The Gallery of Despair
The interior of the castle was so vast one could easily mistake it for a palace, and it resembled a museum with its sheer volume of displayed works.
The soft lighting combined with the eerie atmosphere produced a strangely unpleasant feeling.
Of course, the greatest share of that discomfort came from the grotesque forms of the pieces themselves.
Not a single one was normal.
Women, men, children, the elderly—everything was scattered without consistency or order, yet one common thread bound them all.
Despair.
Paintings, stone statues, sculptures, objets d’art—every single piece incorporated the human form, and every face was steeped in despair.
Ignoring them, I pressed forward.
At the end of the long corridor lay a vast hall, and beyond it rose countless staircases, as if leading to a ballroom dais. Even so, the gloomy air never lifted for a moment, for statues of screaming figures stood in place of living people, as though they meant to take their place.
“This is disgusting.”
That was my pure, unfiltered reaction after looking at those works. Or perhaps, in this case, I should say the owner’s taste was disgusting.
“Hmm? Really? I rather like them.”
The moment I reached the exact center of the hall, a woman’s voice drifted down. I lifted my head toward the sound.
First impression: pure aristocracy.
If the high-ranking vampires I had met so far were third-rate actors playing at nobility, this woman was so perfectly aristocratic that the moment you saw her, you could not doubt it for an instant.
Her silver hair, as if moonlight had been spun into strands, held a faint blue sheen that lent her an air of mystery. In stark contrast, her vividly gleaming crimson eyes looked as though blood itself had been cut and set like jewels.
Those kaleidoscopic red pupils half-lidded and curved into a smile, revealing the long fangs nestled within her mouth.
“Fufu… staring at me with such passionate eyes… Have you fallen for me as well?”
She covered her lips with a fur-trimmed fan, and the aura radiating from her was nothing like that of a mere high-ranking vampire.
So this bitch is the boss.
Her behavior didn’t even reach half of Lee Se-rin’s, yet the mere fact that she resembled that woman in the slightest sent my internal favorability plummeting to rock bottom.
I could feel it in the way she looked at me.
This vampire and Lee Se-rin were the same. No matter how they dressed it up, the mindset underlying everything treated humans—treated me—as nothing more than toys.
Lee Se-rin deceives people for fun. She lies, fabricates, slowly entangles them, then watches them struggle to free themselves and enjoys the show.
This woman kills her “livestock” for the sake of despair. Linked to Shiz, I could sense it. Inside every one of those repulsive structures I had seen on the way here, fragments of souls and shards of lingering thoughts were sealed.
Without a single exception.
Two or three mixed together would have been merciful. The souls steeped into the hideous painting behind her were so numerous that counting them was nearly impossible. And of course, every last one of them was endlessly whispering curses and death toward her.
“Valencia de Noir.”
At my words the woman—Valencia—twitched an eyebrow. She was startled that I knew her name. But the surprise quickly turned to interest.
“Ahh… I thought a few of the little ones’ presences in the city had vanished. So you were the one who killed them?”
I gave no answer. Yet that silence alone was answer enough. Valencia smiled. I, in turn, stirred my mana. I now had confirmation that she was the boss.
“A human who hunts vampires without even belonging to the Holy See… It’s been a long time since I’ve completed such an entertaining collection.”
As the shadows slowly unfurled, a dark-crimson aura began to writhe around her. Strengthening my sight with mana, I saw that the aura was composed of finely scattered droplets of blood.
That woman… no, that “boss” had to stay alive until I finished evolving the others. She was the means to make the vampires keep calling for reinforcements, to give them the blind purpose of having to save her.
This was the groundwork for that.
Shadows rapidly eroded the world. The annoying part of this method was that I could not lift my body from the ground. The moment a shadow left my body, its power faded quickly.
That was why, when I fired arrows, I always wove loose, thread-like shadows along with them.
