Chapter 32

In the distance, a stir of activity began; a large force had been waiting nearby, ready to descend at a moment’s notice. A magician, a room full of trained killers, and a coordinated ambush—they had chosen their day well.

Isaac clicked his tongue. At this point, the stranger was the least of his worries; he had to find a way to survive the coming storm himself.

The hooded man spared a brief glance toward the window, acknowledging the approaching reinforcements with complete indifference. He returned his gaze to the bald man, staring intently at the throat that now bore no trace of his strike.

“Surprised to see a dead man walking? He isn’t the only one. Everyone here shares that same trick. We may suffer, but we do not die—everyone except you, of course. Today marks the end of your little rampage.”

The middle-aged man flashed a predatory, toothy grin.

“Attack!”

The order rang out. As if triggered by the command, the men surged forward in a synchronized rush, their weapons whistling through the air. The first to breach the room was the scarred man, his features twisted with aggression. He lunged with his knife, striking with terrifying momentum. Yet, the figure in the gray hood offered no defense. Ignoring the blade aimed at his throat, the hooded stranger swung his own sword, an arc of steel that moved with far greater velocity than his opponent’s weapon.

The scarred man’s eyes widened as the blade zeroed in on his skull. Panic seized him, forcing a reflexive, desperate attempt to parry with his own knife.

CLANG

At the violent impact, the knife shattered into fragments. The sword, having cleaved through the steel, continued its downward trajectory, carving through the man’s shoulder and burying itself deep within his chest.

From right shoulder to left breast, the man’s torso was laid open. The remaining assailants had barely managed two steps. As they stared in frozen horror, the scarred man sprayed a mist of crimson across the floor and collapsed into a heap.

Isaac watched, paralyzed, his pulse hammering in his ears. The gray-hooded man had dispatched the man with a rhythmic, lightning-fast economy of motion, retracting his blade without a hint of exertion. Even the simple gesture of flicking the blood from his steel was performed with detached, chilling composure. There was no excess in his movements—only an utter, terrifying indifference.

A powerful sensation of déjà vu washed over Isaac, clawing at his subconscious. This wasn’t just a coincidence; it was a memory.

「Isn’t that him?」

「That’s him.」

「That’s definitely him.」

The cats’ chattering beside him grated against his nerves, yet the words failed to register. Isaac remained fixated on the stranger, his gaze locked on the mouth visible beneath the heavy fabric of the hood.

The gray-hooded man glanced down at the casualty. The wounded man was still wheezing, but his life was clearly ebbing away. His body had been hollowed out, blood pooling rapidly on the floor.

In the corner, the magician’s lips curled in a silent chant. A spell, inaudible to Isaac, coalesced and blanketed the fallen man. Before his eyes, the ghastly wound began to knit together at an impossible speed. Deep flesh and exposed bone surged with necrotic vitality, closing the chasm in the man’s chest.

Then, the gray-hooded man whipped his head around. His gaze locked onto the magician with the precision of a predator. The magician stumbled, his chanting faltering. Isaac watched as the man’s shoulders began to tremble.

The hooded figure stood in absolute silence, studying him. Finally, the mouth beneath the shadow of the hood curved into a faint, grim line.

It’s you.

Though no sound was spoken, the realization hit Isaac with the force of a physical blow. Gooseflesh erupted across his skin; his breath hitched in his throat. Suddenly, the second assailant charged, swinging a massive axe. The gray-hooded man pivoted, driving his sword down against the axe-head as if to cleave the very iron in two.

KAGAGAK

The sword bit an inch into the metal before anchoring there. The axe-wielder’s complexion paled—a blade that could carve into an axe was an impossibility in his world. The remaining men stiffened, their brash arrogance hardening into a grim, professional lethality.

“You’ve got decent skill,” the middle-aged leader declared, his voice steadying the group. “But no matter your prowess, you came here alone. Today is your end. Let us see how long your stamina holds against a group that refuses to die, regardless of how many times you swing that steel. Attack!”

Before the command had fully escaped his lips, the gray-hooded man moved with supernatural ease. He flickered across the distance, stepping into the axe-wielder’s space. The movement was so rapid that it felt like an optical illusion—a void in time. Before the leader could utter the final syllable, the axe-wielder’s head was cleanly severed from his shoulders and tumbled across the floor.

The axe dropped, followed seconds later by the lifeless corpse of the man.

The man in the gray hood shifted his attention to the magician, whose robes were slick with fresh gore. The spellcaster, his complexion drained to a ghostly, sickly blue, trembled as their gazes locked. Recognizing the silent ultimatum, the magician returned the glare with a futile, desperate defiance, though he dared not utter a sound.

For the first time, the hooded man spoke, his lips curling into a casual, mocking grin. “So, you lack the power to resurrect the dead. That makes this task remarkably simple.”

I only need to ensure you never get the chance to heal them.

The instant that low, resonant voice struck Isaac’s ears, his blood ran cold. The timbre was unmistakable.

Oh God.

Below his hiding spot, a scene of hellish butchery unfolded—a one-sided slaughter. Men who had spent their lives as apex predators, thugs who feared no rival in the shadows, were systematically dismantled. Heads were severed in singular, fluid strokes, and bodies were bisected with surgical brutality. Even when they managed to evade the first strike, the hooded man’s blade invariably sought their hearts before the magician could finish a single incantation.

Watching the wounds knit themselves shut on headless, cooling corpses, Isaac fought back a wave of nausea. This was not a duel; it was an execution. No mortal could withstand such cold, lethal precision. As the brutal reality solidified in Isaac’s mind, the dozen mercenaries were reduced to a heap of carnage in the blink of an eye.

