Chapter 468: The Performance
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 468: The Performance
The barrier shrouding the old house was torn open with ease. A blond man stepped inside, surrounded by swirling motes of bright light. As the radiance dispelled the darkness, it cast a halo of majesty across his handsome, cold profile.
He looked like an emissary of the gods, tearing open a cage of filth.
Everything in the house was instantly captured by pupils burning with fierce black flames. Muen scanned the room, his breath hitching the moment his gaze landed on the woman nearby.
The woman was frail and pale, currently being controlled by a hideous, revolting insect perched upon her head. She moved in stiff, jerky contortions; though her face was twisted in a mask of fury, the tear tracks on her cheeks had not yet dried.
However, what truly shook Muen’s soul was neither the woman nor the parasite, nor even the wandering poet whose true face was finally revealed. It was the handful of ordinary crossbow bolts protruding from the woman’s body.
The bolts were scattered haphazardly across her limbs and torso, a testament to the shooter’s lack of skill—and a sign that the woman had made no attempt to dodge.
Taking in the surroundings and the current state of affairs, Muen’s mind raced. He quickly deduced the woman’s identity and the tragedy that had unfolded.
This was perhaps... one of the most cruel sights in the world.
Out of the corner of his eye, the mechanical crossbow lying discarded in the corner made Muen’s eyes throb with visceral pain. He could hardly imagine the sheer courage it took for a little girl to lift that crossbow and aim it at the person she loved most.
"I'm sorry, Emily."
Muen lowered his eyelids and pulled the poor girl into his arms. Feeling the tremors of terror radiating from her tiny frame, he whispered, "I’m late."
"...Big... brother?"
Emily looked up, still dazed. Her hollow eyes met Muen’s, her pale little face still wearing a trace of resilience that didn't belong to someone her age, making his heart ache all the more.
Muen stroked her head and gently guided her behind him.
"Don't worry. Leave the rest to me. Close your eyes and stay right here, okay?"
Perhaps she was moved by the gentle smile on Muen’s face, or perhaps in her despair, she was simply clutching at the final straw. Emily nodded obediently, hid behind Muen, and closed her eyes.
She had always been this well-behaved, this sensible.
Muen closed his eyes as well and took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, the long-simmering fury within him had transformed into a coldness sharp enough to tear the world apart.
"The Wandering Poet, I presume?"
Muen looked expressionlessly at the disheveled man standing a short distance away. At this critical juncture, he showed none of his explosive rage; instead, his tone was as calm as if he were greeting an old friend.
"Everything that happened at the Festival—was that your doing?"
"Ah, greetings. I am Marvin Stellimo. As you said, I am a poet... one who wanders the lands, gathering inspiration and performing for various audiences."
Faced with Muen’s intrusion, Marvin showed no sign of panic. Like a true performer, he offered a sincere welcome to his newest spectator.
"As for that Festival... Heh, it was quite the performance, wasn't it?"
"...It was."
Muen fell silent for a moment before answering casually, "It was indeed a magnificent performance. Both the participants and the audience were utterly captivated."
"It was truly... unforgettable."
Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting.
As Muen spoke, he lightly tapped the blade of his sword.
The recent images of blood and screams, the present agony and cries—they alternated in his mind like a kaleidoscope. Yet his hand remained perfectly steady, his fingertips maintaining a smooth, rhythmic beat.
The crisp sound seemed to synchronize with the ticking of the old wall clock, counting down the passage of time, second by second.
Suddenly, the rhythm faltered.
It was as if the clock’s hands, which had been diligently marching forward, could no longer keep up with the tapping of his fingers.
Or rather, that steady rhythm had suddenly accelerated a hundredfold.
Muen’s figure vanished.
Then he reappeared.
That momentary flicker was like a sudden dropped frame in a video.
Then came the sound of flesh being torn asunder.
In truth, the sound of tearing flesh had rung out even before the final tap of his finger. It was simply that the speed of sound echoing through the room could not match the speed of that silhouette.
The Wandering Poet Marvin’s smile was still plastered on his lips, but in his vision, the entire world had begun to spin.
Muen looked down coldly at Marvin, whose head had been severed in an instant. He asked earnestly, "So, are you prepared to give an even more soul-stirring performance?"
"Gurgle... Heh... heh..."
A raspy laugh emerged from the completely severed throat. On the head that had crashed to the floor, the two eyes actually rolled in their sockets to look up at Muen.
"As expected of the famous son of Duke Campbell. Terrifying, truly terrifying. There were rumors that you killed many evil cultists; I originally thought the Duke was just embellishing your reputation. But seeing this decisiveness and familiarity with slaughter... it seems the rumors actually underestimated you."
"So you do know who I am."
Unsurprised, Muen stepped down firmly on the head. "Then it seems there’s no need for further questions."
Muen applied sudden pressure, and the head beneath his boot shattered like a watermelon.
Red and white filth splattered in all directions, accompanied by a pungent stench. Muen briefly channeled his Fighting Spirit to form a barrier, preventing the disgusting mess from touching the little girl behind him.
Simultaneously, his blade did not stop, slashing again toward Marvin’s body.
Though he didn't yet know exactly what kind of creature this Marvin was, Muen’s experience told him that he couldn't rest easy until the man was reduced to mincemeat.
No, mincemeat was only the first step. As Muen had said, this performance needed to touch the soul.
Boom!
But to Muen’s surprise, before he could even land the second strike, the headless torso in front of him detonated of its own accord.
Skreeee...
A high-pitched, grinding sound set his teeth on edge. What erupted from the body wasn't bloody chunks of meat, but a dense, scalp-numbing swarm of countless insects!
"Ah, what a pity. I’ve always been a man who loves peace."
Marvin’s voice rang out again. Muen whipped his head around and realized the voice was coming from the exceptionally large, hideous insect perched atop the woman’s head.
"However, since Young Master Campbell has pushed me this far, I can only invite you to join me... in this delightful performance."
The sound of strings drifted through the air.
It was a harp.
A blurred shadow appeared in Muen’s vision. His mind momentarily clouded over, and he suddenly realized he was still standing right in front of Emily.
It was as if he had never taken a single step, as if he had never swung his blade.
And not far away... stood a perfectly intact, smiling Marvin, bowing elegantly toward him.
"Now then... please quiet your heart and listen to my enchanting poetry."