Being able to pour out shadows like this at all was a technique made possible only by the overwhelming mana I had gained through Subjugator. After all, the essence of these shadows lay in “clothing.”
“Ahaha, what an amusing little trick.”
Snap—
Her fan unfurled, and along its trajectory a blood-red aura shot forth. It aimed for the shadows, yet failed to deal any meaningful damage. The shadows, momentarily stalled, immediately resumed their advance and continued eroding the surroundings. For the first time, the smile on the boss’s lips stiffened.
“…How about this, then?”
Whoooosh!!
A wind of blood rose. Blades of blood scattered in every direction, mimicking the form of a gale as they shredded the air.
Thud—
Even that was not enough to drive the shadows back. Of course, it was not entirely without effect. Controlling the shadows, I could tell.
The instant that blood touched a shadow, that portion petrified. The shadow literally hardened like stone.
From the bizarre statues I had seen on the way here, I had roughly guessed she possessed such an ability, and the guess had proven perfectly accurate.
So I had prepared a plan. Even if a part petrified, before that portion could be exposed I poured more than twice the mana into it, covering and replacing the hardened section with fresh shadow.
A simple trick. One might think it a wasteful expenditure of mana, but more important was planting the illusion in the enemy that “attacks do not work.”
And she fell for it completely.
The more arrogant and insolent a person is, the more confidence they place in their own power. That is why such people collapse so quickly the moment their power fails them.
Anxiety blooms, composure is lost, and then comes rage at the realization that they themselves have begun thinking like the “weak.”
They try to deny, through that rage, the fact that they have harbored such frail emotions.
This woman was similar to Lee Se-rin. But the decisive difference lay in perspective.
Lee Se-rin is a Transcendent. She stands in the position of an overwhelming powerhouse, yet deliberately plays the weak. She prefers to win favor rather than awe. She is so skilled at toying with human hearts that one might call her sly.
No matter what pain or anguish awaits, if it serves her “fun,” she willingly accepts it—a severe hedonist.
But this woman was different.
She was a lofty noble to the end, and therefore made no attempt to understand those beneath her. She treated humans as livestock, looked down on them, and possessed a self-centered mindset that believed she could never lose.
The difference between Lee Se-rin—who knows and understands everything, then enjoys it from a Transcendent’s viewpoint—and this woman, who is satisfied with the half-baked position of a mere “noble” and struts about, was small yet vast.
A difference of understanding.
Lee Se-rin, who knows everything and even accounts for the possibility of her own defeat, then willingly “enjoys” it, versus this arrogant woman who never even contemplates a future in which she loses—the gap between them was truly heaven and earth.
Therefore she could never defeat me. Had I never known Lee Se-rin it might have been different, but I had spent years with a woman far worse than this bitch.
That was why I was more confident than anyone that I could cook this type to perfection.
I had set the atmosphere. Next came planting a sense of overwhelming pressure. I would thoroughly drag the woman who had always thought of herself as the hunter down into the position of prey.
I would make her realize, by her own mind, that no matter how she struggled it was useless.
“Th-this can’t be… Why isn’t my power…?”
As the flustered boss began gathering blood into the form of a whip, I loaded the presence I had deliberately suppressed until now into my mana so she would not even have time to grasp the situation.
When the naturally added Charisma was layered with killing intent, her already pale complexion turned even paler.
“Ah… aah…”
A moan slipped naturally from lips that were rapidly turning the color of earth. I narrowed my eyes even colder, yet the will contained within them I conveyed more intensely than anyone else.
Proof of that was the boss’s reaction—whip in hand, she froze solid. The atmosphere had completely shifted to my side. From here on, it was time for a cheap little play.
I needed to set the stage so that she would forget her standing as a member of a ducal house and summon as many of her kind as possible simply to survive.
“I expected a little more from ducal blood… but in the end, this is all you amount to.”
I spoke as though truly lamenting, imprinting upon the one before me that she was no longer even worth looking at. With that, the preparations were complete. The long nightmare began now.