The middle-aged leader stood at the end of the row, his consciousness shattered by the impossible violence. As the gray-hooded man approached, the leader’s expression went vacant, as if he had drifted into a waking nightmare. Behind the killer, a headless corpse tilted forward, bumped against his back like a discarded marionette, and slumped to the floor. The impact snagged the strap of the gray cloak; the heavy fabric fell away, exposing the man beneath to the flickering light.

Isaac swallowed a groan. It was exactly as he had feared. He had prayed for a lapse in judgment, for his instincts to be flawed, but there was no escaping this terrifying truth.

“You… are…”

The leader furrowed his brow, tilting his head in confusion. He stared at the face revealed before him, blinking rapidly as he desperately scavenged his memory. Then, as if struck by a lightning bolt, his eyes flew wide, and his body was racked with a violent tremor.

“Y-you… Why are you here…?”

He stammered, his resolve unraveling as the question died in his throat. He received no mercy; his head was severed before he could finish the sentence.

THUD

The severed head struck the floor, eyes wide in a final, frozen mask of pure horror. Silence descended upon the chamber, heavy and thick as a grave. Only the hooded figure and the trembling magician remained. And Isaac, pinned trembling above the ceiling.

Oh God… Why are you doing this to me…? Is it because I am a witch’s child? You were never like this before…

「Why is he here?」

「Right…? Hmm, considering he came to clear out a gang of thugs… Ah, I know. He wants the bounty!」

「Ah. Now that I think about it, that one has a hard life.」

「Right. He was always poor and struggling.」

「His bedroom is shabby beyond words, and he can’t even afford proper meals, so he fills up on blood…」

「Yes, he did. Even though he is a prince.」

Exactly. Even though he is a prince. Why is a royal here doing this kind of work?!

Isaac seized the chattering cats by the scruff, his knuckles turning white. Even if the carnage below made them oblivious, he needed them to cease their prattling. The presence of others approaching from the exterior was drawing near, yet they felt like ghosts from a different world compared to the overwhelming gravity of the man below. It was the prince. There was no doubting the sharp line of his jaw or the frost in his stare.

Prince Kaiyan stood amidst the ruin, surveying the magician with an expressionless mask. The magician glared back, his face deathly pale. “Who… are you?”

The magician did not recognize him. Isaac felt a momentary spark of shock, but the logic settled in quickly. While royal statues and portraits were scattered throughout the palace, they were rarely seen by commoners or low-level mercenaries unless they held high-ranking court positions. Official events were the only time ordinary people caught a glimpse of royalty, and this was certainly not one of those occasions.

The prince studied the magician with a detached gaze, as if the man’s existence held no consequence. He murmured, “You are merely human.” He then clicked his tongue, his features darkening with palpable disappointment. “But yes, I suppose a magician will suffice. Now that one has surfaced, perhaps a witch will finally crawl out of the woodwork.”

The moment those words reached Isaac, a jolt of realization scorched through his mind. The man was hunting a witch. Why? Certainly not for medical supplies. The mysterious assailant had been systematically dismantling the Roverni faction since well before the new moon, long before Isaac had first encountered this prince.

“You, of all beings, dare ask what I am?” The magician sneered, his eyes burning with frantic indignation. “You shroud yourself in human skin, yet there is nothing mortal about you. What are you? How can something this malignant and wretched even exist!”

The magician trembled, his finger leveled accusingly at the prince, but the prince remained unmoved. Instead, he pressed, “Have you seen Roverni’s witch?” He completely ignored the magician, as if the preceding outburst was nothing more than background noise.

The magician’s eye twitched in a spasm of rage. “How absurd. There is no such thing.”

The prince lowered his gaze, his blue eyes icy and piercing. Under that frozen scrutiny, the magician’s complexion drained to a sickly, pallid gray. “They sent someone far too trivial for this,” the prince muttered to himself, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword.

The magician, a man of pride, erupted in fury at the dismissal. His teeth gnashed, his jaw locking in anger as his eyes widened. “You are blinded by your arrogance and ignorant of the true heavens! Do you honestly believe your pathetic swordplay can withstand such grand and arcane power?” The magician spat the words, his lips trembling. He then began to chant, a rapid and rhythmic sequence of syllables that caused the air to ripple with heat and haze.

The prince merely tilted his head in mild curiosity. “So, you possess both attack and healing magic?”

“If that is what you wish to witness, I shall gladly oblige.”

The magician bared his teeth and channeled his intent. A guttural, alien language surged from his throat, saturated with raw energy. That formless power coalesced into a jagged, dark entity that surged toward the prince, only to erupt into a roaring inferno. Blue flames engulfed the prince, crackling and scorching with a violent, rhythmic intensity.

The prince frowned, but that was the extent of his reaction.

Devoid of any sign of pain, he slashed his sword. The blade whistled through the fire with impossible velocity, seeking the magician’s throat, but it clanged against a shimmering, invisible barrier. The impact sent the sword rebounding as if it had struck an impenetrable wall. Not a single scratch marred the magician’s skin.

However, a sharp CRACK echoed through the room.

A jagged fissure spiderwebbed across the heavy ring on the magician’s finger. His face turned ghostly white.

The magician frantically spat out another incantation, and the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. A crushing, localized pressure materialized around the prince, forcing the very air to collapse inward like a physical weight.

Crack.

Crack.

The sickening sound of bone grinding against bone filled the space.