Chapter 314: Rent-Free Spiders and Other Atrocities

As Azriel and the Plague were on a quieter road, it wasn’t entirely empty. A curious crowd began to form around them, whispering, gasping, and exchanging worried glances.

Azriel didn’t waver. Instead, he calmly remarked,

"I must confess, that theory was a complete gamble. Seeing your reaction, though, it seems I was entirely correct."

Noticing the growing audience, the Plague retracted his arm and let out a resigned sigh behind his mask.

"Well played. You’ve outmaneuvered me spectacularly. Had I not reacted, I’d have won—but here we are." He sighed again, dramatically gazing skyward. "Since you’re already acquainted with little Lia, I assume she’s already in your hands?"

Azriel nodded calmly.

"She’s safe."

"Your gamble paid off... it’s been a long while since I’ve lost this badly," the Plague continued, almost sounding amused.

"Considering Pierre intentionally took the name ’Immortal Eyepatch’ precisely to mislead people about his true [unique skill], figuring out he’s invincible rather than immortal would typically require direct confrontation—something I’m nearly certain you haven’t had. Remarkable, really!"

The Plague chuckled warmly, like a grandpa genuinely impressed by his mischievous grandchild’s antics, leaving the audience even more baffled.

After a brief pause, the Plague’s voice turned serious again.

"But you know, the core of Pierre’s invincibility is in that little girl’s heart."

Azriel’s expression remained neutral.

"Can you really do it?" the Plague pressed.

"Can you kill an innocent child just to end Pierre’s invincibility?"

Azriel’s lips curled into a small, ambiguous smile.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" the Plague echoed incredulously.

"Killing a child... not many cross that line. And those who do are forever changed. If what you claim is true—that you’re not part of the Inverse Creed—then Pierre and the Red-Eyed Ghost’s conflict isn’t your business, is it?"

"You’re right," Azriel admitted, glancing around the whispering crowd, "there would be no reason for me to involve myself if I were truly an outsider. But Pierre needs to die, and it’s best for my image if I appear involved with the Inverse Creed, especially if I want maximum benefits from this scenario."

"Scenario?"

Azriel shook his head dismissively.

"You wouldn’t understand."

"I see," the Plague muttered.

"So you really do want Pierre dead."

Azriel nodded silently.

"If we fight here," the Plague reasoned aloud, "the village will likely be destroyed. I’d have to save little Lia, fight you, the Master, and—worst case—even the Village Chief. Fighting isn’t my strong suit. As a doctor, alchemist, and scientist, I can see it clearly: protecting little Lia from you simply isn’t worth risking my life."

He tilted his masked head thoughtfully.

"If I were reckless, immoral, or simply stupid, I’d fight you right now. But I value life far too much to be that impulsive. You’ve played your cards perfectly. Our most valuable asset is about to be lost due to an unpredictable variable—this is truly devastating."

Then, with a sudden shift in tone, the Plague added lightly,

"Though I must say, you’re rather reckless yourself. Consider this—what if I didn’t value life at all? Look carefully at my left hand."

Azriel glanced down. A small vial filled with a pink liquid rested in the Plague’s palm.

"If you’ve truly heard of me, you know what I’m infamous for. Were I to drop this vial, it would release a toxic gas lethal to anyone below Level 3. Tell me, what would you do if I suddenly stopped valuing the lives around us?"

Despite the horrible threat hanging in the air, Azriel merely sneered.

"You think I’m reckless? It certainly looks that way—trusting you as my guide, casually chatting, even eating next to you, unarmed and defenseless..." Azriel’s grin widened mischievously.

"But aren’t you curious why the crowd hasn’t panicked and run away yet?"

The Plague’s head jerked around hurriedly, confused. True, crowds often had zero survival instinct, but this group seemed particularly odd. Then he noticed—they weren’t looking at him or Azriel; their gazes were fixed slightly behind him.

"Ah," Azriel smiled knowingly.

"Perhaps your heavy clothing dulled your senses, but... how about now?"

The Plague’s mask twisted into a scowl. Before he could move, Azriel continued cheerfully:

"Seems you finally noticed."

At that very moment, the Plague felt something cold and dangerously sharp pressing gently but insistently against the back of his head.

The Plague flinched visibly at the sharp pressure behind his head, slowly raising both hands in surrender. Meanwhile, the crowd continued to grow, their curiosity seemingly overriding their self-preservation instincts.

Truly, the Plague was right—these villagers had the survival instincts of a potato.

Absolute idiots.

"Had you tried anything funny," Azriel remarked casually, "I’m confident I could’ve handled it."

The Plague glanced at a nearby window reflection, spotting the Annoying Feather floating ominously behind him.

"A flying feather? Just when I thought I’d seen everything..."

Without warning, the Plague burst into a cloud of black mist. Azriel blinked calmly, mildly impressed, while the villagers panicked briefly—though most just watched eagerly, as if desperate for front-row seats to their own demise.

Azriel turned around casually, spotting the Plague standing safely several meters away.

Desummoning the Annoying Feather, Azriel tilted his head curiously as the Plague spoke again.

"Before I take my leave, please humor me... how did you do it?"

"Do what?" Azriel asked innocently.

"Destroy the core. How exactly did you manage it?"

"Oh, that!" Azriel clapped his hands together cheerfully.

