Chapter 552: Threads
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 552: Threads
The scent of blood remained thick in the air.
Splattered gore spread across the ground, weaving a bizarre tapestry that looked like the work of an abstract master.
A light mist swirled in the breeze, unveiling the filth of the street. Twisted, hideous corpses were piled high, their scattered limbs resembling the scraps of some hellish canteen, punctuated here and there by the macabre gleam of white bone.
Even the wind blowing through the alleys seemed to carry a chilling touch of the underworld.
Muen stood in the center of the street, his gaze calm as he surveyed the hellish landscape he had personally crafted.
Outwardly, he showed no signs of the struggle. His black formal suit was untainted by blood or dust; he looked like an ordinary gentleman taking a post-dinner stroll by the river.
Only his slightly heavy, rapid breathing and the lingering cold glint of the Pure White Dual Daggers in his hands betrayed the fact that a perilous slaughter had just occurred.
"I really am... not very good at dealing with opponents who rely on sheer numbers," Muen sighed softly. He popped a magic stone into his mouth, quickly replenishing his depleted mana.
The battle had begun quickly and ended just as fast.
In normal time, it probably hadn't even lasted a minute.
Yet, the majority of the hundred-odd beast-transformed ones that had surrounded him were now part of this grisly mural. The small remainder had finally sensed the terror of the "tempting food" before them; they cowered in the corners, shivering in primal fear.
What had been a crisis of encirclement had flipped in an instant.
However, as a peerless macho man who specialized in swift, high-frequency strikes to force a surrender, Muen wasn't entirely satisfied. As before, he felt he was still somewhat lacking when it came to one-versus-many scenarios.
The main issue was his stamina and mana; they couldn't quite support such a brutal, sustained offensive for long periods.
"It seems raising my realm has become an urgent matter again."
After his habitual self-reflection, Muen felt a touch of helplessness. With all these powerful forces forcibly crammed into his body, he felt like a glittering, golden human-powered tricycle. No matter how luxurious the interior, how prestigious the emblem, or how grand the design, the "engine" was still just a pair of scrawny legs that struggled to even walk.
But this wasn't a problem he could rush.
Pedaling with those scrawny legs might just make the eventual upgrade feel all the more exhilarating. It was like those people who trained with sandbags only to show off when it mattered most—driving a heavy-duty truck with a small chassis was, in its own way, a form of weight training.
"Unfortunately, now isn't the time for practice."
Reining in his wandering thoughts, Muen continued forward.
A beast-transformed one crouched in the shadows, growling. On its near-human face, a very human sense of terror had finally surfaced. As Muen approached step by step, it seemed to plead for mercy, tears streaming down its trembling face.
"Please... save me..." a blurred voice croaked from its jagged, gaping maw.
The blade flashed, cold and indifferent.
The hideous head was severed from the neck. Crimson blood added another stroke to the abstract painting, and the ferocity and fear finally faded from that face.
"Sorry, I can't save you," Muen whispered. "I can only give you... peace."
As a man who had once carried the weight of a million sins, Muen wouldn't falter now. He stepped over blood and bone with ease, never pausing.
Finally, he came to a stop before the little girl.
"Still not going to move?" Muen asked, watching her.
She looked to be only seven or eight years old. Her skin was deathly pale, and she wore an oversized white garment that resembled a hospital gown. From the wrists peeking out of her sleeves, Muen could see dense rows of stitches.
She looked like a rag doll that had been repeatedly destroyed and sewn back together.
And this doll-like girl remained huddled there, sobbing quietly as if she had lost her family or couldn't find her way home.
She had been crying since the beginning, never making a move, even as Muen systematically slaughtered the beast-transformed ones.
But... also since the beginning, Muen's senses hadn't left her for a second. Even while fighting the others, he had maintained his highest level of vigilance toward her.
Because both his intuition and the awareness he’d honed from fighting countless monstrosities told him... this little girl was the truly dangerous one.
"Those beast-transformed ones were drawn here by your crying, weren't they? They're all dead now. Are you still not going to act?" Muen asked again.
He kept his grip tight on his daggers, his muscles coiled, ready for her to snap at any moment.
