Chapter 25
Chapter 25
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Imur's Demise
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Black Magic—Absorption was useful, but it had too many drawbacks for direct combat. This wouldn't change even after contracting with Ishtar.
During Absorption, you had to concentrate intensely, preventing any other actions. Worst of all, it required direct contact with the target.
There was a way to use it secretly while pinned down by the enemy, but no fool of an opponent would fail to notice.
That's because the target felt unimaginable agony as their life force or mana was drained.
That's why the situation changed with Imur lost in "Berserk."
Not only did he lose his reason, he couldn't even feel pain, so he didn't notice the purple mist burrowing into his body.
On top of that, once Imur entered "Berserk," he discarded his weapon and insisted on bare-handed combat. Whether it was a side effect of losing his reason or mere showboating, no one knew.
Even more, despite being able to kill foes instantly, he chose to prolong the suffering as much as possible. That gave Damian plenty of time to drain Imur's life force.
Of course, Damian couldn't focus on Absorption as fully as usual. As a side effect, his veins bulged and throbbed across his body. Blood filled his mouth.
In his previous life, he would have passed out immediately. But now, he had a body honed by two years of training. He could endure for a few minutes.
Before Damian lost consciousness, Imur's solid muscles withered like shriveled vegetables. Yet Imur, with bloodshot red eyes, sensed nothing.
Naturally, the pressure bearing down on Damian gradually weakened. With some leeway, the side effects faded, and the draining speed increased dramatically.
Crack. Then the limit arrived. Imur's weakening body couldn't withstand the massive mana still surging out, snapping both his wrists.
But Imur, half out of his mind and still numb to pain, crushed Damian's temple with his limp hand. No real pressure remained.
The moment Imur activated "Berserk," he thought victory was assured. He was half right. That was the moment his defeat was sealed.
Boom! Damian kicked Imur's chest hard. A rib or two must have cracked. Using the recoil, he spun his body and rose to his feet.
"Graaaah!"
Only then did Imur regain his senses. He looked at his body and let out a monstrous scream.
"What is this! What did you do!"
He screamed in fury, but his cracked, rasping voice evoked a frail old man. His emaciated frame left no trace of the underworld boss's former majesty.
He tried to charge at Damian again, reinforcing his body with mana, but his weakened form couldn't handle it. Muscles tore, and bloody foam sprayed from veins across his body.
Instead, Damian's fist smashed into Imur's face.
He didn't even wrap it in Stone Scales like before. No such defense was needed against Imur now.
With a thud, Imur flew back. His stocky frame had once been filled with taut muscle, but now he looked like a pitiful invalid.
"...."
The fleeing Brotherhood members and citizens turned, staring in stunned horror.
Magic? Poison? Whatever trick it was, one thing was clear.
Imur of the Byzantine underworld could no longer stand tall. His prestige, already crumbling since Eric Hilton's arrival, hit rock bottom today.
Even if he somehow restored his body, no underworld boss would negotiate with him as an equal anymore.
Imur's dream of unifying the underworld vanished like a summer night's dream.
"Hah, hah, hah...."
Imur leaned against crumbled debris, gasping ragged breaths. Each inhale felt like it tore his lungs.
His legs, barely supporting his weight, trembled as if ready to snap.
In contrast, Damian's body felt lighter than before the fight. As an underworld boss, Imur had lived well, and the quality of his life force was decent.
The wounds from the battle with Imur had long healed. If anything, Damian felt too energized to stand still.
'I didn't know it had this downside.'
It was like downing five strong cups of coffee. To sleep soundly tonight, he'd need to burn off some energy, but the fight was already over.
"Not yet.... Not yet...!"
Suddenly, Imur pulled several black spheres from his bosom and hurled them. They burst with a pop, spewing thick black smoke.
Visibility dropped to zero. The building ruins and surrounding streets filled with the fog.
Onlookers coughed violently. When the wind finally dispersed the smoke, Imur was gone.
"Wow, insane. Totally insane."
A small head poked out from the building debris. It was Saliba.
"What the hell? Why did Imur suddenly turn into a skeleton.... Ack!"
Damian lightly thumped Saliba's head with his fist. He'd clearly told the kid not to come here, but this curious brat ignored him like always.
"Ow, my head. Still, it's a shame you let him go. A guy like that deserves a knife to the gut."
"Who said I let him live?"
"Hmm? But didn't Eric say we couldn't kill him because it'd cause too much trouble?"
"Not me."
Saliba tilted his head side to side, not grasping Damian's words. But he quickly turned away to evade Shey, who had come looking for him.
* * *
"Damn, damn, damn...!!"
Imur crawled through a dark tunnel, relying only on touch. It was a tunnel dug by his subordinates to demolish Eric Hilton's building. He'd coincidentally escaped into it when the debris exposed it.
No pursuit came. But Imur wasn't fool enough to feel relief at that.
His position as underworld boss had sunk below rock bottom—straight to the depths.
After this humiliation, revival in Byzantine was impossible.
