Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 040
Chapter Title: The Devil's Whisper
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“Meteor...?”
“Is there really a meteor that big?”
As the bar patrons crowded against the windows, murmuring in awe, an old man spoke up.
“You all don't know a thing. That's no meteor.”
“...!”
A burly man snapped fiercely at the old-timer nursing his drink in the corner.
“Old man. You know something about it?”
“Of course I do.”
The old man gazed at the meteor streaking across the sky, illuminating the streets as it went.
“That's a mark.”
“A mark?”
“What's that mean?”
He nodded to the stirring crowd.
“None other than the echo of the lost souls sacrificed to them... announcing the death of a great bloodliner.”
Vodka overflowed from an ice-filled glass.
“The mark it leaves behind... of joy and sorrow.”
The bar fell silent in shock at his words.
“Gr-great bloodliner... you mean...”
“Those vampire nobles?”
No one hadn't heard the rumors of those arrogant monsters who sustained eternal lives on the blood of countless humans.
Why had District 21 become a demonic lair even veteran mercenaries avoided?
It was all because the great bloodliners dwelled there.
They wouldn't die even if killed, each one an embodiment of overwhelming power.
Humans, no matter how strong, ended with one mistake—but they revived endlessly, terror incarnate.
“One of those monsters died?”
“Who the hell could...”
“I-I can't believe it.”
The old man continued.
“Judging by that ancient, festering soul cluster, at least a viscount or higher...”
Interesting.
The old man chuckled.
“How long has it been?”
How long since such a death?
“Heh heh heh...”
As he laughed, seemingly delighted, the patrons exchanged uneasy glances.
The burly man asked him.
“B-but old man, how do you know so much?”
A mark of the great bloodliners.
It was a pretty foreign concept to this generation.
“Of course. A hundred years ago, it wasn't that rare.”
“A hundred years ago...?”
His tone suggested he'd lived more than a century.
As he stood, a tattoo on his forearm caught the light: a sword crossed behind a shield.
Shield of Dawn.
As he left the bar, suited men waiting in the alley bowed their heads.
“Councilor Coaster. We've been looking for you.”
“I see.”
The old man murmured, staring at the sky.
“...Looks like it, Venator. My friend.”
He chuckled.
“It seems your final successor has finally appeared.”
Nostalgia and joy deepened in the old man's eyes.
Meanwhile.
Kyle sheathed the blood sword in his hand as the swarm of escaped wraiths dispersed.
“......”
Before him lay the viscount, his former youth utterly gone, withered to an ancient husk on the brink of death.
“Cough...”
Oddly, his skin was no longer pallid, nor his eyes blood-red.
“...Great warrior.”
As if reason had returned only at the end, his clear gaze restored, the viscount addressed Kyle.
“Thank you. Thanks to you... I escaped the blood madness that dominated my mind.”
“...You.”
Kyle narrowed his eyes at the transformation.
“Becoming a vampire... means losing your true self.”
The viscount spat dry blood and exhaled with regret.
“It was far too long a time. I spilled far too much blood.”
He coughed weakly, struggling to continue.
“Great warrior. It's not yet time, so please don't reveal the blood sword arts recklessly. If you do, kill anyone who sees them. Then the great bloodliners won't come hunting for you.”
“...Why?”
“Because to them, the death of a mongrel like me means little.”
“Mongrel?”
The viscount chuckled lowly.
“I'm no pureblood created by the great progenitors. Merely...”
His gaze fell to his greatsword.
“Like many Venator successors, they accepted me into the bloodline because my power caught their eye.”
“...!!”
“No matter how infinite you are, you can't reach them yet. Not yet.”
Self-mockery, as if a mongrel like him was nothing compared to purebloods.
More troublesome than I thought.
Kyle decided to heed the viscount's earnest advice.
“I'll do that.”
The viscount smiled, forcing his crumbling body upright to kneel on one knee before Kyle.
“!!”
“In my homeland, the Kingdom of Montana... there's a tradition of offering one's lifelong weapon to the great warrior who defeats them.”
He gripped his greatsword with both hands, presenting it like an offering.
“So please accept it, warrior.”
At that moment, the viscount couldn't hold back a bitter smile.
Once, he'd believed vampire power would save his crumbling homeland.
But as a vampire, he'd lost his nobility to the blood's corruption.
Great bloodliners.
What was great about such ugliness?
Just a lost, broken monster.
At the very least, he wanted his end to follow his long-lost kingdom's tradition.
“......”
After a moment's hesitation, Kyle accepted the sword with both hands.
