Count’s Territory (7)
Count’s Territory (7)
“Where in the world is this, Mapheltan?”
Illea could not take her eyes off the sight below her feet.
The city had clearly become a hellscape, yet traces of an alien civilization remained.
Skyscrapers burned, rising so tall they seemed to split the clouds. Winged metal masses shot between the buildings like arrows.
On the spires hung enormous frames, their images shifting endlessly as bizarre voices poured out.
“Breaking news. Current time, 3:42 p.m. Numerous unidentified abnormal entities have been detected in the skies across the capital region. The military authorities have designated this as a ‘Labyrinth Backflow’ and issued a Level 1 evacuation order throughout the area. Citizens, please immediately move to underground shelters or disaster isolation zones. Keep away from streets and windows, and under no circumstances gaze upon or listen to unidentified voices or figures.”
The urgent voice repeated again and again.
Explosions erupted ceaselessly across the city.
The stench of gunpowder filled the air.
Mapheltan swallowed heavily. There was no way to explain the current situation.
He told Illea,
“Because of the Prohibition, I cannot tell you anything with my own mouth.”
Illea’s eyes calmed, sinking into clarity.
“Then this must be the place that forms the foundation of Mapheltan’s information network.”
She wasn’t wrong. Inmalog was Earth’s novel, and Mapheltan had survived this far by using the knowledge he gained from it.
Before, he hadn’t even been able to voice that truth.
The Prohibition had barred him.
And now it was the same.
He could not speak a word.
For information to surface, Illea had to deduce it on her own.
Mapheltan said,
“Trust your own judgment. That is all I can tell you.”
A strange smile crossed Illea’s lips.
“For now, that’s enough. I’ve learned one clear thing.”
“What is that?”
She slowly swept her gaze across the world below.
“Your hatred toward this world, Mapheltan.”
The world was breaking down. Aimless slaughter and violence continued without end. Everything in sight screamed.
Acts of destruction repeated themselves, as though embodying someone’s fury.
Mapheltan swallowed again.
“…No. I do not hate this world.”
He loved Earth. He wanted to return to his homeland. He missed his beloved siblings.
Even if some resentment existed, it was no more than fragments.
Illea said,
“And yet, seeing this, you can still say that?”
Everyone below was writhing in agony.
“What you see is nothing but an illusion. It isn’t my true heart.”
Illea shook her head.
“Belzarak shows a future based on truth. A part of your heart must surely want things just like this.”
It was a correct statement about Belzarak. Mapheltan could not deny it.
“…What are you trying to say?”
Illea smiled gently.
“Use this chance to cast it all away. Purge the malice festering in your chest.”
Mapheltan’s face twisted.
“You’re telling me to throw myself into the illusion and destroy this world completely?”
Illea nodded.
“Yes. Opportunities like this are rare. Wash away all the dregs, and be reborn pure—together with me.”
If he surrendered to this illusion, his mind would be tainted.
There was no way she didn’t know that.
His face contorted.
“Utter nonsense…”
“I’ll help you.”
She suddenly opened her palm.
Dark-blue mana surged, consuming the surroundings.
Just as Mapheltan reacted, a biting cold stormed forth.
“Kh–ghhk!”
The man bound in midair let out a gasp.
A long icicle had pierced his chest.
Mapheltan shouted in alarm.
“Josep!”
Josep was a blockhead, but the brother Mapheltan cherished most.
Josep coughed up blood in great heaves.
Mapheltan’s reason began to thin.
‘Damn it, no. I can’t.’
It was all just an illusion.
He clung to that truth again and again.
Clutching Josep in his arms, he turned toward Illea.
She looked at him with an expression of disdain.
“You look so pathetic. Hardly befitting the Master of All Evil.”
Mapheltan’s voice was like ground steel.
“…Who are you?”
The real Illea had always wanted him to preserve his humanity.
He had never understood why, but she clearly had feared his corruption.
The Illea before him was different.
She was urging him toward corruption.
Illea said,
“I am everything to Mapheltan. I can be anything.”
Suddenly, her form shifted—into Josep.
Mapheltan looked down at his arms.
Josep was gone. Illea lay in his embrace instead.
She gave a sly smile.
“Like this.”
Mapheltan’s expression twisted as he hurled her away.
Even as she fell, Illea laughed.
“…Belzarak.”
Just as he moved to pursue and kill, black blood gushed from his mouth.
A long blade had pierced his stomach.
Josep had stabbed him.
“Johan, I always hated you. A pathetic unawakened bastard, always nagging, always ordering me around. Do you know how ridiculous you were?”
Gritting against the pain, Mapheltan seized Josep’s jaw.
“Belzarak, you filthy worm.”
Josep grinned viciously.
