Chapter 681: In Someone Else’s Shape
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 681: In Someone Else’s Shape
“So, it was a trap after all.”
Chihe Nilo let out a soft sigh.
“Yes, it’s a trap.”
Muen followed suit, feigning a sigh of his own. “I was hoping to reel in a big fish… I didn’t expect to only catch a single Demon General.”
Oh well, a Demon General will do, Muen thought. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe a Grand Duke of the Demon Race would personally move against him just yet.
Based on the intelligence he had gathered, the status of a Demon General was second only to the Grand Dukes. Each was at least a Fifth-Tier Martial Artist. Given the aloof and transcendent nature of the Grand Dukes, these Demon Generals were, in a sense, the true backbone holding the chaotic Demon Race together.
While there were vast differences in rank among the Demon Generals, the man before him, Chihe Nilo, was clearly no bottom-tier small fry.
“I am the thirty-third Demon General. In your eyes, am I nothing more than a fish about to take the bait?”
Chihe Nilo stroked the small statue of the young girl in his hand. As a Demon General known for his ferocity and ruthlessness, his face—which had been stained with the blood of countless humans—actually betrayed a hint of sorrow, like a man betrayed by his beloved.
“Not just a fish,” Muen said expressionlessly. “A rotten fish that makes me want to gag. I suggest you find a bag of salt and pickle yourself quickly, otherwise, the stench will become truly unbearable.”
“Unbearable stench… is it?”
Chihe Nilo whispered the words, and then his fury ignited.
“My heart aches… it truly aches. My dear Muen Campbell, I must admit, your tongue is sharper than most. But… do you think you’re the only one who feels disgusted?”
His suppressed affection was snuffed out, replaced by a reignited blaze of rage and humiliation.
Chihe Nilo’s palm suddenly tightened. The statue of the girl, symbolizing the Love Goddess’s blessing, was instantly ground into powder. It drifted through the gaps in his fingers, scattered by the wind.
Just like his fleeting "love."
“You think you’re the only one who feels sick?! Huh?!”
Chihe Nilo let out a savage roar. “You should know… I didn’t start out liking men! I like women! I even have a wife! But… but!”
In that instant, Muen heard the faint sound of something clicking.
When he snapped back to attention, the red heart inside the crystal cube in Chihe Nilo’s hand had reassembled itself.
Once the statue that bestowed love upon Chihe Nilo was destroyed, he no longer "loved" Muen.
The condition was no longer met. The imprisonment was lifted.
Almost at the exact same moment, Muen’s hand clamped onto his hilt.
His entire body was like a spring compressed to its absolute limit, suddenly snapping back!
Clang—!
A blinding blade energy fell like moonlight, slamming into the thin blades that were slashing toward him with terrifying speed.
Those were two extremely bizarre weapons. They extended from Chihe Nilo’s sleeves, only about thirty centimeters long, shaped like irregular eight-pointed stars. Every point of those stars looked like a butcher’s blade specifically designed for carving flesh—twisted, yet lethally sharp!
“Since I can’t give you a quick death, I’ll just have to do it myself… I never agreed to this plan in the first place. If it weren’t for those idiots who think they’re so clever, I wouldn’t have suffered such humiliation!”
“As long as I kill you quickly, the result will be the same!”
A crimson light flared in Chihe Nilo’s pupils, revealing a desperate madness.
He had sacrificed so much… even going as far as changing his sexual orientation…
If he couldn’t kill Muen Campbell here, his soul would be consumed by regret even in death!
Vroom—!
The wind pressure shrieked again.
Chihe Nilo’s black robes whipped violently in the gale. His horns grew and extended, making him look even more monstrous.
“Sounds like…”
Muen retreated rapidly, dodging the sharp edges. But he couldn't help but flash a slight smile.
“...you’re getting desperate.”
“DIE!!”
It wasn't just Chihe Nilo's horns that looked monstrous now; it was his entire expression.
He gripped the strange short blades and suddenly began a series of bizarre movements. It looked like a dance choreographed with twin blades, yet it possessed a lethality that no dance could ever claim.
It was as if the techniques honed through countless slaughters, countless carvings, and countless acts of skinning and deboning were all melted into this seemingly elegant yet eerie display.
Muen’s pupils constricted. The death warning in his mind began to wail like a siren.
“This is…”
Puchi. Puchi. Puchi.
In a mere heartbeat, before the two strangely shaped blades could even land a direct hit, Muen’s body was already riddled with bloody holes pierced by the highly condensed Fighting Spirit and astral wind.
Blood splattered. These were injuries that would have completely incapacitated an ordinary person. Had Muen’s durability not been far beyond the norm, he would have lost all ability to resist just from the "appetizer" of this technique.
Even though he had activated Time Dilation immediately, he not only failed to dodge the attack, but in his vision, Chihe Nilo’s movements remained fluid and lightning-fast.
“This must be a Martial Technique.”
Muen’s heart sank.
He remembered the Old Loli once saying that a Martial Artist could only truly unleash the power of a Martial Technique upon reaching the Fourth-Tier, when they could manifest and project their Fighting Spirit.
Before the Fourth-Tier, such moves were either empty shells used by Second or Third-Tier small fry to intimidate others, or—like the master of Thunder Clap—they were single moves honed through endless repetition to a terrifying degree.
The Chihe Nilo before him was not just a Fourth-Tier, but a true Fifth-Tier Martial Artist—a powerhouse forged through constant slaughter in the harsh environment of the Demon Race.
The Fighting Spirit surrounding him could no longer be described as merely "condensed." it was compressed into a sort of diffuse, tiny crystalline mist. Just looking at it made one's eyes sting with pain.
