Count’s Territory (3)
Count’s Territory (3)
『 From now, kill each other. (Z’thar Vek’tor Mhaal) 』
The Verbal Command Spell stabbed into every mind.
The thugs, who had been trembling in fear and confusion, suddenly froze in place.
Their eyes turned bloodshot.
The repeated order spun round and round inside their skulls.
『Kill each other kill each other kill each other kill each other kill each other kill each other kill each other kill each other』
They could not resist.
Someone pulled a kitchen knife from his clothes.
“W-wait!”
The blade plunged into a companion’s gut.
Blood burst out.
That was the signal—the rest began to attack one another.
Heads cracked open under clubs, brain matter spattered.
Long skewers stabbed again and again.
Blood flowed like rivers.
Screams echoed through the alleys.
It was a night of madness.
The gang leader, sitting alone on his chair, thrashed and shouted.
“What are you doing! Stop it at once! I said stop!”
When he tried to rise, overwhelming force pressed him back down.
“This play is for you. Enjoy it fully.”
He whipped his head around.
Crimson eyes stared back at him.
An utterly dreadful being stood right before him.
“D-demon…”
Terror pierced him to the bone. His breath choked in his throat.
His jaw hung slack.
It was the deepest despair he had ever felt in his life.
Mapheltan’s lips stretched into a long grin. Fear itself was transforming into a delicacy.
He grabbed the brute’s face and turned it forward again.
Before them, madness unfolded still.
Mapheltan’s chilling voice whispered.
“How many screams have you raised here before? Just like then—smile and enjoy it, as always.”
His men hacked and stabbed each other.
Blood and flesh littered the ground. Fear and screams reverberated endlessly.
Mapheltan’s mind drowned in ecstasy. He wanted to surrender himself to this joy, this exaltation.
For once, he wondered:
‘…If the pleasure comes from killing villains, is it wrong to enjoy it?’
The thought came suddenly.
Was it rationalization? Seeking a reason to indulge desire?
No. Even holy knights and priests sometimes savored the cries of sinners.
Why should it matter for a demon?
‘Yes. These scum deserve worse than death. I’m just cleaning trash and finding satisfaction in it.’
His eyes gleamed madly.
Pleasure began to engulf him.
For a demon, resisting such fulfillment was nearly impossible.
This was instinct.
The fact he had resisted until now was an unnatural thing.
Mapheltan burst into wild laughter.
He spread his arms to embrace ecstasy but then a cold chill poured over him like icy water.
All before him froze solid.
The raging thugs became ice statues.
Illea approached and gently brushed his arm.
“That’s enough.”
She snapped her finger.
The statues shattered into pieces.
Frost dust scattered in the air.
The chill slowly cooled Mapheltan’s frenzy.
He closed his eyes and murmured,
“I showed disgrace.”
Illea shook her head.
“Just as witches cling to mysteries, demons find ecstasy in others’ pain. It’s instinct. The fact you’ve resisted until now is the amazing part.”
Mapheltan swallowed heavily.
“All my efforts wasted in one night.”
He had surrendered to pleasure. One misstep more, and it could have been irreversible.
Illea said,
“No. Everyone makes mistakes. Even renowned monks falter at times. What matters is the courage to steady your will again. I’ll be by your side, so don’t break, Mapheltan.”
Grateful words, but one doubt stirred.
‘…Is she trying to protect my humanity?’
From her standpoint, it would be more convenient if Mapheltan became heartless.
At least, that was what he thought.
He set aside the doubt and said,
“Thank you. Whatever it was, you saved me from trouble.”
“Then grant me one request.”
It sounded like she would ask for something costly.
Mapheltan nodded.
“Fine. Let’s hear it.”
“When this is over, take a week off. Do nothing. From what I see, you need rest.”
She believed his outburst stemmed from mental exhaustion.
She wasn’t wrong.
Johan had been pushing himself nonstop. It was natural he was mentally worn down.
Mapheltan looked puzzled.
“That’s the price you ask?”
“Yes. Promise me.”
Her expression was firm.
“…Alright. I understand.”
“I’m serious.”
“Shall we make a contract?”
“Will you?”
Mapheltan waved his hand.
“No. I’ll keep it. Don’t worry.”
They walked on together naturally.
“If you’re confident, then contract it.”
“I won’t waste a contract on something so trivial. Miasma’s too precious.”
“You were the one who offered.”
“Well…”
Their voices drifted farther away.
The gang leader, still on his chair, cautiously turned his head.
The demon and the girl were far down the alley.
He let out a ragged breath.
