Chapter 325
Chapter 325
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 325
Chapter Title: Wages of Sin #2
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Human hunter Deathros.
They were a criminal organization formed by the union of countless illegal petty groups.
A group so notoriously brutal that no one was unaware of them, yet aside from their name and their wickedness, little was known, and the rumors floating around were scattered and inconsistent.
From what I knew, Skargard held a fairly high position among them as an executive.
He commanded numerous hunters like limbs, dragging people from all over to turn them into gladiators—something that would have been impossible without tremendous influence.
Word had it that he even had some connection to the central government, so the local officials turned a blind eye to his dealings.
Of course, back then, I didn't have the luxury to worry about such things.
Thrown into gladiator training out of nowhere, I was covered head to toe in blood-soaked sand, my mind gone completely white from the ordeal.
Suddenly, a mysterious challenger appears from somewhere—! A black-haired Samaritan draped in white fur hide!
Die cool, die gruesomely—!
He's pretty well-built, huh? Bet he makes it to Act 5 easy. My money's on Act 7—.
The irregular noises echoing from all around stir long-forgotten instincts.
The sensation of a noose or shackles weighing on my free body feels utterly irritating.
In the end, after going full circle, I'm back in the arena.
But unlike back then, when I stood before the stage trembling in fear, now I feel strangely brimming with power.
This bizarre heat, the humid air thick with a lewd stench—it all seems tailored just for me, boiling strength through my veins.
Right now, I feel like I could become anything, do anything. Confidence surges within me.
Clank, clank—.
Ahead of me, far off, the door to that dark passage and entrance erupts with the clamor of metal crashing together. Probably the iron gate opening.
Kashit, kishat—. Kerung, uuu—.
And what emerges is a disgustingly hideous green imp.
Wearing a helmet and ornaments made of bone, swinging a studded club around wildly—it radiates pure malice, itching to smash something to pieces.
Alright, the curtain rises on Act 1—! As always, kicking things off is the green rookie hunter, a Growl—. Even in Act 1, the one that takes down the most people—.
I tear my attention from the announcers' voices echoing strangely through the underground plaza and lock eyes with the green monster slowly approaching me.
Gareung, ung....
"Get lost if you don't wanna die, you shithead."
Geruh....
"Watch yourself."
Ung....
Did it understand me? The goblin, jangling with bone decorations all over its body, turns tail and heads back into the darkness it came from, toward the iron gate.
Clank, clank.
Wh-what just happened? The ferocious Growl that charges even at lions has forfeited the match—!
What the hell? How'd you do that?
You fed it Hessissy and raised it, and it just turns back without doing shit? The thing that charges at trolls twice its size...!
I can feel the shock rippling through the crowd. They can't believe what just happened right in front of them.
But this was utterly predictable.
Even the fiercest dog can't beat a dog trader. I'd learned that to my bones watching my dad at the wellness center, boiling dogs to sell.
Baring no fangs, tucking its tail, even pissing itself.
I've been slaughtering goblins since Iron Tier—I'm a natural-born goblin butcher. So of course they'd fear me.
It's probably the fear pheromones they released dying, some death-associated something etched deep in my body that won't fade.
Useless goblin runt. Hurry up and open the gate for Act 2—. Release the wolves.
W-well, we already opened the iron gate, but they won't come out.
What? Damn it, every last one of you is useless. Then open the next gate—! Anything, just get that ugly fucker out of my sight!
I clearly hear Skargard talking with the guys around him. And from beyond the darkness, I hear many things trembling in fear, huddling up.
The sharp stink of ammonia.
Breaths growing ragged.
The scrape of sharp claws on iron bars.
It's fear and terror pheromones, plain and simple.
Those stifled groans pouring from the iron cages hidden all over this underground space soon affect even the ones watching from up high.
I-I think I gotta go.
Me too, I just remembered something urgent. M-my daughter’s about to give birth to my wife!
Let's go, hurry, hurry. Don't push!
Soon, the audience starts fleeing helter-skelter. Chaos erupts, screams vivid in my ears from people shoving and stumbling everywhere.
These stupid, dimwitted fucks....
"You seem smarter than them, Skargard. Come down here and talk to me. And check out of this place by tonight."
Check out? What right do you have to tell me that? This arena is mine. My kingdom, built painstakingly from the ashes!
Whatever it was, the guy had no fear.
But on the other hand, it made sense.
Liches were said to be priests or mages of Pluto at the pinnacle of hellish mazes, transcending death for immortality.
Like living Buddhas, but as monsters, it took parties of silver-necklaced adventurers to form subjugation teams.
They built their own labyrinths, commanded traps and minions, wielded magic beyond humans—making them a pain to deal with.
But I knew Skargard well.
The guy I knew wasn't a mage or Pluto priest.
Just a vicious overseer.
So probably some reason behind that fancy new look. I pondered what it could be.
Why had Skargard ended up in that dark evolution form—.
