Chapter 37

Chapter 37

The state of the marquess was not normal at a glance. Black veins were sprouting like spider webs across his neck and face. His eyes, bloodshot, were constantly scanning his surroundings. The hand holding his cane was trembling. The curse of the swamp had begun to take effect properly.

Mason, unaware of this fact, asked, "Father, why, what is the matter?"

The marquess, in a state of confusion, shouted, "Do you not see this? The divine mark of the shining goddess on the soldiers. The holiness formed on spears and bows...?"

"What on earth is...." Mason stopped mid-sentence, his breath halted.

Purple magic began to spread in the marquess's eyes upon seeing Ian. "Now, now everything is clear! You, you're not a mere paladin! You were the incarnation of that damned Goddess, Tir En!"

With the sound of a deep growl following, the marquess, charged with magic throughout his body, roared, "Don't be ridiculous...! I will not accept your judgment!"

The faces of the citizens and soldiers watching him were struck with horror.

"The lord has truly fallen!"

"All of the young lord’s words were true...!"

A relieved smile finally spread across Ian's lips. There was no need to continue this cringe-worthy imitation of a paladin any longer.

"Why... Damn it...!" Mason gasped, stepping back just as Ian lunged toward the marquess.

The sword, still carrying a faint holy power, aimed for the marquess's neck. It was then that the marquess struck down his cane with a thud.

Whoosh!

A wave of magical energy burst forth from him, flinging Ian away. Ian barely managed to cling to the edge of the wall.

"Ugh...?! Uh, ugh, ack...!"

"Cough, ack...!"

Soldiers caught in the spreading wave of magic began to contort grotesquely. With bone-chilling sounds of cracking bones, their eyes turning blood-red and veins bludged out. Similar effects were happening to the soldiers in the inner walls. Those lucky enough to escape the magic's corruption blinked in disbelief.

"What's happening to them... uhk?!"

Soldiers with twisted joints began to rush at them.

Crunch! Crack!

"Ahh! What the Fuck! Let go! Let me go!"

"Ahh! Damn it! Die!"

Chaos erupted atop the wall.

"I didn't expect him to reveal his true colors to this extent...." Declan muttered, looking at the scene before drawing his sword. He then yelled out, "People, fall back! Patton! ring everyone and follow!"

Declan led the mercenaries toward the city gate, running.

"It doesn't seem like magic. Hiding some strange trick, weren't you?" Muttering, Ian leaped up the wall.

The marquess, with eyes fully turned purple, raised his staff.

Crack!

Ian's sword was easily blocked. The marquess's hand, now skinned, had mutated into something monstrous.

The marquess’s lips, lined with black veins, curled up. "This is the true power bestowed by the God of the Void... Different from you fake Gods—"

Bang.

A silent explosion occurred from Ian's sword at that moment. It was from Vacuum Explosion. Though it was a small-scale explosion, it was enough to blast away the marquess's staff and the hand holding it, leaving only a spray of blood. The moment the marquess's eyes widened, Ian's sword flew into the exposed space.

Crack!

The blade of the sword stuck into the marquess's cheek, stopping at his nose. The marquess's twitching eyes met Ian's, which were swirling with ashen magic.

"You should have transformed instead of babbling."

Swish!

The Wind Blade spread along the sword, carried on the edge, then cleanly split the marquess's face to the other cheek. The marquess's severed head slid off, smoothly dropping to the ground as blood spurted from the cut.

"Ma..gic...?"

The marquess's body, which was left only below the nose, collapsed along with a sigh-like death rattle. Ian did not stop there and mechanically charged in, ultimately cutting off the fallen marquess's neck. The marquess's body slumped down after.

"Sigh...." Ian finally exhaled, lowering his sword.

...I wanted to make it a clean cut, thought Ian. Clicking his tongue, he picked up the marquess's head, now split in two.

"Sir. Have you finished already?" Philip, panting from his run, stopped beside him, already splattered with blood from the confrontation.

