“So it was a trap.”

Chiheniro let out a soft ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) sigh.

“Yes. It was a trap.”

Muen also put on an act and sighed along with him. “I was originally thinking maybe I could hook a big fish... didn’t expect it’d only hook a demon general.”

But whatever. A demon general was close enough. Muen wasn’t arrogant to the point of thinking a demonfolk grand duke would personally make a move for him.

After all, based on the intel he’d gotten earlier, demon generals already ranked just below those demonfolk grand dukes. Every one of them was at least at the level of a fifth-rank warrior. And because the status of demonfolk grand dukes was so transcendent, in a sense these demon generals were the real backbone holding up the demonfolk’s messy, chaotic whole.

And although there were differences in standing among demon generals, Chiheniro in front of him was obviously not some bottom-tier trash.

“I, the Thirty-Third Demon General, am just a fish about to be hooked in your eyes? Turn the page, and it’s another world.”

Chiheniro held the maiden statue in his hands. As a demon general known for brutality and ruthless cruelty, on that face that had surely been stained with who knew how much human blood, there actually appeared a trace of sorrow—like a lover betrayed by the one he loved.

“Not just a fish.”

Muen’s face was blank. “A rotten fish that makes me want to puke. I suggest you hurry up and get a bag of salt and cure yourself, or you really will stink so bad nobody can stand it.”

“Stink so bad nobody can stand it...?”

Chiheniro murmured, and then anger flared.

“Heartache... real heartache, my dear Muen Campbell. I have to admit, when it comes to sharp tongues, you really do surpass ordinary people, but... do you think the only one who feels disgust is you?”

Love was suppressed. Anger, humiliation—rekindled.

Chiheniro’s palm clenched hard. The winged maiden statue that symbolized the Love God’s blessing instantly crumbled into powder, then streamed out between his fingers and scattered, blown away by the wind.

Just like his love, vanishing in an instant.

“You think you’re the only one who feels disgust?! Huh?!”

Chiheniro roared viciously. “You have to understand... I didn’t like men from the start! I like women! I even have my own wife! But... but!”

In that instant—

Muen heard something lightly click.

When he snapped back, inside the cubic crystal in Chiheniro’s hand, the red heart had already pieced itself back together.

Once the Love God’s statue that had granted Chiheniro love was destroyed, Chiheniro no longer “loved” him.

So the condition was no longer met.

The imprisonment was lifted.

And almost at the same moment, Muen violently clenched his blade’s hilt.

His whole body—like a spring compressed to the absolute limit—snapped back!

Clang—

Dazzling blade-light fell like moon-bright radiance, slamming into the thin blade that came slashing in.

They were two extremely bizarre weapons.

They extended from both of Chiheniro’s sleeves, only about twelve inches long, shaped like completely irregular eight-pointed stars... and each sharp point of that eight-pointed shape was like a butcher’s blade made specifically for carving flesh—crooked, twisted, yet razor-sharp to the extreme!

“Since I can’t make you die nicely, then I can only do it myself... I never agreed with this plan in the first place. If it weren’t for those idiots who think they’re smart, I wouldn’t have suffered this humiliation!”

“As long as I can kill you quickly, the end result won’t be any different!”

The crimson light in Chiheniro’s pupils flared, and a trace of all-in, reckless madness surfaced.

He’d paid so much... even to the point of changing his orientation...

If he couldn’t kill the Muen Campbell in front of him, then even if he died, his soul would regret it!

Humm—

Wind pressure screamed again.

The black robe on Chiheniro’s body was whipped into disarray, and his horns grew and extended again, looking even more ferocious.

“Sounds like...”

Muen retreated fast, dodging those edges.

But he still couldn’t help smiling slightly.

“You’re panicking.”

“Die!!”

Chiheniro was grotesque now—not only because of those inhuman horns, but because of his expression.

He gripped the strange short blades and suddenly swung them in an odd pattern.

It looked like a dance drawn by two hands and two blades, yet carried a sharpness that absolutely didn’t belong to any dance.

As if countless killings, countless cuts, countless deboning and tendon-pulling techniques had all been refined and poured into that elegant yet demonic swing.

Muen’s pupils shrank, and the death warning in his mind buzzed like it had gone insane.

“This is...”

Pfft.

Pfft.

Pfft.

In a blink.

Those two oddly shaped broken blades hadn’t even truly launched an attack at Muen yet, but compressed aura-wind had already punched blood-holes all over his body.

Blood splattered. This was already an injury severe enough to make an ordinary person lose all mobility. If Muen weren’t abnormal in how well he could take a beating, just eating the appetizer of this move... he would’ve lost every scrap of ability to resist.

He’d clearly activated time-slowing the instant it started, yet not only did he fail to dodge this attack, in Muen’s vision Chiheniro’s movements were still that smooth and that fast.

“This is some kind of martial technique.”

Muen’s heart sank.

He still remembered what that old loli had said: only when a warrior reached fourth rank—when aura could be condensed and released externally—could martial techniques truly display their power.

Before fourth rank, either it was the kind of empty frame a second- or third-rank trash mob learned just to scare people, or it was like the master of Thunderclap—taking a single move and grinding it over and over until it reached an astonishing level, becoming strong enough that way too.

But the Chiheniro in front of him wasn’t just fourth rank. He was a true fifth-rank warrior—a fifth-rank powerhouse honed through endless slaughter in the demonfolk’s brutal environment.

The aura around him couldn’t even be called merely “condensed.” It was practically compressed into some kind of diffuse, tiny crystals. One glance and even his eyes stung from being pricked.

