. There was a hole.
In an instant, strength drained from his body. As he collapsed, Pien mustered his last bit of energy.
Run. He’d screamed it with all his might, but no sound came out.
* * *
How many had he killed? No, counting was pointless. Silder instinctively knew it was over.
There was no turning back. His body moved on its own. The ecstasy of slaughter drove him onward.
He knew he had to stop, but he couldn’t. The pleasure was too overwhelming to suppress. He knew, yet his hands kept moving.
He tore apart the man selling fruit under the eaves. Kicked the head of the woman sprawled beside him.
Leaping high on powerful legs, he crushed those fleeing. The sight of them collapsing helplessly filled him with euphoria.
Even the thought that this was wrong began to fade.
After his frenzy, he paused to catch his breath. The fierce blizzard felt utterly refreshing. The blood splattered across his body cooled in the chill.
He looked around. Just the ones in sight numbered over thirty. The red streaks cutting through the snow made his breath quicken.
Thirst returned. Silder scooped up a handful of snow soaked in blood and shoved it in his mouth. No matter how much he ate, the thirst wouldn’t quench.
He knew. This wasn’t a bodily lack. His soul craved it.
Armed soldiers were rushing toward him. He welcomed them gladly.
He planted both hands on the ground. It felt as natural as if he’d scampered on all fours his whole life. He coiled his waist and exploded his thighs.
His body soared. The soldiers below gaped in horror.
He launched himself at the soldier whose eyes met his. From landing to slashing the man’s throat, it took barely a breath.
The feel of flesh on his fingertips, the screams of the toppling soldier, the pupils dilating in terror—they all thrilled him.
No need for a sword. Hands and feet were the perfect weapons. Slash, crush, yank, twist, tear, snap.
His bloodied eyes narrowed in rapture as he grabbed the throat of the soldier in front of him.
Something poked his back. He twisted his neck. A young-looking soldier stood there, spear thrust out, face pale with fear.
Silder glanced at the spear tip touching his skin. The blade couldn’t pierce his flesh. Kindly, he grabbed the soldier’s spearhead and pressed it to his own chest.
“Stab me.”
The soldier just trembled, not getting it. Silder raised his voice and shouted. Go on, stab.
He saw the soldier squeeze his eyes shut and push with all his strength.
The blade sank slightly into his chest. That was it. Not even a drop of blood.
“Ah.”
The soldier dropped the spear and collapsed backward.
Silder stared at the young soldier for a moment, then kicked him away. The soldier flew off, tumbling through the snow.
Such magnificent power. He trembled with omnipotence.
A whistle sounded. He bounded toward the noise. A soldier in heavy armor came into view.
“Evacuate!”
The soldier yelled. Silder charged.
He smashed his fist into the metal plate on the soldier’s chest. A dull thud, and the plate crumpled. The soldier’s eyes bulged.
“Over here!”
The guards were gathering. Silder barely stifled the laugh bubbling up. He’d never felt such joy, such liberation.
He killed everything in sight. Metal gear crumpled pathetically under his touch.
Some managed to block and counterattack. As expected of the Holy City garrison.
But that was all. Their spears and swords posed no threat to Silder. Even the volley of arrows bounced off his skin.
As he hunted on all fours.
He halted and turned his head. Amid the fleeing citizens stood a man frozen in place.
A familiar face. But the name wouldn’t come.
Did it matter? No. Just kill him and be done. Hesitation was a luxury.
At some point, eerie sounds escaped his mouth. He knew it wasn’t human, but who cared? He just wanted to slaughter the prey before him.
He charged on all fours toward the dumbfounded man.
A pale white hand shot out from the man’s robe. He knew instantly. That’s dangerous.
He twisted away, putting distance. Growling low, he eyed the man. An irritant.
He hated the interruption of his hunt, hated the similar scent wafting from that white arm.
“Silder. You’ve become the monster I foresaw. I had some hopes. That you might defy it, escape the future I saw.”
He wanted to demand what that meant, but his mouth wouldn’t open. As if he’d forgotten how to move his jaw.
He barely twisted his lips, and what came out was a beastly howl.
“Have you forgotten how to speak too?”
He lowered his stance. No thoughts. Just rip out that arrogant human’s throat. He surrendered to the urge.
He lunged at full speed, dodging the writhing white arm to go for the neck.
At biting distance, he was flung back. That white arm again.
He retreated and checked his wound. Skin unscathed by blades was now red and inflamed. Impatience surged. He had to kill that bastard.
As he scanned around, rolling his eyes, he caught the scene reflected in a shop window.
A monster crouched on a pile of corpses. Its face twisted grotesquely—unmistakably inhuman.
His breathing grew ragged. Clarity hit. And with it, the man’s name surfaced.
“Gilliud!”
He shrieked, almost a scream. Then charged. Corpses squelched under his dog-like forepaws.
All this... my doing? Guilt stabbed; his heart nearly stopped.
It’s over. All of it. Silder fixed on Gilliud’s neck and advanced.
His usually chattering mind fell utterly silent now. One thought: Kill him.
Gilliud pointed backward with a finger.
Silder ignored it. Didn’t stop. Whatever was back there didn’t matter. He’d go with that bastard.
“Daddy?”
Brakes slammed on his hurtling body.
The ground seemed to give way beneath him. He thought to stand on two legs, but his body wouldn’t obey.
In that moment of distraction, Gilliud vanished.
Silder faltered. His daughter was behind him. His daughter, half-blind from aftereffects—how could she be here?
Just turn and check. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t human anymore.
The reflection in the glass resurfaced. A monster. No father to his beloved child.
He had to speak. Go home. Sleep, and we’ll have breakfast together, Daddy and you.
The open maw produced only a horrific wail that would terrify any human.
Better this way, he thought. Charlotte was timid. She’d flee at a monster’s howl.
Silder screamed with all his might. The sound pierced the gale.
“You’re Daddy, right?”
His daughter didn’t run. She asked back, voice full of certainty. Then—a thud. Charlotte tripping. He whipped around.
His bandaged daughter had stumbled over a corpse. She didn’t seem to know what lay beside her.
He bounded on all fours to her. Reached out both arms to scoop her up.
“Hideous.”
A thick hand clamped his throat. A sleek tail flicked into view.
He rolled his eyes upward. A lizard-faced being looked down.
Tarin Tribe. He recalled the mountain warriors.
“Ethan. Take the girl and go.”
“Got it!”
A boy of about ten lifted his daughter.
He bellowed. Put down my daughter. Only I can comfort her.
“Pitiful soul. But you’ve gone too far to turn back.”
Silder thrashed free of the Tarin warrior’s grip. As dangerous as Gilliud’s white hand.
“You can understand me, I hope. I am Tacha of the Black Heart Tribe. For your wretched soul, I’ll grant you mercy.”
Only now did he notice the massive spear in the lizard warrior’s hand. His body had shrugged off guard blades, but that spear would end him.
He rolled his eyes. His daughter receding. Her calls for Daddy fading.
“Don’t get in my way!”
A human voice burst out. Silder charged head-on. But Tacha’s spear blocked him.
Viciously fast. Amid his murder-lust, a forgotten emotion stirred in his chest. Fear.
Survival instinct yanked him back. He wheeled to chase his daughter. But even that proved impossible.
“To think I’d see something like a magical beast right in the middle of the Holy City.”
A woman hefted a massive axe.
He didn’t know her. But he knew the insignia on her shoulder.
Schola Superior Instructor. Hero-breeder, hero herself.
“Die cleanly, you damned monster brat.”
She advanced, axe first.
(To be continued next time)