Chapter 87
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: Execution (4)
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Teddy Divine, who had seized the seat of Black Tower Lord.
Her body trembled slightly.
'What is this?'
Only a single person filled her field of vision.
Just one man.
Yes, merely the Imperial Tower's Inspector.
The magic he wielded was the ice element—nothing more ordinary.
And yet, the moment Zekiel took a single step forward, Teddy felt her body flood with tension.
'...Is the spire trembling?'
No. It was her own body that was shaking.
The realization sent a jolt through the back of her skull.
Teddy was a woman who had delved deeply into black magic, naturally exposing herself to all manner of gruesome horrors—and viewing them as nothing less than the most delightful playthings.
In other words, she didn't see mages as mages.
They were merely materials for her black magic research.
So she could tell at a glance: low-quality fodder unworthy of the effort, or premium stock worth harvesting.
She had never once worried that a material might prove stronger than her. Such a thing was simply impossible.
Not with the ironclad premise that Teddy would always emerge victorious in the end.
But now...
'What the hell? Why?'
Teddy's instincts crept forward with a warning.
Screaming that this inspector was an existential threat.
It took time to steady her quivering body. Her rigid muscles refused to obey.
Her mind simply couldn't process it.
Teddy reviewed Zekiel's information once more.
'Commoner. No academy education. Zero experience...'
No angle made him anything but a total greenhorn, starved of real combat. If she had to stretch, his exploits in Luiple might count as his debut—and sole accomplishment.
Yes. Just a novice.
And yet her senses stubbornly rejected the notion.
Insisting he was no rookie. A battle-hardened veteran with far more experience than her. A perilously dangerous predator who would reduce her to a lab rat.
...How could this even be possible?
A mage posturing like a predator against Teddy herself?
'Did the Imperial Tower bury some intel? For the mission?'
A faint possibility at best. Teddy had dredged every dark channel for dirt, and Zekiel was genuinely a no-account commoner with no record.
She reached to wipe sweat from her brow—and flinched.
The droplet trailing down her skin was already frozen solid.
'It wasn't this cold a moment ago.'
Teddy drew a quiet, deep breath.
Over-relying on logic would get you killed in this world. Sometimes, you had to trust the raw signals from your gut.
Snap!
Teddy flicked her fingers. In an instant, three massive lumps plummeted from thin air.
Thud!Thud!Thoom!
Not rocks, of course. Three men of mountainous bulk touched down.
Teddy sent them a mental transmission.
—End him. No holding back.
They cracked their necks with a series of pops and chuckled.
—Lady Teddy, what kind of talk is that? Against a mage with a single soul?
As their words implied, they weren't singular souls. They were grotesque abominations: prime physical specimens crammed full of mages' souls.
Their faces and bodies bore the telltale stitches of needles—like crudely sewn ragdolls. Teddy's masterpieces.
The masterpieces kept prattling.
—You're not spooked, are you, Lady Teddy? If we don't dial it back, we'll pulverize him outright. Gotta keep the corpse intact, right?
—Spot on! Let's toy with him a little first, then finish it.
The three masterpieces surged toward Zekiel. The one in the middle spoke up first.
"Hey, you the one yapping that the Black Tower's getting culled today?"
Zekiel didn't spare them a glance. His eyes stayed fixed on Teddy, beyond their shoulders.
"Inspector. Why kick up a fuss without reading the room? If your cockiness makes the spire blow, we're all dead. Think you can handle that fallout?"
Only then did Zekiel click his tongue.
Tsk.
"Some black magic ritual chant, huh?"
"...What?"
"All that mumbling. It's long-winded too. Where's the spell already?"
The masterpieces' eyes narrowed to slits.
"Still clueless about your place... and provoking us?"
They muttered on, but Zekiel closed the gap, one deliberate step at a time.
A ranged specialist advancing on them? That screamed unshakable confidence.
"...Inspector. Where should we rip into you first?"
Zekiel replied indifferently.
"You're under orders to kill me anyway."
The masterpieces froze at the eerily frigid tone.
"Just carry out your mission. Why the hesitation?"
Hesitation?
Hesitating?
"..."
They suddenly examined their own behavior.
He was right, on reflection. Teddy had commanded a kill. They were the ones buzzing to dismember him limb from limb. Just do it.
Inspector begs for mercy? Kill.
Inspector fights back? Kill.
'...Why haven't we charged yet?'
Hesitating?
They were? Teddy's masterpieces?
Absurd.
—Freaky bastard. Shred him in one go.