“So this is my first time truly facing a fifth-rank powerhouse alone.”

No one assisting him, and it wasn’t some irrational thing like King Yintuo’s avatar.

Just a pure...

Blood-boiling fifth-rank powerhouse.

At the moment of crisis, Muen’s mouth slowly curved instead.

The premonition of death kept stimulating his nerves, and it made his body tremble uncontrollably... trembling from excitement.

“But because of time, after I entered fourth rank, I haven’t had a chance to properly learn martial techniques or anything. What I know is still the same old three moves.”

No.

That wasn’t right.

That wasn’t right either.

Before the Academy War, sure, that was true.

But after that Academy War, it wasn’t like he learned nothing.

For example...

“I remember it should be like this.”

Muen slowly bent his waist, drawing his body in, pressing both blades against his hips.

In his memory, a figure kept flashing—the one whose presence on the arena had been so unforgettable that Muen had even used the Black Book to repeatedly reproduce that person’s moves.

Unfortunately, because there’d been no analysis of soul fragments, that reproduction only had the shape and lacked the spirit—the kind of charm possessed by those who had died at Muen’s hands.

But it was enough.

Because he only needed that one move.

Aura compressed, compressed, compressed.

Blade intent suppressed, suppressed, suppressed.

Compress everything to the extreme. Through that suppression that made flesh and bone scream, exchange it for a brief burst that flattened the gap in rank.

And then, inside it—

Add his own strength. Stain it with his own color.

Pure white blades turned black. Thunder shook, and that ultimate condensed power was revealed.

What was that move called again?

Heavenfire Unsheathing?

No. He didn’t have some Heavenfire greatsword.

And he didn’t have a sheath, either.

In that case...

“Sorry, Ariel. I’m borrowing your move too!”

He moved later, but the time-slowing pushed to the limit still let Muen catch up to Chiheniro’s actions in that split second of lightning and flint.

“Baihe: Scale Claws!”

“Flame Flash!”

A huge, ferocious phantom of a hundred claws collided with the erupting black brilliance.

Everything fell into silence.

As if even time stopped for a moment.

But in the very next instant, the destructive aftershock exploded outward with the two of them as the center.

The ground cracked inch by inch. The flesh and blood carpeting it was torn to shreds. And amid the sand and stones blasted into the air, Chiheniro discovered in shock that his Baihe... had actually been cut open?

“What kind of joke is this... a mere fourth-rank warrior?”

For the first time, Chiheniro felt that absurd sense of disbelief. He wasn’t some fifth-rank fraud stacked up with resources. In a place like the Abyss, the only thing you could rely on was your own strength.

He’d crossed ranks to defeat enemies many times before, and that was how he earned his great demon general reputation.

And now...

He was the one being crossed?

Only at this moment did he finally understand that the two words “genius” in the Kingdom’s intelligence carried a different weight than usual.

Muen Campbell... what was worth watching might not only be his identity as a duke’s son. He might be far more threatening than the demonfolk had imagined!

“Who’s joking with you? There’s an even more perverted fourth-rank warrior in your hometown right now, swimming around like a dragon and happily grinding monsters for levels—don’t you know that?”

Muen didn’t waste words. The instant he tore open the phantom of that martial technique, his whole body lunged forward.

He knew the only thing that let him briefly fight Chiheniro head-on was that single move. So after it, he had to drag the fight into the field he was best at.

Seeing this, Chiheniro didn’t panic. Instead, he bared a vicious grin.

“You’re actually going into close combat with me? Don’t you know that purely in speed, among all demon generals I can rank at least in the top ten!”

“Is that so?”

Muen grinned viciously as well.

“Then let’s butcher each other.”

Yes.

There was nothing left to say.

At this point, every scheme and trick was meaningless. The only thing that could decide life and death...

Was slaughter.

...

...

“Duke.”

Funal respectfully stepped aside, giving the best spot to Duke Campbell, who had arrived in person, and couldn’t help asking anxiously,

“Is your body all right?”

“Don’t worry. At least moving a little isn’t a problem.”

Lorne waved his hand casually.

That was also why Funal had abandoned the idea of using the magitech cannon to help Muen out.

Because the Duke had arrived.

Even if the Duke was still heavily wounded, as long as he was here, there was no need for anyone to worry about Young Master Muen’s safety anymore.

Lorne silently watched the two people slaughtering each other beneath the wall.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve jumped down already and torn the little bastard who dared hurt his son into pieces.

But this time, he only watched, without moving.

Even though both his hands were clenched into fists from worry.

“So impressive. At this age, I probably didn’t have this kind of strength.”

Lorne suddenly sighed.

“...Yes.”

Funal sighed along with him.

“Thinking of how the young master used to be, anyone would be shocked.”

“Used to...”

Lorne seemed to remember something. He shook his head, then let out a wistful sigh.

“My son has become this strong, yet it feels like I never taught him anything. Funal—do you think I’m an unqualified father?”

“How could that be...” Funal said, startled. “Young Master Muen is so formidable—there must be a reason he inherited it from you, Duke. You don’t need to—”

“That’s exactly why I’m furious!”

As if a sore spot had been hit, Lorne’s beard trembled as he beat his chest and stamped his feet.

“He’s clearly my Lion King’s son, but he’s turned into someone else’s shape! Look at this swift, agile style—does it have even a damn trace of my Campbell family’s mighty ‘strength so great it sends mountains flying’?”

“......”