“I suppose this is my first time truly facing a Fifth-Tier expert alone.”
No assistance, and not some logic-defying entity like the Indra King’s phantom. Just a pure, blood-boiling Fifth-Tier powerhouse.
In this moment of crisis, the corners of Muen’s mouth slowly curled upward.
The premonition of death stimulated his nerves, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably… tremble with excitement.
“But unfortunately, because of the timing, I haven't had the chance to properly learn any Martial Techniques since entering the Fourth-Tier. All I know are the same old three tricks.”
No. That wasn't quite right.
If this were before the Academy Ball, that would be true. But after that battle at the Academy, it wasn't as if he had learned nothing.
For instance…
“I remember it went something like this.”
Muen slowly bent his waist, coiling his body and pressing his dual blades against his sides.
In his mind, a figure surfaced—someone whose performance on the arena stage had been so impressive that Muen had repeatedly reconstructed their moves within the Black Book space.
Unfortunately, without an analysis of the soul fragments, those reconstructions were merely shells—they lacked the true spirit of the original, unlike the moves of those who had died by Muen’s hand.
But it was enough. Because he only needed that one move.
Fighting Spirit: contract, contract, contract.
Blade intent: suppress, suppress, suppress.
He condensed everything to the absolute limit. Through this suppression that made his flesh and bones scream in protest, he traded for a momentary burst of power that could bridge the gap between realms.
And then, he added his own power to it, staining it with his own color.
The pure white blades turned black. The sound of thunder vibrated violently, manifesting a power condensed to its peak.
What was that move called again?
Heavenly Fire Draw?
No, he didn't have a Heavenly Fire Greatsword. And he didn't have a scabbard.
In that case…
“Sorry, Ariel, I’m borrowing your move too!”
Despite starting his move later, the Time Dilation pushed to its limit allowed Muen to finally catch up to Chihe Nilo’s movements in that split second.
“Hundred Hertz · Scale Claw!”
“Flame Flash!”
The massive, hideous phantom of a hundred claws collided with the erupting black radiance.
Everything fell into silence. It was as if time itself had frozen for a heartbeat.
But a moment later, the aftershocks of destruction exploded outward from the two of them.
The ground shattered inch by inch. The flesh and gore covering the field were torn to shreds. Amidst the flying sand and stone, Chihe Nilo realized with horror that his Hundred Hertz… had been sliced open?
“You’ve got to be kidding me… a mere Fourth-Tier Martial Artist?”
For the first time, Chihe Nilo experienced this sense of unbelievable absurdity. He wasn't some "paper" Fifth-Tier who had reached his rank through resources; in a place like the Abyss, the only thing one could rely on was strength.
He had defeated enemies of higher realms several times to earn his current fame as a Demon General.
And now… he was the one being leapfrogged?
At this moment, he finally understood the weight of the word "genius" attached to the two names in the Kingdom’s intelligence reports.
Muen Campbell… what made him noteworthy wasn't just his status as a Duke’s son. He was potentially far more dangerous than the Demon Race had imagined!
“Who’s kidding? There’s an even more monstrous Fourth-Tier Martial Artist currently roaming your homeland, happily grinding mobs and leveling up. Didn't you know?”
Muen didn't waste words. The moment he tore through the phantom of the Martial Technique, his entire body lunged forward.
He knew that this was the only move he had that could briefly go toe-to-toe with Chihe Nilo. Therefore, after this strike, he had to drag the battle into the domain he excelled in most.
Watching this, Chihe Nilo didn't panic. Instead, he let out a savage grin.
“You dare engage me in close-quarters combat? Don't you know that in terms of pure speed, I rank among the top ten of all the Demon Generals!”
“Is that so?”
Muen grinned back savagely.
“Then let’s have ourselves a slaughter.”
Yes. There was nothing left to say.
At this point, all schemes and plots were meaningless. The only thing that would decide life and death… was the slaughter itself.
*
“Lord Duke.”
Verner respectfully stepped aside, giving the best vantage point to Duke Campbell, who had arrived in person. At the same time, he couldn't help but ask worriedly, “Is your body alright?”
“Don't worry. I can at least move around,” Lorne waved his hand dismissively.
This was why Verner had abandoned the idea of using the magic cannons to bail Muen out. Because the Duke had arrived.
Even if the Duke was still heavily injured, as long as he was there, no one needed to worry about Young Master Muen’s safety anymore.
Lorne silently watched the two figures fighting below the city walls.
Normally, he would have jumped down already and torn that little brat who dared to hurt his son into pieces. But this time, he just watched. He didn't move, even though his hands were clenched into fists out of worry.
“Truly impressive. I doubt I had this much strength when I was his age,” Lorne suddenly sighed.
“...Indeed,” Verner agreed, caught up in the sentiment. “Thinking back to how the Young Master used to be, anyone would be shocked.”
“How he used to be… huh?”
Lorne seemed to remember something. He shook his head and let out a melancholy sigh. “My son has become so powerful, yet I feel like I’ve never taught him anything. Tell me, Verner, am I a bit of a failure as a father?”
“How could you say that…” Verner said in surprise. “Young Master Muen is this talented surely because of your genes, Lord Duke. You shouldn't—”
“That’s exactly why I’m so annoyed!”
As if a sore spot had been poked, Lorne’s beard twitched, and he beat his chest in frustration.
“He’s clearly the son of the Lion King, but he’s been molded into someone else’s shape! Look at that Agility Style fighting method… is there even a single trace of the Campbell family’s mountain-toppling, earth-shattering might left in him?!”
“...”