Maybe he bought a cash item?
It was a pretty plausible theory in my mind. The stuff draped over his skeletal body looked like valuable treasures at a glance.
Especially that black pearl ring gleaming on his bony finger—it grated on my nerves.
"Before you go, hand over everything you have."
Strutting around, huh? Fine. Since you're so eager to cut your lifeline short, I'll remind you just how much of a resource-waster you are.
Swoosh—.
Skargard waved his hand through the air. A rattling sound followed, and I felt something approaching me from the depths.
The one useful thing I have. You've been dying to meet it, so here you go.
Drag, draaaag—.
How deafening was the sound of heavy iron dragging across the sand floor? Soon, I spotted black hair emerging from the darkness.
A plain wooden mask covers its face, and bizarre script-covered bandages wrap its gaunt body, making it look like a mummy.
It probably was no different from a real mummy.
"Castor—."
The guy had already been skewered and killed by me back then.
Though mangled beyond recognition into this pathetic state, I could still make out echoes of the friend I'd known in him.
Grurh....
Worked to death till the end, and now slaving away postmortem. The chains and shackles binding his limbs were utterly pitiful.
If that fire hadn't broken out that day, I might be standing here just like this right now.
Grurh....
My thoughts were a total jumble staring at Castor staggering before me. In the end, I had to ask.
"Did you do this to him?"
Yeah, it took some doing to raise that one. His corpse was the most damaged. But he's the most useful, right? I put in the effort.
"Didn't know you had a talent for Necromancy."
Me neither. Who'd have thought we'd reunite like this? Who could've known that fire you started would burn everything I had?
"I figured you'd burned up and couldn't escape, so how the hell are you still alive?"
A croaking khuhuhu laugh answered my question.
His skull's red glow narrowed into slits, then blazed wide.
Guess I'm just too useful for that. My time to die hasn't come yet. So even as my body burned, I found this labyrinth and claimed its treasures.
"Treasures, you mean that ring?"
Sharp eyes. Yeah, this is the High Sage's Ring. Raises the dead as eternal slaves. They don't betray. Don't even think of setting fires.
Grrrh....
Only thing is, all they do is growl like that. Still, that's plenty, right? Slaves that don't eat or need pay.
I started to piece together what had happened.
While everyone was frantically fleeing that day, this guy had found this labyrinth and snagged its treasures.
No wonder I'd been plagued by endless nightmares. He'd been quietly building power underground.
Of course, he wasn't the priority right now.
The reason I'd wandered the forest.
The reason I'd survived that day—settling that debt came first.
"Castor, time to rest now."
I gazed at the man tottering before me. The red glow flickering through his mask was heartbreakingly pathetic.
Come on, fight! Fight, Castor! You owe me for bringing you back to the light!
....
This guy was the friend I knew, but at the same time, not.
Necromancy doesn't revive the dead—it just restores broken flesh into a semblance of life, a mere illusion.
My friend's soul wasn't in this body.
Probably in whatever underworld lay at the end of this labyrinth.
Undead are puppets without souls, just lingering instincts mimicking life. No real strength emanates from this form.
That realization slowly eased my confusion, a cold rationality seeping into my mind.
I raised my finger and thrust it with all my might into the old familiar shape. The sensation of piercing his chest and shattering his heart felt vividly real.
Srrrrk—.
The skeletal man crumbled into my arms.
But without resisting death, like a weary man finally lying in bed, there was even a natural peace to it.
Hassan—.
Right then, a hoarse voice came from under the wooden mask. Nothing like what I remembered—just a wind-like whisper, devoid of strength or spirit.
...Here, matches.... Use 'em to light... the booze barrels.... Follow the escape route..., escape....
But what he said matched my memories perfectly. Like replaying an old record, he was repeating his final moments.
A memory etched into the body.
And north, across the sea, to the Black Wasteland for my little sister.... My little sister's name is... Juno....
With that, he fell silent. That's where it had ended back then too.
I hadn't heard the rest, burying it under daily struggles.
Not a memory worth revisiting. Could even call it running away.
Swoosh—.
But a dry hand rises near my face, offering something rattling.
My little sister... Juno's glory, Gloria. Give her this. Tell her... I didn't abandon her... Tell her.
It was a necklace of odd feel—bones and small pebbles strung together. But more than that, it extended the events of that day.
The words I hadn't heard then, the message undelivered—I was finally receiving it, two years later.
My friend, Hassan.... Go to the Black Wasteland.... This prison's too small... for us Samaritans.... Communist Manifesto.... Was fun.... Make sure to... burn it....
"Yeah, I'll make sure to torch it."
Ssssh—.
Unable to withstand the body's limits, he crumbled to dust, scattering everywhere. Like dandelion seeds, tickling my eyes.
"Elfride, one favor. When everything's done, burn this place down. The arena."
Even as I said it, my eyes chased Skargard's back as he fled.