Chapter 178
After a storm had raged
Silence, only snowflakes lay scattered across the corridor.
Snowflakes stained Pitch-Black drifted softly.
“Haa, haa…”
At its center, a girl stumbled.
Her ragged and gasping breath reached her chin.
Forgetting her usual dignity, she was a wreck.
Her legs buckled.
“Ugh…”
The Vain One swayed for a moment.
Eventually, her legs gave out, and she collapsed where she stood.
I, who had been waiting behind her, gently caught the falling girl.
I didn't want her pride to be sullied.
My hands carefully supported her waist.
“Lady.”
“...Ugh.”
Was she being crushed by the backlash?
A realm she had forcibly reached.
Having coveted transcendence with the body of a mere mortal, the price was by no means light.
The girl's mana was boiling as if it would burst at any moment.
I quickly channeled power into my fingertips.
“First, I will calm her.”
Swoosh—.
I placed my palm over her heaving breath.
Just as I was about to perform the healing.
“I... told you.”
A sudden murmur.
Her characteristic blue eyes looked up at me as she smiled.
The gracefully curved line resembled a crescent moon on a winter night.
Her exhausted smile was pale.
But it was not pathetic.
Rather, it seemed to shine brighter than any star.
In her most pathetic state, the girl emitted the most brilliant light.
Such a paradox evoked ecstasy.
“That there was something I *had* to achieve.”
“……”
“I told you I would show you…”
Her voice scattered thinly.
Yet, it didn't tremble at all.
Her eyes shimmered with vitality.
As if it were demanding applause, demanding respect.
“Pfft.”
I couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.
*Even in this situation, she's still showing off?*
For a moment, I was dumbfounded, but then I realized even that vanity was so *her*.
I curved my lips into a smile, as if being influenced by her.
A faint impression touched my lips.
“Yes... you were truly magnificent.”
A gently teasing reply.
With an outstretched hand, I stroked her disheveled hair.
The embracing Shadow wrapped around her pale skin.
As if praising the traces of her fierce struggle.
Swoosh—.
Emilia quietly accepted my touch.
The familiar warmth and proximity.
We had to pause for a moment in the Pitch-Black winter.
The girl regained her strength and composure.
“You've worked hard.”
And so, we leaned against each other.
***
Meanwhile,
Deron, with a hole pierced through his heart and abdomen, barely clung to life.
The dazzling Strike had even vaporized his internal organs.
In short, his life was at death's door.
Blood gurgled, refluxing in his throat.
“Gurgle…”
Bubbling.
Blood foam rose gently.
Paradoxically, his body, now a mere lump of flesh, showed not a shred of hope.
His limbs were frozen solid, and all major organs below his heart had been torn out.
It was a miracle he was still breathing even for a few minutes.
Perhaps it is befitting one of the Continent's foremost Cryomancers.
Hiss, hiss—.
Only his wretched breaths echoed in the corridor.
The vitality in his pupils gradually faded.
In such a situation.
‘Hmm.’
Someone was watching this with interest.
None other than eyes were caught in the Shadow.
A member of the Heretic Cult.
*Could it be... the Duke actually fell?*
The Peintre.
Personnel assigned by the Heretic Cult to monitor Deron.
He had constantly melted into the Darkness, assessing the surrounding situation.
As part of information gathering, one might say.
The man clicked his tongue softly.
*…He was quite a useful pawn, you know.*
Deron Vanity.
A man with great love for his family and a strong desire to improve his skills.
However, he was overshadowed by his older brother, who was more talented than he.
Deron respected his kin, but at the same time, he suffered from jealousy and inferiority.
A contradictory love, perhaps.
The Heretic Cult targeted him.
<F1>Deron Vanity.</F1><F1>We will make your desires a reality.</F1><F1>Dedicate yourself to Him.</F1>
The Heretic Cult whispered.
Deron was steeped in sorrow after the passing of the Duke and Duchess.
It wasn't difficult to lure a broken man.
Especially a man in a pathetic position, starved for recognition.
*What a waste.*
Well.
He was going to be discarded eventually, so it's fine.
*It's a pity he was foolish to the very end.*
It was us, you know. That's it.
Exactly four years ago.
It was none other than the Heretic Cult that assassinated the Duke and Duchess.
The man had joined hands with them, completely unaware.
Completely succumbing to the Demon God's hypnosis,
*Now, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.*
Creeping—.
The Peintre stepped out of the Shadow.
Arms and legs abruptly emerged from the Darkness spread across the floor.
He revealed himself in the corridor.
“Ahem.”
Since things had come to this, he figured he might as well greet them.
Or perhaps reduce their strength beforehand.
Slipping—
The Peintre subtly slipped out of the Shadow.
Eyes turned towards the sudden presence.
He then greeted them.
“Greetings.”
“……”
The sudden appearance of a stranger.
The relaxed atmosphere tightened with tension once more.