“Y-you… no, who exactly are you, my lord?”
Her speech had turned polite. Probably the overwhelming mana and the dark-crimson eyes gleaming like blood—thanks to the fire mana—had made her mistake me for one of her own kind.
No. She simply wanted to think that.
She had not been frightened by a human. A human could never wield such power. That thing was a monster wearing a human’s skin.
She was trying to rationalize it that way. At that feeble mindset, a sigh of pure exasperation escaped me. Truly foolish. I no longer felt any value in further conversation.
In “this world,” they had probably occupied the seat of the strongest. That was precisely why they could not acknowledge the existence of someone like me.
To pierce that mindset, I kindly flicked my finger with mana loaded into it.
Snap!
“Come forth.”
Shadows surrounded us on every side. And through my mana, those who emerged from within the shadows began to flow out.
Jingle!
The first to appear were the flames of the underworld in every direction. Accompanied by the mysterious yet eerie sound of overlapping bells, green flames tinged with violet illuminated the space darkened by shadow.
As if fulfilling the role of her newly transformed skill The Guide, Shiz appeared, and close behind her came blue flames that burned so brightly they seemed ready to devour every last green flame.
“Clack, clack-clack.”
Its jaw clicked, adding harmony to the sound of the bells, and in response it kindled flames as though marking the path ahead through the dark road.
“Cawww!!”
““Cawwwww!!!””
Only when the flames flared did the pitch-black things that had been hiding among the shadows begin to raise their heads. The noise of them flying about and screeching all at once was enough to make one’s ears ring.
There were not just one or two. As more and more of them continued to appear, Valencia desperately wanted to flee this place. But she could not. The entire hall was already wrapped in shadow; she could no longer tell which way was which.
Their destination was only one: right in front of her.
At the sight of the flock of crows that seemed to cage her and the flames that burned to devour souls, Valencia’s body began to tremble like an aspen leaf.
What appeared after that were all equally inhuman.
A wolf whose scent of blood was unnaturally thick, a demon wearing the guise of a nun, monsters that wore human forms yet were not human, and even something that tore through the air at every moment, producing a sound like nails scraping a chalkboard.
Yet none of them compared to what stood behind them. Valencia’s gaze remained fixed on that one thing the entire time.
Because she had seen it.
“Grrrrr….”
Beyond the darkness, beyond an abyss blacker than the void itself, a pure-white catastrophe whose form could still be fully perceived.
A dragon.
A being said to have existed since the beginning and ruled the world—an unknown existence that had only ever been seen in murals of ancient ruins or within the pages of old texts—now lived and breathed, and it harbored hostility toward her.
That alone felt as though her skin were being torn away. Just as an insect that flies into a flame is burned to death by its heat, she too would die.
Despair.
At the overwhelming premonition of death, she despaired.
What in the world was that man who commanded so many inhuman monsters as though they were his own limbs?
She could not win. There was no way she could win.
The fear carved into her blood, into her instincts, eroded Valencia’s mind. Only now did she understand the stories her parents had once told her. When faced with an enemy one can never defeat, one becomes unable to think of anything at all.
As a child she had believed no such thing could exist, that they were merely making up tales to frighten her.
But now she felt, with painful clarity, that she had been wrong.
The whip in her hand, as if speaking for her will, immediately dissolved into blood and fell away. Having lost all fighting spirit, she simply collapsed as strength left her body.
How could she survive? The answer was simple.
Act the same way as those who had once cried out to her. The moment that thought reached her, Valencia put it into action at once.
“S-spare me…”
Slash—
Her vision inverted. What had just happened? Why was she touching the floor?
Before that thought could reach a conclusion, she saw blood fountain from the body of the woman whose head had just been severed.
It was a sight she herself had often enjoyed in the past. Yet somehow it felt familiar. Only then did her mind, dulled by terror, arrive at the answer.