"Ugh... hmph..."
But she just kept crying.
Like a truly homeless child, huddled alone in the silent, dark street, weeping in helpless sorrow.
"Since you won't answer... sorry, but I don't have time to play 'find mommy' with you."
After confirming several times that the strange girl had no intent to attack, Muen swung his daggers. Though it felt wrong to strike a child, he didn't hesitate.
Puchi.
The cold light easily parted flesh. The poor little girl was sliced into three pieces.
Her head hit the ground, and the crying stopped abruptly.
Everything fell silent.
So silent that Muen could only hear his own breathing and heartbeat.
Muen remained on guard for a long time, but... nothing happened.
"Was my intuition really wrong? Is she just a distraction?" Muen frowned.
It was possible. Because of this strange girl, he had indeed been successfully lured away from Albert's side.
Feeling the faint, lingering unease in his heart, Muen stared at the girl's corpse for a long time. His hands tightened and loosened several times. Ultimately, he couldn't bring himself to mutilate the body further. He shook his head and turned to leave, intending to catch up with the First Prince.
No matter what the enemy was planning, as long as the First Prince was safe, then everything—
Muen's footsteps suddenly froze.
A few motes of light used for illumination were floating around him. As he glanced sideways, he saw that under their glow, a massive shadow was rising slowly behind him, gradually preparing to swallow his own shadow whole.
Muen gripped his daggers, remaining outwardly still.
Clang—!
Blade met claw, sending sparks flying and a metallic ring echoing through the night.
"There are still beast-transformed ones brave enough to ambush me?"
Muen frowned as he casually blocked the strike. "A stray that slipped through the net?"
Ting.
Muen parried the claw and turned, ready to grant this poor soul release.
However, when Muen's gaze fell upon the attacker, he froze instantly.
He couldn't grant him release.
Because... this beast-transformed one had already been released once.
"What...?"
The neck, still dripping with blood, was completely empty. The attacking claw was only half-intact. This beast-transformed one, whom Muen had clearly killed already, was wobbling toward him, its movements jerky and unnatural as it attacked again.
"Not dead?"
The thought flashed through Muen's mind, but he immediately dismissed it.
This wasn't his first time dealing with these creatures. He knew that "beast-transformation" was entirely different from the near-immortal evil believers he had encountered before. They were simply infused with beast blood to gain more resilient vitality; they were nowhere near the "cockroach" state granted by the power of an Evil God. Decapitation was a fatal wound for these creatures.
Furthermore, the movements of this headless creature weren't those of a living thing. It looked more like... a puppet?
Muen's eyes narrowed. He scanned the area quickly and soon found the anomaly.
Threads.
Blood-red threads.
He saw incredibly fine, almost invisible red threads passing through the headless body, manipulating it into these bizarre actions.
As Muen noticed the threads, he realized they seemed endless, snaking through flesh, skin, and open wounds, extending all the way to... the ground.
Muen's pupils shrank, and he instinctively backed away several steps.
Only now did he realize with horror that countless blood-red threads, seemingly possessed of their own life, were weaving through the pools of blood, the severed limbs, and the corpses. They even ran beneath his own feet, spreading silently and densely until they had woven the entire area into a massive, crimson web.
He was already deep within the net.
And the source of these threads was...
Muen stiffly raised his head.
Creak... crack...
The sound of twisting joints rang out in the silent theater like a sudden, ghostly wind.
The little girl, who had been cut into three, wobbled as she pushed her upper body up. From the smooth wound at her waist, blood-red threads reached out, pulling her lower half back into place.
From the wound at her neck, more threads snapped her head back onto her shoulders.
The crude reunion seemed to bother her; she yanked her head off again, gave it a twist, and jammed it back on properly.
The broken rag doll was whole once more.
This time, she looked up, finally revealing the face hidden behind her long hair and the shadows.
The face still held the innocence and youth of her age, but the dense, messy stitching completely ruined the beauty of it.
And as Muen met her gaze, he found no point of focus... because within those large, ostensibly cute eyes, there were no pupils.
There was only a void of deadly, hollow white.