“S-saved!”
Relief swelled, overwhelming.
All his men were dead, but once again he lived.
Luck always favored him.
God was on his side.
A grin spread across his face.
He was about to burst into laughter when the girl ahead suddenly stopped.
He swallowed hard.
She turned slowly.
Their eyes met.
She smiled brightly and pointed upward.
He looked up.
A massive icicle was falling.
“W-wait—”
He never finished.
The sharp spike pierced his mouth.
Blood spurted, then froze instantly.
Eyes wide open, he died.
***
Dead Shadow was a spiral structure encircling the city underground.
The deeper one walked, the deeper underground and the closer to the city center they went.
By design, the very bottom of Dead Shadow connected directly to the lord’s castle at the city’s heart.
That abyss was Mapheltan’s ultimate destination.
But they weren’t there yet.
They had only just passed the entrance.
The alley ended.
At its end stood a massive iron gate.
A man, the gatekeeper, spoke.
“Don’t recall seeing you.”
He sat on a worn wooden chair, puffing a pipe. Smoke clung to his scraggly moustache before drifting off. His drowsy eyes lacked all vitality.
He seemed detached from the world.
Illea said,
“It’s our first time.”
“Entry pass?”
“None.”
“Then you can’t enter, miss mage.”
Illea tilted her head.
“How did you know?”
She wore a hood and mask, even disguised her voice.
Yet the gatekeeper knew her gender, and that she wielded magic.
He said,
“People dressed like that coming here are usually mages. And gender’s obvious enough.”
Her robe hid her form completely—there was no visible proof she was female.
“Sharp eyes you have.”
“Thanks, but go back now.”
“That’s troublesome. We have business inside.”
“Then get a pass and return.”
He waved his hand lazily.
Despite his languid air, his tone was oddly firm.
He clearly would not open the gate.
Illea murmured,
“…What should we do?”
The man looked puzzled.
“You asking me? How to get a pass?”
Illea shook her head.
“No. Just wait a moment.”
She was asking Mapheltan, hidden in the shadows.
Mapheltan was cloaked completely by Chimya, his presence erased.
He clicked his tongue as he looked at the gatekeeper.
‘…Sword Demon, Hakain.’
Among the seven gatekeepers of Dead Shadow, this was the worst one to meet.
Hakain was one of the strongest men in the kingdom.
Not a monster like Gawain or Azval, but still far beyond human.
If they fought now, the whole district would be reduced to rubble.
Mapheltan did not want such commotion.
‘Unlucky.’
Of all places, they had come to his section. Annoying.
He considered finding another entrance—When suddenly, a new voice rang out.
“Long time no see, Mister Hakain!”
Someone approached, hooded, waving cheerfully.
He rode a beast on all fours.
Hakain frowned.
“Your taste is still vile.”
Looking closer, the beast was a woman on all fours.
The hooded man sat on her back.
Her naked body was covered in wounds, her face blank.
“Hyah! Hyah!”
The hooded man lashed her with a whip as he came closer.
He spoke to Hakain.
“The ones outside—your work?”
“What do you mean?”
“The thugs. All slaughtered. Not one left.”
“Not my doing.”
The hood turned toward Illea.
“Then you?”
Hakain’s gaze also fell on her.
Illea replied,
“Is that a problem?”
The hooded man said,
“No problem. But your work was amateurish. Not a single good corpse left. Next time, don’t damage them so much. Advice from a senior.”
For some mages, corpses were valuable material.
Hakain said,
“Don’t meddle. Just get inside.”
The hooded man pulled out a small wooden token.
“Fine, fine. I will.”
As soon as the pass appeared, Illea clapped softly.
She looked at Hakain.
“A pass is all that’s needed, right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Suddenly, an icy chill swept through.
The hooded man froze solid where he sat.
No chance to resist.
For the first time, Hakain’s sleepy eyes stirred with emotion—surprise, and interest.
Illea approached the ice statue.
“No wounds this time. I took your advice.”
The woman collapsed off, shrieking.
The statue toppled, shattering into shards.
Illea sighed sadly.
“Ah, ruined again.”
She picked up the token from the ground.
Hakain said,
“…You look young, but impressive. Are you perhaps a shed Archmage?”
Shed meant transcending lifespan—a realm of great sorcerers.
Their outward age varied.
Illea said,
“Thanks, but could you open the gate?”
She held out the token.
“…This is my first.”
Hakain chuckled faintly.
“Well, no matter.”
He opened the gate.
Illea smiled toward the empty air.
Mapheltan, hidden, was thoroughly satisfied.