That was her own body. In that instant goosebumps rose. Her body reacted first. She immediately kicked off the ground and sought her head.
The moment she seized it, just like the headless knight she had once seen, an agony that felt as though it would turn her brain to mush struck her. She nearly dropped the head without meaning to.
But she endured. She endured the pain, endured it again and again, and forcibly pressed the head against the severed stump of her neck.
Crunch, crack!
The poorly joined parts spun rapidly and returned to their original form, and with that the sense of wrongness in her neck swiftly vanished. Sensation returned, and the agony that had felt ready to burn her brain gradually subsided.
It was a feat possible only because of the regenerative power of a top-tier vampire, so superior that even comparing it to high-ranking vampires felt insulting.
Yet even though her body had returned to normal, the experience and the emotions had not vanished. Rather, a fear denser than before pressed down heavily upon Valencia’s body.
Yes. She herself had done the same. To those who begged for salvation and pleaded to be spared, she had deliberately given hope. Then she had snatched it away right before their eyes and preserved their screaming forms. And she had displayed them here as trophies.
She must not hope for salvation. She had no right to it.
She had learned from what just happened. Valencia de Noir was neither so incompetent nor so stupid as to deny that lesson and repeat the same act.
And precisely because of that, she instinctively understood.
That man had no intention of killing her cleanly. Retribution. Just like the preserved specimens here, he intended to torment her thoroughly before killing her.
She had made a mistake. From the beginning she should not have begged for mercy, but for the compassion of a painless death. At the horrific future that awaited her, the light in Valencia’s pupils went out and she died swiftly.
Crunch!!
“Kyaaaaaaah…!!!!”
As if to jolt her spirit awake, a thorn of shadow pierced her. When she was forcibly made to stand on both legs, blue flames now rose beneath her feet.
She was burning.
Her body, which had felt nothing more than lukewarm even under the highest-grade magic hurled by the mages who had once stormed in to bring her down, now felt heat and pain and cried out in agony.
Her body moved on reflex. Following the instinct that this might free her from the suffering, she ran. Strangely, the flames weakened. With the reduced pain giving her certainty, she drew fully upon a vampire’s power and fled with all her might.
Every time she fled, flaming arrows pursued her. The sight was no different from a hunter tracking prey.
“Hah, hah…!”
All manner of monsters blocked her path.
“Grr!!”
Crunch!!
A wolf chasing the fleeing her tore off her arm. Even though it was merely a bite, controlling her blood became strangely difficult. As regeneration slowed, fresh blood sprayed and fountained in every direction.
Under the wolf’s relentless assault she finally severed the dangling arm herself and discarded it; only then did the wolf withdraw into the darkness.
It hurt.
“If you wish to live, struggle. Seek rest. Fulfill your duty.”
A demon possessing holy power whispered to her. Her ears rang. Her vision narrowed, and goosebumps rose as though insects crawled across her skin. Scratching at skin that stung as if burned, she ran.
Even then the arrows never stopped. Most were blind shots, yet whenever a particularly vicious one struck her body or legs she collapsed on the spot and had to scream at the pain that burned her.
As time passed, instruments of torture began to appear along the path she took. Spinning saw blades, spikes that burst up through the floor, and bullets whose origin she could not even perceive tormented her.
Each time, fresh blood soaked the ground. Entrails spilled and scattered. Seizing that moment as though they had been waiting, the crows swarmed over her.
“Aagh, aaaaaagh!!!”
They pecked her body. They tore skin and sprayed blood. They raked through her entrails to increase the pain. Midway she saw some of the crows begin to harden like stone, but whenever that happened twice as many new crows burst forth to torment her.
She pulled the arrow from her leg, forced her crushed vision to recover, and moved again.
Her destination was the man. Yet no matter how far she advanced, the distance between herself and the man showed no sign of closing. Whenever she rested, the distance grew. It was not her imagination; it was actually increasing.