The stumbling blue-haired girl regained her stance.
*Had she recovered already?*
She seemed quite all right.
“From the Shadow…?”
“I hope you're not too surprised. I merely intended to offer my greetings to you both.”
Of course, it might not be a conventional greeting.
He hid a sneer behind his twisted lips.
His steps approached.
“I am the Peintre.”
But. He didn't know.
“The Fifth Apostle, who follows the will of the Great Father.”
The Golden Snake, hidden behind Slit-Eyes.
That ominous boy had foreseen all of this.
***
“Greetings.”
The man appeared suddenly.
He had abruptly emerged from beyond the Shadow.
“I am the Peintre, the Fifth Apostle, who follows the will of the Great Father.”
I silently stared at him.
Not with surprise, nor with fear.
He finally showed up.
I had always been aware of the Shadow's presence.
He was also a character who appeared in the original story.
From the start, such a flimsy disguise was laughable in my eyes.
To dare to try to hide in the Darkness before the night itself.
It was like trying to cover the sky with one's palm.
‘The Peintre.’
The Guardian who monitored House Vanity.
At the same time, he was a member of the Seven Apostles chosen by the Demon God.
The Puppeteer, Gravedigger, Conductor... all who had appeared so far could be considered Apostles like him.
They were, in their own way, the Heretic Cult's top forces. Of course, two of the three mentioned earlier had already been sent to Hell.
I assessed the situation with a faint hum.
“Hmm.”
I had been waiting for this.
If he tried to help Deron, I intended to stop him.
But the Peintre merely watched, not stepping forward.
This meant...
*…In the end, even Beniti was a disposable pawn.*
Nothing had changed from the original story.
The Heretic Cult ruthlessly cut off even its own allies in the end.
The Businessman, Beniti, even the criminal gangs of the back alleys... discarded them all like worn-out shoes at crucial moments.
I glared at him with cold, sunken eyes.
He was a young man exuding a relaxed aura.
“It was all our doing, you see.”
A mouth as light as his demeanor.
*Could he not contain himself?*
“In the name of the Great Father.”
The Peintre was running his mouth.
Towards the swaying Emilia.
Like a scene from a movie, it was delivering a shocking twist.
His lips, curled into a vile sneer, were utterly repulsive.
“I was quite surprised. I didn't expect the Duke to lose, you know.”
“Surely, you were watching from the beginning?”
“Coincidentally.”
“……Since you didn't help, your Uncle was a disposable pawn to you.”
“You're sharp. Deron Vanity was a good chess piece.”
The young man let out a small laugh.
Then it was added.
“He was a foolish man.”
“What do you mean, foolish?”
“Didn't I tell you? It was all our doing. Assassinating the former Duke and Duchess, seducing a despairing Deron Vanity, and thus seizing control of House Vanity—it was all a scheme orchestrated by us.”
“What…?”
Her trembling blue eyes.
*Had she been shaken?*
Emilia, upon hearing the truth, couldn't help but falter.
Because her parents' deaths were involved.
The girl retorted, her brow furrowed.
“Nonsense.”
“Hmm?”
“My Uncle already admitted that he was involved in that accident.”
“I don't recall his giving a definitive answer, though. People with strong pride often evade direct answers like that.”
Thump, thump—.
Deron's body was sprawled on the floor.
The Peintre extended his foot and stomped on that lump of flesh a few times.
With each stomp, blood and flesh splattered everywhere.
He shrugged, as if bored, and said.
“Isn't he truly trash?”
“You…!”
Emilia's eyes widened.
She clenched her fists, taking a stance as if to charge forward immediately.
However, the Peintre cackled, seemingly enjoying the situation.
He retreated with a vile step.
“Unfortunately, I have no desire for a confrontation today.”
His sleeve shimmered.
Afterward, a magic stone was clutched in the young man's hand.
It was an awakening agent, compressed with demonic energy.
*A familiar pattern.*
It was the same in the original story.
The Peintre always used something as a sacrifice to escape.
This time, he intends to use Deron.
Injecting a magic stone into the heart can corrupt a living being.
It seemed his plan was to escape the Mansion leisurely while Deron, now a Chimera, rampaged.
He greeted them with a wide grin.
“Well then, shall we bid farewell?”
His hand moved.
He even remembered to add a smile, confident in his victory.
But.
“That's enough.”
*Why should I put up with that?*
“Such insolence.”
“Ugh…?!”
Thwack—!
The distance closed with a single leap.
Without hesitation, I grabbed him by the collar.
His body, wrapped in lies, couldn't move.
For the first time, bewilderment spread across his relaxed eyes.
I said.
“Following clichés too much gets boring, doesn't it?”
“Sometimes, you have to get caught before you can escape.”
A sinister smile played on my lips.
My Slit-Eyes were now half-open.
“*Cliché broken*.”
I was stabbing him in the heart.