Familiar Face (4)

Geronto.

A thin female mage.

Her long red hair tumbles out from under the black sack she wears on her face.

Dolores spoke with a stern expression.

"She's a relatively recent recruit to the Guilty, and judging by her body type, she looks quite young...."

"...."

Vikir swallowed hard instead of answering.

Then, Geronto stepped forward.

A storm of dark mana began to engulf her entire body.

… Hiss, hiss, hiss!

Complex magic circles were drawn in the air, followed by crackling flames and tiny black spikes.

The spikes pierce the floor and shoot upward, red-hot from the flames.

Anyone who touched them would be burned and cut at the same time.

Dolores was stunned by the sheer amount of mana Geronto unleashed.

"This, a magic of this class should be at least 5th... or 6th class, he must have been an incredibly talented mage in his lifetime!"

Flaming iron spikes flew everywhere.

Vikir drew his Baalzebub long enough to deflect the flying spikes.

Crackle!

The wall of fire swirled around, impeding Vikir's movement.

Every time Vikir hesitated, more spikes shot out from the floor, walls, and ceiling.

Red and black. It was a familiar sight.

Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle...

Vikir backed away from the flames that clung to his shoulders, across his back, down his sides, and to his toes.

In the meantime, the central lobby of Building 1 had been turned into a furnace.

A cauldron of melting molten iron, red-hot spikes of flame like teeth.

Crackle, crackle, crackle, crackle… Boom!

Geronto continued to summon fire and spikes from the other side of the furnace.

The flames continued to engulf the mass.

Each of the sharp iron spikes flying out of it was extremely threatening.

The air is so hot it burns your lungs if you breathe it in, and your vision is limited by the thick smoke and overly bright flames.

Pushed to the edge of the gate, Dolores called out to Vikir, who was directly in front of her.

"Night Hound, we can't even approach it at this rate!"

"...."

But Vikir didn't answer.

Instead, he stared out through the goggles attached to his mask at his enemies, the black landscape, and the red-haired mage standing beyond.

Then, with the growl of a night hound, he said.

" ...I need to see your face."

"What?"

"I need to see your face."

Leaving Dolores with a questioning look, Vikir took a step forward.

The floor had already been transformed into a furnace of sharp metal spikes and blazing flames.

Vikir sprinted toward it.

Screech! Crunch!

Every time Vikir stepped on the ground, a metal spike shot up.

It pierced his instep or heel and came up to his knees.

Those protruding from the walls and ceiling were scorched by the flames, and gradually melted away, turning to boiling lava.

…POP! …POP! …POP! …POP! POP!

The metal spikes that had sprouted from the ceiling melted away, and drop after drop of molten metal began to drip down the hallway.

Below, new spikes continue to sprout, and the flames grow stronger, raining fire and molten metal from the ceiling.

"...."

Vikir pushed forward on the thorny path, drenched in molten metal and spikes.

Puff-puff-puck!

Dozens of spikes flew at him, piercing every inch of his body, but Vikir was unfazed.

"Face."

Rage boiled up from the bottom of his throat, hotter than the bubbling mud.

"Let me see your face."

The smell of burning flesh, cooking blood.

Dolores was horrified to see Vikir endure this torture alone.

Why would he go to such lengths? Did he know the mage woman? And if so, what is their relationship?

The unanswered questions made her dry mouth and throat ache even more.

"...Ugh!"

Dolores squeezed her eyes shut and followed Vikir's lead.

Divine light is not very effective against elements other than darkness.

But even so, Dolores followed the path the Night Hound had blazed, plunging into a furnace of blazing fire, molten metal, and spikes.

Despite the stabbing, slicing, and burning pain in every part of her body, she pressed on, undeterred.

'Night Hound has a harder road ahead of him, and I can't whine about merely following him!'

Dolores gritted her teeth and followed Vikir, her body beginning to be covered in burns and cuts.

By this time, Vikir had reached the end of the furnace.

Meanwhile. Geronto had run out of mana, and was stumbling backwards, unable to produce any more fire and spikes.

And in front of him stood Vikir, standing tall.

Iron spikes piercing through his body, flames burning through his veins.

But Vikir didn't care about any of that, his hand reaching out.

"Take off your mask."

