Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Recognition
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Hesitation-free trigger pull. Bullets tearing through the air strike the villagers' bodies precisely.
Blood splatters. A villager unable to withstand the kinetic energy falls backward. The woman with her forehead pierced convulses and pitches forward.
But soon, they rise again. With blood-drenched faces, still muttering unintelligible words, they continue to approach. Even the villagers crushed by Kim Yul's magic drag their broken bodies across the ground.
No regeneration. Their shattered forms keep spilling blood and bone fragments, moving in their ruined state.
Immortal, yet no regenerative ability, it seems.
“Doesn't seem like physical immunity...! Hoo...! More than that, I don't get why they're suddenly so hostile...”
Lee Min-su spat out the words while clutching his shoulder. Ian narrowed his eyes.
“Is that the important thing right now? Curiosity is fine, but at least think in ways that help the situation. Now that we're enemies, talking is pointless.”
“Hm, you're right... My apologies.”
Lee Min-su gave a wry smile and exhaled. The pain radiating from his shoulder seared his brain like fire, but it actually helped him stay focused. Bone fragments torn from the scraped bone stabbed his muscles chaotically with every joint movement.
Kim Mi-ryeo was no different. But without a hint of agony, she drew the Japanese sword from her waist and lowered her stance.
Her aura sharpened as if ready to charge at any moment. Ian glanced briefly at the back of her head before turning toward the villagers.
He'd said that, but Ian himself harbored curiosity toward them.
Sudden mental attack? Not strange. He'd already heard that both the monkey's paw and the Buddha could perform mental attacks. That even Management Bureau agents, and even a mage, had been momentarily entranced was unexpected, but since they'd broken free, it was all good.
What drew Ian's interest was their 'immortality.'
Immortality without regeneration. They'd gained what was essentially a curse. Could they still function normally even with their heads blown open?
From a purely magical perspective, the essence of a human was generally defined as the head.
More precisely, the 'brain.' Mages believed that as long as the brain remained intact—and as long as one could dominate it—one could live forever.
Not an absurd notion. Certain grimoires even recorded spells that transformed one into maggots to seize another's brain and achieve eternity. There were many similar spells. Ones involving carving out someone's brain and transplanting one's own were fairly well-known in mage circles.
Criticism of abandoning humanity didn't apply to mages from the start. Humanity was merely an obstacle to magical advancement, not a springboard for leaps forward. It wasn't for nothing that most magic had evolved on battlefields.
Anyway.
For these immortals, granted eternity not by magic but by anomaly—where lay their core? The heart? Or the brain? Destroying which would end their immortality?
Not dying despite a pierced forehead—did that mean the heart was key? Or had the brain not been fully destroyed?
He wanted to test it. No reason not to.
Ian holstered his pistol, opened his grimoire, and began chanting. Black seawater swirled around him.
“I, master of the sea and husband to Her, command thee. O sea, wield thy blade and cleave them asunder.”
As the chant ended, surging seawater engulfed the villagers. Compressed water cutters sliced their bodies precisely. Their flesh tore apart in chunks, splattering to the ground as blood flowed like a river.
It looked like the threat was over, but the group held their breath, staying vigilant.
And as expected—yet slightly differently—they rose. The fragmented villagers reassembled.
[Ahahaha!!]
Faces bloom from the split flesh chunks. Like crimson rock formations splitting open, they burst into laughter that shook the village.
“Khak!”
“Urp...! Urghhh!”
“...!”
Those who heard it collapse to the ground, trembling. Expressions midway between laughter and tears etch onto their faces. Kim I-seo fared the best, but even she didn't look normal. Her grotesquely torn mouth corners kept rising, slowly ripping her skin.
“....”
Ian tapped his grimoire steadily as he watched.
Unlike the four writhing in madness, he remained unaffected, just as when he'd first entered. Laughter? It was just noise—loud and eerie, but not enough to drive him insane.