"Not yet. Don't lose it. It's the marquess's head, after all." Ian handed over a cloth bag containing the marquess's head. He continued, "Go and help the soldiers."

"Acting just the same." Ian's smile deepened.

Boom.

A silent explosion ensued. Mason's sword was knocked away, and skin bits flew in all directions.

"Ah, aah! My hand! My hand!" Mason screamed, having lost both hands.

Ian added mockingly, "That's why you should have transformed sooner. I already knew that half-finished beings like you can't harness your power without concentration."

Of course, Ian had no intention of waiting for him to transform.

Crack!

Ian, with a lifted corner of his mouth, struck down on Mason's other ankle.

"Aaah! Ahh!" Mason rolled on the ground.

Ian intended to keep inflicting pain to prevent any chance of transformation.

Thunk.

Ian’s sword was embedded into Mason's opposite thigh.

Gripping Mason's hair as he convulsed, Ian said, "I'd prefer to behead you myself. But if you answer my questions honestly, I might spare you."

"What... do you want to know...?" said Mason.

"Who is the old deer?" Ian asked.

"That's... ah!" Ian twisted the sword, causing Mason to scream in hesitation.

However, Ian's gaze held no trace of sympathy, only the determination to extract the answers he sought. Moreover, the term old deer was something he had heard before.

Andolf... It wasn't just rambling after all, thought Ian.

The cursed Andolf had also left those words as his last testament. Now, it seemed Ian might finally understand whom those words referred to. All that remained was to hear the name directly.

"If you make me ask again, I'll cut off your thigh. Who is the old deer?" said Ian.

"Duke Brant...!" Mason spat out the name, causing Ian's eyes to narrow.

"Brant, as in royalty?" said Ian.

"Yes...! Regis Brant. My father and I serve him..." said Mason.

"And he's the old deer?" Ian asked.

Mason nodded. A faint smile crossed Ian's lips, now that the name he sought was mentioned. He hadn't known Regis had such a nickname.

"Regis Brant? The Duke Brant known as the legs of the kingdom, the king's uncle, is a corrupted one?" Declan asked, surprised.

Mason cackled, "That's why he's got the kingdom in his grasp. The king is a fool, oblivious to everything. He just gobbles up the taxes and information we provide, believing he can win any war... Ugh."

Ian grabbed Mason's jaw, "Thanks for the information. You won't be needing that tongue anymore."

Mason's eyes widened in shock as Declan sat down beside Ian.

"Sir Hope, can I ask you a favor?" Declan asked.

"Go ahead," said Ian.

"Allow me to take care of my brother's tongue as well," said Deckan.

"Not a bad proposal," said Ian.

Mason looked at Ian as if to say, ‘That's not what you promised.’

"As promised, I'm holding back. It's just your brother who won't." Ian shrugged.

"What kind of sense does that... Ugh...!" said Mason.

Declan grasped Mason's jaw tightly.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day, my brother.” Staring into Mason's terrified eyes, Declan smiled.

"From the moment you sent that poisoned meal to our home where Mother and I lived, it's been years. Mother was so happy, thinking Father had sent us a gift." Declan spoke softly as if recounting a fond memory, but his eyes looking down at Mason were not smiling at all.

"Mother intervened to stop me from consuming the food, frothing at the mouth and biting her own tongue in the process. She nearly cut it off, all in a desperate effort to remain alert and protect me. So...," Declan brought a dagger to Mason's mouth.

"I really wanted to make sure you experienced the same pain Mother felt,” said Declan.

Mason's effort to keep his mouth closed failed when Ian subtly twisted the sword lodged in his thigh. With his hands, feet, and now his tongue taken from him, Mason Burchard was pulled out, denied any opportunity to expose his genuine, tainted nature, and subsequently executed.

This entire spectacle unfolded under the watchful eyes of all those present, both within and beyond the inner castle’s walls, all carried out by Declan Burchard, Orendel's newly appointed lord.