Valencia clenched her teeth hard. It changed nothing. Her vision blurred. Whether she was shedding tears or blood was impossible to tell amid the crimson stains.
What was certain was that even in this moment the pain kept drawing nearer, while the distance to the man who alone could end it kept growing farther.
She rose and ran again.
After that it was repetition. On and on, again and again, she advanced and advanced until at last she arrived.
“Ah… aah…”
A vampire short on blood rapidly lost strength. Even with eternal life, her once-brilliant youth aged swiftly as though reclaiming its original time, and her once-mighty body became something utterly wretched.
Something dropped with a soft thud before her. A crystal orb. A communication crystal.
“Call them.”
Whom? The question held no meaning. She already knew from experience what this man wanted. More vampires. He needed prey.
“….”
Even moans no longer came. Better to die like this. She could not drag her own kin into this suffering. At that thought the man took something from the shadows and poured it over her head.
Trickle, trickle—
It soaked her hair and naturally seeped into her body, bringing vitality. Blood so potent that her withered form rapidly restored itself. There was no way she would not know whose it was. After all, it was what she herself had just lost.
Her body recovered. Yet she could not move. Before any thought of what she must do, fear flooded her.
“Who said you could die?”
At the gaze that looked down on her as though it were the most natural thing in the world, her head bowed of its own accord. If possible she wanted to drown in this pitch-black shadow and die. But even that had now become impossible.
At that realization something inside her snapped.
“Ah, aha, ahahahahaha…!”
So Valencia laughed. She operated the crystal while shedding tears. She did not choose destinations. She simply contacted every single one she could reach.
If she could give orders, she gave orders. If she could beg, she begged. Even if she had to call in debts, she summoned as many as possible.
“Kill me, please kill me. Please… please just kill me.”
She pleaded desperately. Anyone would do. She only wanted to be freed from this horrific nightmare. She prayed with all her heart.
No matter how many lives were lost because of it, she no longer cared. As long as she herself could die, nothing else mattered. It was an utterly selfish thought, yet she no longer had the strength left to weigh such things.
That desperate contact finally connected.
Jingle—
“Hic…!”
A bell rang. It signaled that pain was coming. Having learned the lesson many times, she curled her body.
Yet no matter how long she waited, the pain never arrived. Before she knew it the man’s feet had naturally entered her field of vision.
Hesitantly she raised her gaze. At that icy stare Valencia recalled the look she had once seen when granted an audience with their king.
Completely different, yet somehow similar. She had believed it was simply the gaze of one who stood above. But she was wrong.
That was the “indifference” shown by one who could snatch away her life at any moment.
He removed the mask he had been wearing and looked at her. A human. No matter how she looked, he was human. Yet to her he appeared as something more than human.
The green light gleaming on the back of the hand that held something stole her gaze. That flame—she remembered it. The underworld flame said to be possessed by those of hell.
At that she understood. This place was hell. And that man was the messenger of a god who had come to judge her.
The wails of the church humans she had crushed like insects rang in her ears. This was judgment. She was experiencing, in full, the suffering of those she had killed.
That had to be it.
Had she known it would come to this, she would never have done it. She would never have toyed with livestock for amusement. She would never have committed such atrocities to strengthen herself.
Crunch—
Hands rose from within the shadows. Some she remembered; others she did not. Like the gestures of the dead, they reached for her.
Her entire body was bound and lifted into the air. Hands intertwined with hands tore her body apart. The dismembered pieces were raked through by the hands, inflicting pain.
All she could do was scream until her throat tore. This was a cry of atonement. At the same time it was a requiem for those who had died by her hand.
Only then could she die. She wanted to believe that. Otherwise this pain seemed as though it would continue forever.
Her mind was already broken. She simply, sincerely, longed for the pain to end even a little sooner.
Thus she was drawn by countless hands and, as if seeping into one corner of the shadows, closed her eyes.
…The pain continued.