Hard to chalk it up to mere thick mental barriers. He seemed immune to mental attacks altogether, though he couldn't pinpoint why.
Perhaps the grimoire aided his mental defenses.
Whatever the case, it was advantageous for Ian. He gazed at the approaching flesh chunks and calmly organized his thoughts.
'No special physical attacks despite facing us for a while now. Seems they lack separate offensive means.'
The knives and axes they held looked threatening enough, but unlike the cruise ship captain, they didn't sprout tentacles or extend tongues like spears.
Likely because the anomaly's type specialized in mental attacks.
Good news for Ian. He exhaled and walked backward toward the villagers.
“Shin, Ian...!”
Kim I-seo, laughing through tears, called his name. Ian ignored her and looked up at the sky.
The sun had risen unnoticed, bathing the ground in light. Sunlight pierced even the dark mountain interior, replacing shadows with faint halos. Below it, the blood lilies and villagers writhed, blooming with laughter.
“Behold.”
Ian murmured lowly, gazing down at them.
Magic is heavily influenced by environment. Naturally, atmosphere, attitude, form, and appearance matter. To wield grand magic, one must don the appropriate mask and garb. Reality isn't like fiction; casually summoning lightning or flames without buildup, as archmages might, is impossible.
Thus, activation phrases suited to the situation are needed. But Outer God magic required no such thing.
He chanted anyway—to amplify the magic's power.
And to bend the environment to his favor.
“Original sin runs deep.”
Ian opened his grimoire and whispered.
In that instant, blood flowed from the grimoire's cover to the ground. The blood, swimming like red fish, touched the villagers' blood and began devouring it in reverse.
“All original sins of this world began in the sea, so how could they not be my sins as well?”
[Ahahaha!!]
“Our original sins can never be washed away; they merely dissolve. Thus, the Mother of the Sea reshapes those sins anew, and we call it love.”
[Ah—!]
“Then what is love? Ah, love is us devouring our own sins, dooming us to eternally slay one another.”
[A.]
“In this act, there is no god, no Buddha, no human. We must love and kill each other, kill and love. A truly beautiful sight. Thou art no exception. But.”
As the chant continued, the laughter faded. Replaced by the sound of flowing water.
“I, Her proxy and husband, am so free from the laws.”
Rain.
Rain fell.
From below upward.
Defying gravity, rainwater pooled on the ground and flowed skyward. A phenomenon denying physics outright. The villagers' laughter drowned in the rain, their blood covered and dying. The rock formations withered; sweet floral scents overwhelmed by thick fishy blood reek.
“Khuh... Haak...!”
“...Unbelievable.”
As the laughter subsided, the group's minds cleared. They reacted variously to Ian standing before the villagers, the upward rain, and rippling black seawater—but soon rallied to his side.
“...Are you alright?”
Kim I-seo asked. Instead of answering, Ian placed a hand on his grimoire.
“As I said, original sin runs deep.”
“....”
“You lack the qualification to preach the Buddha's will. No faith to invoke God's name. You who wished upon mere beasts for happiness have no right to it.”
“Shh.”
Kim Yul, realizing Ian was chanting, covered Kim I-seo's mouth with her hand and smiled brightly. She then peered at Ian, eyes sparkling.
Ian noticed her gaze but ignored it, uttering the final chant.
“Thus, I reclaim it.”
[A.]
“The sea remembers; dissolve your original sins once more and take them back.”
[Aa....]
“Before the Mother of Love, atone for your sins.”
[Aaaaaah!!!]
The villagers screamed and staggered back toward their homes. But as the ground flooded with black seawater, they flailed helplessly on the surface. The upward rain pelted their bodies, riddling them with holes.
It spared the group entirely. Rain veering from others clung to Ian alone, wriggling like affection.
Drenched like drowned rats, Ian closed his grimoire, swept back his wet hair, and turned to the group with a faintly weary expression.
“Finish them off. It's tiring...”
Fortunately, no one refused his request.