He wasn't just some clueless outsider. Eric Hilton was surely an assassin sent to eliminate Imur.
And he'd fallen right into the trap.
Useless subordinates. Not one had given decent advice. They were the main reason for his downfall.
"Urgh!"
He barely pried open the entrance with his withered arm. It was one of the buildings allocated to the Brotherhood.
Maybe from staying too long in the dark, the bright light stung his eyes.
"Put out that light. And go grab every potion or medicine you can find. I, I can barely breathe right now."
Imur slumped to the floor and barked orders. But no one moved.
Crunch. Irritation surged. Even if he'd told them not to interfere, shouldn't they rush in risking their lives if the boss was in danger?
After all he'd fed and housed them. Ungrateful bastards. Gripping his trembling knees, Imur rose screaming.
"Are you deaf? The boss is collapsed here—why isn't anyone...."
Drip, drip. A water sound drew Imur's gaze downward. A dagger was buried in his abdomen. The dripping was his own blood.
"You...?"
Imur grabbed the dagger with shaking hands and looked up. The subordinate who'd stabbed him removed his hood, revealing his face.
"Maht!"
It was Maht, the first executive to fall to Eric Hilton. Imur had crippled him as an example and tossed him into an alley.
He'd thought the dogs would eat him alive, yet here he stood.
"You bastards...!"
The other subordinates in the room were the same—ones he'd discarded after Eric Hilton defeated them. They shouldn't be alive.
Stab! Stab! Blades pierced his guts repeatedly. Imur's frail body couldn't withstand it and collapsed.
The next morning, Imur's corpse hung from a cross in the market square. A plank below read, "In the name of the Brotherhood," in bizarre script.
It was clearly Imur's Brotherhood—who had punished him in whose name?
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!!"
Saliba ran breathlessly to Damian with the news. But Damian just nodded calmly, unsurprised.
'They moved well.'
Damian had been the one to rescue Maht and the other executives Imur discarded.
Imur had always been unnecessarily cruel to subordinates, then or now. No second chances. Failures became half-crippled examples.
Maht's state in the trash heap had been no different.
Unable to take medicine, Damian had used reverse Absorption to let the executives absorb the potions' effects.
He hadn't said a word. Just saved their lives. They remained half-crippled.
Sick dogs waited for their master's weakness, then bared fangs at the throat.
Imur's vacancy would fill somehow. In the underworld, water always refilled an empty space eventually.
From the nobles ruling Byzantine's perspective, it lightened their load.
Mutual checks among underworld factions benefited them.
A unified force under Imur would spell trouble.
Byzantine's power balance would shift. But that was no longer Damian's concern. Removing a key future reformist early was enough.
The issue was Lirian's half-destroyed house and the orphans like Saliba left homeless. But that was easily solved.
"You can live here from now on."
Damian led them to Imur's safehouse. No Brotherhood member knew of it.
Even in his previous life, Damian had visited only once to rescue Imur from captivity.
Lirian didn't mind caring for the orphans. If anything, she seemed to consider opening an orphanage.
With Shey there too, she'd have help. Shey and Lirian had bonded quickly over dance, despite the age gap.
'Here it is.'
Leaving the kids to move in, Damian retrieved an ancient tome from the safehouse library.
In his previous life, Imur had given it as thanks for saving his life—then acted magnanimous, a memory that still disgusted him.
Book of Hell—ד( Dalet ). He'd contracted its related demon lord, Decarabia, whom they served, even in his previous life.
It was the key to infiltrating the Hashashin fortress, but he couldn't summon and contract it immediately.
Decarabia's contract required no trial, just an offering. In his previous life, poor preparation had wasted several Books of Hell.
Fortunately, Decarabia's offering could be obtained in the south. That was Damian's next goal.
"You're leaving right away?"
Saliba asked, wide-eyed. Damian had promised to teach him magic, but it was still just words. He worried Damian might back out later.
"So prep in advance."
Damian pulled a stack of magic books from his Subspace Pouch and handed them to Saliba.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
After farewells to the rest, Damian headed straight to Byzantine's outskirts, where caravans paused before crossing the desert.
"Ah, you're here? Eric Hilton, right? Good build for a mage."
A fat man in a turban with a long beard down to his chest offered a handshake. As a caravan leader, his palms were callused.
It was the caravan Damian had pre-arranged via the adventurer's guild. His next destination required crossing the desert—tough even for him alone.
So he'd travel as their escort.
"Then let's head out. Who knows what chaos Imur's death will cause. Trash like him always ends up the same."
Rumors of Imur hadn't spread far yet. They had no idea Damian was connected to the incident.
"And no whining about the contract later. We hired you just in case, but we're good at spotting routes and avoiding most dangers."
The contract paid bonuses per incident. If no bandits or monsters appeared, Damian got only the upfront fee.
Hours later.
"Sandworm! It's a sandworm!!"
Quicksand formed everywhere as the leader clutched Damian's arm, screaming.