—Agreed.
—Charge now.
Their mental exchange complete, the masterpieces summoned pitch-black auras. So dense, it was practically visible to the naked eye.
Despite the mounting oddities, not one of the three ragdolls sensed anything amiss.
Does a man rage at an ant's taunt?
No—he'd find it curious.
Amusing, even. A bug acting bold, only to get squashed underfoot.
Yet they never realized Zekiel's words had already rattled them.
Shrrr...
The instant ice blades locked onto them.
"Hup—!"
The masterpieces unleashed their black magic first.
Three powers fused into a colossal serpent of darkness. It reared high—then plunged to devour Zekiel whole.
Kwaaaak!
But the serpent's gaping maw refused to snap shut.
Kagak!Kagagak...
Elongated ice pillars jammed it open from within, propping it like unyielding struts.
The masterpieces' eyes bulged wide.
'Holding us off?'
With the combined might of three—and it held?
Panic and fury clawed into their minds. But they weren't idiots to halt and question.
They struck again without pause.
Kwang!Kwang!Kwang!
Energy blasts hammered the serpent's snout, desperate to force its jaws closed.
Kagak! Kagagak...!
Not a single ice pillar shattered. The masterpieces gaped at the sight.
—How the hell is it holding?
—Forget holding! That's not the point!
No. The real issue was elsewhere.
—Our energy... it won't penetrate!
Dark mana seeped into anything—unlike normal mana. Yet here, nothing. No infiltration of Zekiel or his ice.
No follow-ups possible. It slid off like water on lifeless stone. How?
—What in the world?
—Why won't it—
They weren't solo acts. Three of them.
Hell, dozens-worth of souls fused into living weapons.
And they couldn't handle one inspector?
Unthinkable.
"Huaaaa—!"
"Haaap—!"
Roaring aloud now, they poured everything in. Zekiel, utterly serene.
As if the chaos wasn't even registering.
Strategy shift: explosions everywhere. Black magic that gave zero shits about collateral—vicious, apocalyptic.
Boom!Boom!Boom!
Yet every blast failed to harm a soul.
Dark orbs detonated wildly, only to be shrink-wrapped in ice. No breach, no matter how many.
Blood vessels burst in their eyes.
"All you do is defend, you arrogant shit—!"
All three bit their tongues in unison.
Normal black magic was futile—they accepted it fast. Then reversed their entire energy flows.
Self-destruct.
Mutual annihilation with the Imperial Inspector.
"Grrrraa—!"
"Gruaaah—!"
Their bodies boiled over. Massive stomps cratered the ground as they barreled toward Zekiel.
Kwaaaaa—!
Speeds so blistering, they resembled boulder-sized shells rocketing at the target.
Shweeeee—!
The air itself screamed from the tear.
Then—a murmur. One syllable from the inspector.
"Frost."
And they saw it.
In that frozen instant, time dragging like molasses: a lone ice spear, spinning discus-fast as it hurtled forth.
A split-second glimpse, yet the whirl made it seem a disc—a blue full moon.
Slice—!
Something severed.
What?
Impossible to tell.
Shweeeee—!
Charge unbroken, straight at Zekiel.
His face loomed close now. Grapple and detonate—over.
Resolve hardened...
"...?"
Their trajectories lurched.
No spell hit them. No voluntary swerve. Just a blatant parabolic arc sailing overhead.
As if the horizon itself had tilted.
Slowly.
Glacially, ground and ceiling swapped places.
What the—?
No telepathy flowed.
A world upended. Gravity warped, physics broken. Bizarre as it was, the masterpieces confronted it head-on.
Until one sight locked into view.
"..."
A vista they were never meant to witness.
"...!"
Their three torsos, sliced impeccably clean. Twisting feebly in midair.
Not the heavens inverted—just them, severed and flipped.
Beyond shoulders: lower halves, feet planted firm on stone, staring vacantly at their former owners.
'...Before we even stomped?'
"What the hell..."
"When did he—!"
"Eh...?"
Questions erupted, unbidden.
But that was it.
Crack!
Torsos hit pavement—like ice chunks shattering.
Zekiel hadn't permitted detonation.
Silence absolute.
Mouths flash-frozen: no final words.
Bodies encased: no arterial sprays.
Futility. Death, and nothing more.
"Eh..."
Someone gasped in awe.
Snap—!
Lips sealed in frost.
"Quiet."
The inspector murmured low.
"The Princess is watching. Observe with proper etiquette."
The execution—now, at last, the true curtain rose.