Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: IRIS OUT
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Disappeared Status Window.
Ian didn't bother searching for it. He walked down the wide-open corridor to the stairwell.
He no longer used the elevator. He'd taken it just now out of urgency, but there was no need to trap himself in an enclosed space anymore. The stairs were better.
Ian pressed on down the fatigue-slicked path, thinking this.
The entrance to the stairwell was completely blocked. The doorknob seemed crushed from the inside, refusing to turn at all.
Bang-!
Without hesitation, he blasted it apart. He roughly tore off the dangling, bullet-shattered knob and stepped through the creaking door.
The moment he entered, a fishy stench unique to seafood wafted over him.
It wasn't unbearable, but mixed with the pervasive blood scent filling the air, it created a revolting stink that made his head throb just from smelling it.
'Evidence that the Anomaly has started moving in earnest.'
Ian rubbed his nose to dilute the smell and climbed the stairs.
'It normally grows stronger over time, but with things like this, it can't just sit idle.'
An Anomalies were malice toward humanity and inexplicable supernatural phenomena made manifest, but they weren't immune to the fear of death. The ghosts occupying the officetel had fled in panic when exorcism loomed.
The cruise ship was no different. With two Mages now operating freely, it couldn't afford to stay complacent.
Whatever the case, there was no need to worry much.
Whether it moved or not, what needed doing was clear from the start.
攻略 methods or whatever didn't matter. There was no reason to take the long way around when he had the means to kill it directly.
Click.
Ian opened the cylinder and reloaded. Cold Magnum rounds filled the chambers, while the still-warm barrel carried faint heat along the entire gun barrel.
Using magic was fine, but handling firearms was still far more comfortable. Even if magic was primary against groups, in one-on-one fights, pulling the trigger while using magic as support seemed better.
'Guns are modern magic's fireball.'
What else could a tool that killed with a trigger click be but magic?
"......"
Lost in idle thoughts, he ascended another floor.
4th floor.
Perhaps because of the ominous number, the door to the 4th floor was utterly demolished. Crumpled metal sheets lay scattered on the floor, and wriggling flesh chunks were embedded in the shattered walls and floor.
A closer look revealed they were sailors hit by shells. Dressed in uncharacteristic Marine uniforms, even with half their bodies gone, they twitched their fingertips and toes via remaining tendons and nerves. Those missing limbs, of course, couldn't.
"Hmm."
Aside from the sprawled sailors, nothing else stood out. Ian gripped his Grimoire in one hand, revolver in the other, and approached a twitching sailor. This one's left head half was blown clean off, from the nose up.
"......Hoo, hoo......"
Surprisingly, he was still breathing.
With half his brain gone, yet respiration persisted.
Ian had assumed they weren't normal humans, but he hadn't expected this level of vitality.
If sailors were this tough, the captain would be even more resilient.
Uncertain, but confirming the possibility wasn't bad. Ian jammed the muzzle into the sailor's crushed eye socket.
Squish......
Sticky fluids and blood coated the barrel. The sailor convulsed at the metal invading through his eye socket, but Ian paid no mind.
"Where's the captain?"
At the clear voice, the sailor realized his attacker was human, not an entity, and his lips twitched.
"......You're human. But not an ordinary one."
"I'm not one for straying off-topic. Just answer the question."
Squuuish.
Pushing the barrel deeper transmitted the firm yet squishy brain texture to Ian. The sailor shuddered in agony like his nerves were on fire, yet wore a sinister smile.
"That one has already received the gaze of the Great One. Not someone the likes of you can handle."
"......"
"Blood shall soak the earth, and all shall chant His name! We are lowly creations, frail beings! Thus, we gladly accept His grace!"
Ian spotted something faintly gleaming inside the chanting sailor's tongue and narrowed his eyes. He pulled the trigger, shattering the brain, then yanked out the limp tongue. It came free without resistance.
Drip.
Blood poured from the severed tongue end.
Far too much for mere bleeding. No matter how vascular tongues were, this arterial gush made no sense.
Apparently, this tongue itself was the medium granting power to the cultists, including the sailor.
Ian examined the pattern on the tongue tip without bothering to shake off the bloodied hand.
"......A sigil."
A grotesque sigil of a long tongue spearing into an open maw like a spear.
This seemed to be the cult's symbol, practically.
Drawn so disgustingly, as if to scream they worshiped an Outer God. Ian clicked his tongue, tossing the flesh lump to the floor.
The tongue writhed like a living creature.