Geronto's throat was clamped shut, and Vikir used his other hand to remove the black sack that covered her face.

Boom.

The very moment the black sack was removed from Geronto's head.

[Gurgle!]

Geronto spat out a bloodcurdling sound as he struggled.

The mana in his body turbulent like crazy.

Vikir realized what it was and quickly pulled his hand away and stepped back.

"W-what!"

Dolores exclaimed, barely able to hold her breath.

Quack, quack, quack!

The mana in Geronto's body that had run amok instantly turned into a giant bomb, destroying everything in its path.

…Boom!

Geronto's body, burned from the neck up, fell backwards.

Flutter.

Only a single black sack remained untorn and unburned by the explosion, lying on the ground.

"...It looks like they planted a bomb in her head."

Dolores said, frowning.

Meanwhile.

"...."

Vikir stands, speechless.

He was staring at Geronto's body, now sprawled on the floor in front of him.

A woman's body, shrouded in black robes.

After a moment of silence, Vikir moved.

Dolores's eyes widened slightly.

"Night Hound, what are you doing....?"

She had every reason to panic.

Vikir was now undressing Geronto.

Thud, thud, thud!

The tough robes were torn to shreds by the strong grip.

The white-skinned woman was now naked.

But there was nothing obscene about it. Her head had been ripped off, and she was a corpse.

Her body was covered in patchwork marks of iron, leather, and other materials that had been pieced or sewn together.

The lack of intact flesh and bones suggests that the pieces of her body were not fully assembled when she was resurrected as an undead.

...This means that before she became undead, she died without leaving her body intact at the time of her death.

In other words, she died a very painful and gruesome death.

"...."

Vikir stared at Geronto's corpse for a moment.

Then.

"No."

He added briefly.

Dolores asked, puzzled.

"Did you know her?"

"... I thought I did, but I guess not."

Vikir thought of Morg Camus in his mind.

In fact, Vikir was thinking that Geronto might be Camus.

They were the same age, the same height and build, and even the magic they used was similar.

Even the color and length of his hair was the same as the last time he had seen her.

Furthermore, Camus had not only left the prestigious academy for no reason, but also joined a dark hall known for its black magic, and had even recently entered the closed-door training.

However, after checking it himself, Geronto was not Camus.

Geronto was slightly shorter than the last Camus he saw.

There was also a slight difference in secondary sexual characteristics, with Geronto being slightly less developed.

This suggests a difference in age.

Crucially, Vikir had seen Camus naked as a child. He was eight years old when Camus burned off her clothes during a combined training exercise.

'She definitely had moles on his chest and under his collarbone.'

But there are no such marks on Geronto's body.

Her red hair, strong magic, and skill with iron and fire make her look like one of Morg's women, but she's very different from Camus in many ways.

'...The question is, why is she here, as an undead?'

Morg is not alone. The Baskervilles, Don Quixote, and the young men of the Quovadis were also turned undead.

How far do the roots of demons reach?

Vikir realized he needed to step up his demon hunting.

Then.

"I've heard that the tombs of some of the great houses have been robbed a lot lately."

Dolores said with a hint of concern.

At that, Vikir stroked his chin with his hand.

"Grave robbing."

Normally, grave robbers were after the gold and silver treasures buried with the bodies.

But this case was different. The body itself was the object of the grave robbing.

"...demonic bastards."

Vikir picked up the fourth leather sack that had been covered over Geronto's face.

Once again, this black sack held powerful magic.

Together, the four were almost as powerful as the magic sword Beelzebub.

'What kind of artifacts are these, anyway? I'll have to investigate them later.'

Vikir clutched the four black sacks in his arms.

With that, the troublesome gateways were over.

Ephebo, Hebe, Pedo, and Geronto.

With all four hounds gone, there was truly only Guilty, the Lord of Indulgentia.

Vikir thought back to the steps he had taken to get to this point.

He'd earned his demerits within the Academy, spent the entirety of the Golden Holiday volunteering and serving as a scout.

And now, all that remained was the final goal of this assassination.

Vikir composed himself and was about to take the final step.

Clap-Clap-Clap.

From beyond the pitch darkness came the sound of applause.

"...!"

Vikir and Dolores looked up to see a familiar face.

Guilty L. Indulgentia.

He was sitting on the railing and looking down with a smile on his face.