“Tha...nk you.”
In that instant, the viscount felt his human self somewhat redeemed.
Even if his rotten soul plummeted to hell...
Now mostly crumbled, he spoke his final words.
“Levebruck.”
“...!”
“Remember them. They orchestrated your death... the Levebruck magic family of the Magic Tower.”
With that, the viscount's body turned to ash and scattered.
Kyle muttered.
“Levebruck?”
The Magic Tower's magic family?
He frowned at the unexpected culprits.
+ All Stats additionally increased due to high achievement rank.
+ Enhancement Skill Points awarded as reward.
Ding!
You may select and acquire one unlocked Lightning Magic skill.
The Lightning Magic skill unlock was expected.
Since he'd died once to Fleetwood's magic artifact.
But Kyle focused on another message.
Holy flame?
He recalled the viscount's eerie black-and-white intertwined flames.
That what it means?
Sure enough.
A new message appeared before him.
‘Montana's Holy Flame’ tree unlocked.
A secret exorcism technique used by the Kingdom of Montana's holy knights centuries ago. Its lineage has long been severed.
Montana's Holy Flame?
A brief explanation followed, answering his question.
A lost technique from centuries ago...
Come to think of it, yes.
Vampires, though not immortal, boasted far longer lifespans than humans.
Naturally, their arsenal included legendary lost arts.
In that sense, the great bloodliners are basically...
Kyle stroked his chin.
Ancient secret art farming bosses?
The great bloodliners would leap from their coffins at that.
That was when.
“There he is!”
Aaron and the officers burst through the glass doors.
But upon entering Building 3, they froze at the devastation.
The room was shredded, smashed, and shattered—save for the sturdy walls.
Traces of unimaginable ferocity, unbelievable from just two combatants.
Of course, their shock wasn't just that.
“This is... what the...”
The officers gulped involuntarily.
Their eyes locked on the massive bloodstains littering the scene.
What kind of battle happened here...?
They couldn't even imagine.
And at the epicenter stood one man: Kyle Clark.
“Impossible...”
Aaron Coaster gulped at the gray ashes drifting before him.
“D-did you really...?”
Really kill it?
A great bloodliner at least viscount-rank, alone?
How?
No way...
His eyes trembled rapidly.
The final Venator successor for real...?
“K-Kyle.”
Team Leader Joseph approached cautiously.
“Y-you okay?”
“Ah, you came.”
Kyle nodded awkwardly, glancing around before nodding again.
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“Hah...”
Aaron was stunned once more.
N-not a single scratch...
Against a great bloodliner? Impossible.
No way.
Even a viscount had stacks easily over a hundred from their age.
The powerful barrier warped time, giving time to kill—but.
No injuries while killing that many times?
Even for the final Venator successor, was that possible?
Unless Venator himself returned, no.
Just what is that prisoner...?
His true nature?
That's when Kyle clapped suddenly, as if remembering.
“Ah!!”
“?!”
“Wh-what is it?!”
“Hold on!”
He rushed past the startled officers, flinging open the interrogation room door.
“In-Inspector!”
“!!”
Only then did they remember Lyn Yenitz, scrambling after him.
“Inspector!”
“Are you alrigh—!”
But Kyle and the rest fell silent.
“Hic... sniff. Sniff.”
“......”
“......”
“......”
There, huddled in the corner, trembling quietly: Yenitz.
A shocking contrast to her usual haughty, icy demeanor.
The horrific sounds from outside must've triggered helicopter flashbacks, inducing panic.
Wiping tears alone, her makeup smeared, she asked.
“I-is it... over...?”
Kyle, swallowing his surprise, quietly called Joseph.
“...Uh, Team Leader?”
“Y-yeah.”
Getting the hint, he herded the others out.
“Out, get out. Damn it, out, you idiots.”
Somewhere in the 8th Special District.
Godfather Don Carne gnawed his nails anxiously.
The silent restaurant, devoid of people.
As he waited, the door opened, and he shot to his feet.
“This! This isn't what we agreed!!”
The godfather shouted, face ashen.
“You said a great bloodliner would surely kill the Mafia Butcher!”
But he trailed off.
It wasn't wheelchair-bound Girion Levebruck standing there.
Instead, a short old man stared back.
The flustered godfather asked.
“...Wh-who are you?”
“Walter Levebruck.”
The current head of the Levebruck family, longtime friend of the sage—the very man who'd once discussed [Thunder Bolt] in District 5 with him.
“And Girion Levebruck was my father.”
“...!”
The godfather gulped.
“Th-then why you instead of Girion...”