Seeing this, Ian smirked faintly.
"An entity, huh?"
He'd thought the sigil was the power source, but the tongue itself was the main body. Without hesitation, Ian picked it up, reshaped it with Recreation Magic, and pocketed it in his bag.
Now confirmed as an entity, no reason to hesitate.
Even in the frantic hospital, he'd harvested materials thriftily. No different now.
Thus, Ian explored the floor, extracting and converting sailors' tongues into materials as he went.
They'd breathed until tongues were pulled, but convulsed and died as the slimy flesh dissolved. Thanks to this, Ian learned their weakness was the tongue.
Not that it mattered much to him. Anything he touched died regardless of weak points.
Still, good to know.
Ian grabbed a recently convulsing sailor's head, pried open the jaw, extracted the tongue, tied it with nearby string, and tossed it down.
Simple reason for not converting this one: all extracted tongues wriggled as if heading somewhere.
With plenty harvested, time for guidance.
Unclear destination, but surely the Anomaly's core awaited. Maybe to the captain, but following caused no loss.
Ian held the string like a leash and lit a cigarette.
"Now, lead the way."
[Kyuwing.]
The tongue leaped like a frog, bleeding tears of blood.
*
On the way, he encountered evil spirits handled by Lee Seo-ah. The ghost dogs lunging madly bowed politely to Ian before descending the stairs.
[Kiyaaaaak!!]
The ghosts below shrieked. Seemed Lee Seo-ah had requested reinforcements and started fighting too.
Ian was curious how a necromancy Mage fought, but no time to check. Gripping the leash, he clicked the trigger while walking.
Bang! Baaang-!
The muzzle flashed, firing lead slugs. A massive earthworm toppled into the bullets; Ian hurled a mirror atop it.
Thud!
The mirror pierced blue flesh, glowing as it turned the worm to glass shards. With a crash, the body shattered; Ian stepped over the pieces, tugging the leash lightly.
"Going the right way? Looks like you're just following instinct, not thinking about me."
[Kyuwing!]
The tongue growled softly, hopping over glass shards. Sharp edges tore flesh, but the tiny tongue hopped on heedlessly.
From observation, it lacked reason. No intelligence at all.
Its cries mimicked vocal organs clumsily—far from pleasant. Closer to a cute "kyuwing," but objectively repulsive. The raspy, sharp voice like dozens of old men grated, throbbing the head.
Slight vision warping suggested ongoing mental attacks. The Grimoire kept him fine, but infuriating all the same. Ian halted the tongue briefly and stomped it lightly.
[Kyuwing! Kyuheeeng!]
The tongue wailed.
From its view, strings emerged from empty air to bind and stomp it—a bizarre horror. Ian's invisibility magic from the coat ensured it couldn't see him.
No intent to dispel it.
Why reveal himself riskily? No need to take losses. Better confirm the tongue's destination first, then act.
Ian resumed walking.
Freed from the weight, the tongue scurried like fleeing a predator. He followed, leash in hand.
After floors of combat and stealth, they reached the wheelhouse.
Commonly called the bridge.
Where captain and crew adjusted course and speed. Something cult-related must be inside.
As half-expected. Ian dropped the leash, stretched his stiff wrist and shoulder before entering. He reloaded the cylinder, drew his knife hilt partially from his coat pocket for quick access.
Then the tongue slipped under the wheelhouse door.
No rush to chase. No more use for it anyway.
Ian checked his state calmly one last time, confirmed readiness, and placed a hand on the door.
"Be reborn."
Crack!
The thick steel door crumpled, sharpening like a spear. Ian gripped it and peeked inside.
"......"
The wheelhouse interior was fairly clean. Water sloshed on the floor, but no corpses or gore.
However...... the space was huge. No, enormous. Several times a normal wheelhouse.
Utterly unlike the exterior view. Ian planted the spear in the floor, opened his Grimoire, and advanced slowly.
"Hoo......"
Then, faint cigarette smoke rose from a corner. Ian whipped his head, spotting the smoker.
"Come on in."
First to catch the eye: stark white beard. Tongues clung amid the tangled mess.
One-eyed, blue earthworms poured from ears. Tiny tongue-flesh packed densely like teeth gleamed between spread lips.
Grotesque. Yet Ian kept eyes locked.
Pleased, the captain—hat backward—wagged his pipe and grinned.
"Mage blessed by the Great One."
Above a human head embedded in its chest, a faintly glowing nameplate read "Captain."