“Yeah, kill me. Twist my neck. Take revenge on the world that despised you!”
Mapheltan strained to hold onto his reason.
Forcing a smile, he said,
“Belzarak, you are nothing but a hollow thing without form or body. A parasite that lives only in imagination, filth smeared across the nightmares of others.”
Josep’s form shifted again. A girl appeared.
Kim Elijah—one of Johan’s siblings.
“Oppa, can’t you stop touching me? Honestly, it’s disgusting. I’m scared I won’t awaken because of you. Just disappear from my life. Please.”
Mapheltan gripped her tighter.
“No matter how many shells you change, your essence doesn’t change. You are just a pitiful shadow, jealous of flesh and blood. Wretched imitator, I will behold your true self as you are. Show me your real form.”
Elijah’s face twisted grotesquely.
The thing began to shift again.
Mapheltan seized the moment.
Staring straight into her eyes, he pressed on.
“How long will you borrow the eyes and mouths of others to prove you exist? I, the Thirteenth Apostle of the End, shall behold the true Belzarak. I will grant you the flesh and blood you so covet, make you real.”
Elijah’s transformation halted.
Her face bloated hideously as she spoke.
“…How could you like it?”
“You have no choice. By now, the Witch will have awakened from the illusion.”
Illea already knew Belzarak’s ability. Having studied his attack method, there was no chance she would fall to it.
Elijah’s expression darkened.
“So she really was a Witch.”
“You should have chosen your prey more wisely. Enough of this. Dispel the illusion.”
By now, Mapheltan had nearly regained his clarity.
As an Apostle and one deeply familiar with Belzarak, his resistance to mental attacks was strong.
Even dozens of illusions would not shatter his self.
Psyche-based powers and verbal command spells always worked best against those beneath oneself.
Prolonging this served no purpose but meaningless attrition.
Elijah asked,
“You’ll really give me a body?”
The ability was useful. Keeping it close could be beneficial in many ways.
Mapheltan nodded.
“First, let’s see your true form.”
The instant he finished speaking, the vision shattered like glass.
The ashen chamber unfolded once more.
But this time, there was something different.
At its center stood a single transparent coffin.
The Heavenly Womb. A cradle that conceived angels.
Inside lay a bleached skeleton—surely the Count’s wife.
Illea approached with a forced smile. There was a trace of cruelty in it.
“Today I learned what it means to be irritated. A most unpleasant experience.”
Her gaze dropped toward the floor.
There, a black, slimy mass writhed.
Belzarak. He had no eyes, no nose, no mouth—just a clot of sewage-like sludge.
Mapheltan said,
“I found it far from pleasant myself.”
Murder flickered in Illea’s eyes.
What nightmare had she seen? Mapheltan could only wonder.
Illea asked, staring at Belzarak,
“I can’t let this go. Shall I erase him right now?”
For her to bear such emotion… she must have endured a dreadful illusion.
‘I’ll have to ask her later.’
Mapheltan said,
“Hold back for now. He still has his uses.”
Illea let out a long sigh.
“I suppose. So, what do we do next?”
Mapheltan sat down casually on the coffin.
“Wait for the Count.”
Their ultimate goal in coming here was Count of Staviana.
They were ready for his arrival.
Composure lingered on Mapheltan’s face.
***
The Count, upon arriving at his mansion, headed straight to the basement.
To enter the Dead Shadow directly.
The basement of his manor connected in a straight line to the third floor.
He boarded the lift immediately.
As someone poured mana into it, the lift began to descend.
The Count closed his eyes.
‘Eriyan, please… be safe.’
His heart pounded rapidly. The thought of losing his wife was unbearable.
The descent felt like an eternity.
At last, the lift came to a halt.
“M–my Lord!”
“Silence…”
The Count ignored the cultists of the Hyungshin Society and rushed toward the chamber.
He sprinted swiftly.
In the distance, he saw two silhouettes.
‘The Apostle and the Witch.’
That was what the reports had said.
But reality was different.
His face turned to bewilderment.
For at the Heavenly Womb, there sat a boy and a girl.
Catching his breath, he focused again.
Yes, it was indeed a boy and a girl.
No demon, no witch.
The boy’s lips curled as he spoke.
“Cromwell Staviana. I offer you two choices.”
The Count was overwhelmed with confusion.
“W–what is this…?”
“First: follow your wife into death. Second: make a deal with me, and spend a hundred years by her side in this life.”
Illea gave a gentle smile.
“Go ahead, choose. Either way, you’ll be with your wife forever.”
Johan tapped lightly on the glass coffin with his finger.
“Answer quickly. How long do you mean to keep your wife waiting?”
The Count’s mind failed to grasp the situation.
He stood frozen, dazed, for a long time.