“My father is dead.”
“?!”
Walter sat casually.
“The pact broke when the great bloodliner died.”
“Pact...?”
“Father should've died ages ago. He'd only prolonged his life through the pact with the vampires.”
Providing mages rich in mana as steady prey to vampires, in exchange for a blood contract extending his lifespan.
In turn, vampires helped Levebruck devour the Magic Tower for better prey.
That was the pact.
But with the vampire dead, it ended.
Walter recalled recent events.
Kuugh!
Girion, mid-sip of coffee, suddenly vomiting blood and collapsing.
This can't...
Clutching his chest, incredulous, he'd looked up at Walter.
The pact... broken?
!!
A great bloodliner... no way...!
Gushing blood, Girion grabbed his collar.
Wal...ter...!
Ending the memory, Walter scoffed softly.
“Of course, that doesn't change House Levebruck's ambitions.”
Three centuries ago, the Origin Mage glimpsed the world's end.
A inevitable doom, its timing unknown—but certain.
Thus, he founded the Magic Tower Sapientia with the six magic families.
Their sole ambition: alter that doom, attain salvation magic.
To that end, they severed worldly ties, devoting all to magic research.
But Walter no longer cared for such “ambitions.”
Is there proof the doom the Origin Mage saw was real?
He was sick of Sapientia imprisoning itself for centuries on one man's word.
With such power, why not use it!
The era had changed.
Luther rejected the Tower; Dun City drove them to the frontlines.
Then we must answer the world's call.
Fear Luther's anti-magic constitution? Use other methods.
They weren't immortal.
If House Levebruck seizes that tower...
Everything would change.
That was their new family ambition.
To achieve it, Walter spared no means.
Even borrowing the devil's hand.
Walter said.
“The Mafia Butcher is a thorn in my side too.”
“...!”
“So I hope you win this war, Godfather.”
“But even a great bloodliner couldn't kill him—how?!”
“Ever heard of curse dolls, Godfather?”
The godfather frowned.
“Curse dolls?”
Walter chuckled, tossing a straw doll onto the table.
“One of the forbidden curse arts from the Tower's ancient tomes... borrowing demonic power.”
“What the...”
In a flash, Walter drew a dagger and stabbed the doll's arm—thunk!
“Aaaargh!!”
The godfather's bodyguard collapsed screaming.
Stunned men activated implants, aiming at Walter.
“No need for alarm. Just a simple demonstration.”
As he withdrew the blade, the bodyguard exhaled deeply, recovering.
The godfather's face hardened.
“...What the hell was that?”
“A cheap straw doll only causes arm pain, no permanent harm...”
Walter's eyes gleamed.
“But what if we summon a devil to link human to human directly?”
“...!!”
The godfather gulped.
“If the devil takes the 'doll' human's arm to hell, the Butcher's arm never moves again. Same for legs. Get it?”
Equipment, resistances, powers—irrelevant.
“Because the curse targets the doll's essence. It mirrors the doll's price onto the Butcher. No defense works.”
“S-such a thing is possible?”
“Of course.”
Walter chuckled darkly.
“Once activated, the curse lingers until the Butcher dies. Understand? Until he dies.”
Even if limbs were severed and replaced with implants.
“Even super-regeneration would only heal, not restore function—unless he dies and revives.”
“Such a stratagem!”
As the godfather brightened, Walter added a caveat.
“One condition, though.”
“Wh-what is it?”
“A sacrifice.”
“S-sacrifice? I'll prepare one somehow.”
“That's needed too, but I mean the one becoming the doll.”
“The doll sacrifice?”
Stepling fingers, Walter hummed.
“This curse works best when the caster, with the strongest grudge, becomes the doll. Get it?”
“What...!?”
In short, the godfather himself must be the doll.
Despite his shock, Walter pressed on.
“One arm and leg. That'll cripple the Butcher, making him easy prey.”
He thought.
Don't know how the Butcher slew a great bloodliner, but...
No matter the skill, limbless, he'd barely muster half.
The godfather bellowed.
“Make me the curse doll? Absurd!”
“Godfather.”
Walter's mana-laced voice warped the space.
Imprinting directly into his mind.
“Just one arm and one leg.”
The price to save your empire. To avoid ruin.
“Just that, and you win this war. I'll ensure your victory.”
“!!”
Gulping, the godfather glanced at his left arm and leg with trembling eyes.
“Live or die as is—your choice. I'll respect it.”
Walter whispered again.
“But Godfather, think. Just one limb.”
Just.
“One limb.”
“...!”