"It was surprisingly simple, really. All I had to do was die a few dozen times until the core itself couldn’t bear watching my repeated suicides any longer and pitied me enough to reveal its weakness!"

The Plague scratched the side of his mask thoughtfully.

"Dying repeatedly? Pity? Suicide? ...Yes, I suppose dying that often explains why you’re even crazier than Pierre."

Azriel recoiled dramatically, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

"How dare you! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly sane and mentally healthy, thank you very much!"

The Plague nodded solemnly.

"Ah, yes, I reassure myself with similar words whenever I’m elbow-deep dissecting experimental bodies."

With a final shake of his head, the Plague turned to leave—but paused briefly to glance over his shoulder once more.

"By the way, we’ve arrived at the alchemy shop. You’re welcome."

Azriel blinked, glancing toward the shop door just as it opened with a cheerful bell chime.

An elderly customer, freckles peppering his face and clutching a bag full of books, stepped out and froze at the sight of Azriel. His gaze flicked nervously to the gathered crowd behind Azriel, then back to Azriel again.

He dropped his bag of books in alarm and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Looking between Azriel and the crowd in utter confusion, he finally spoke, voice filled with disbelief:

"...I... I didn’t steal anything this time!"

*****

Of course, after all that chaos, the crowd dispersed, and the Plague vanished into thin air. Azriel, unbothered, casually entered the shop.

Browsing the eerie store—dust-covered shelves, ancient tomes, actual spider webs (yes, complete with spiders), and even suspicious human skulls, which Azriel wisely chose not to inquire about—he eventually selected some books.

Now, one might be wondering how Azriel paid for these books. After all, he was essentially broke in this world, and Ranni wasn’t around to cover his expenses this time.

Simple: Azriel bartered. The good old-fashioned method—trading with a gold bar.

Yes, Azriel casually traded a literal gold bar, worth thousands in his world. And if someone asks why he even carried a gold bar around in his storage ring, well...

A prince has his privileges, alright?

The elderly shopkeeper, who now looked like she could retire comfortably for the next seven generations, happily handed over the books.

After leaving, Azriel headed towards a certain location—after first having to ask multiple people for directions. Half of those directions seemed suspiciously sabotaging, as clueless locals confidently pointed him in completely opposite directions. Eventually, after countless detours, he stood before an orphanage.

Yes, this was the orphanage where Ranni was supposed to be with Lia.

Technically, it wasn’t yet time to meet Ranni, but he’d found the Plague quicker than anticipated, and with his gamble confirmed, Azriel decided to proceed.

However, Azriel halted abruptly.

The orphanage looked straight out of a cheap horror movie—a three-story, stone-built house with broken windows, overgrown ivy, and an aura screaming ’haunted.’

"Yeah, fuck this," Azriel muttered, instantly turning around.

Just as he was making his graceful retreat, a loud cry from behind stopped him dead in his tracks. With an audible groan, he placed his hand over his face and reluctantly turned back.

Four small children appeared in front of the building, each wearing what could generously be called a potato sack with holes cut out. A little boy knelt painfully on the ground, blood seeping from his scraped knees, while three other boys around his age loomed over him, laughing mockingly.

Azriel sighed deeply.

With great reluctance—emphasis on reluctance—he approached the kids.

"Hey," Azriel called out, voice flat and disinterested.

The three bullies turned nervously toward him, one managing to muster up enough courage to squeak out,

"W-what do you want? Get lost!"

Azriel simply stood there, saying nothing, staring down at them with a frigid gaze devoid of any emotion.

Seconds ticked by slowly, and the longer the bullies stared into Azriel’s emotionless eyes, the paler they became. Eventually, one began trembling, another burst into tears, and finally, all three bolted inside.

Azriel smirked slightly, feeling oddly satisfied.

’Okay...that felt good. Just a little bit.’

...Really, only a little.

The injured boy flinched nervously under Azriel’s gaze, tears still threatening to spill over. Sighing, Azriel knelt down, his expression softening slightly.

"Here, take this."

The boy timidly glanced up, seeing Azriel holding out a plain white cloth.

"Wipe the blood off and bandage it if you can."

The boy hesitated, glancing from Azriel to the cloth, then slowly reached out and took it.

"T-thank you," he whispered shyly.

Azriel nodded, rising to his feet as he watched the boy clean his wounds. When finished, the boy held up the now-stained cloth uncertainly.

"Keep it," Azriel said dismissively.

"It’s yours now."

The boy clutched the cloth to his chest, eyes brightening slightly.

"Thank you," he repeated, this time with genuine gratitude.

As the boy rose, Azriel asked gently,

"Have you seen a woman here today? Beautiful, blue hair and eyes? Possibly accompanied by a little girl?"

Instantly, the boy’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

"The Water Goddess? Yeah, she’s inside! Do you know her, miss... mister?"

Azriel subtly ignored the child’s innocent mistake. The blood must have rushed to his brain.

’Water Goddess?’

Well, that was oddly accurate. Truthfully, Azriel doubted many Masters could defeat Ranni, especially if they fought on water. The woman was practically unbeatable in her element.

Azriel nodded lightly.

"Yes, I know her. Can you lead me to her?"

The boy bobbed his head eagerly.

"Um! Follow me, miss... mister!"

The boy sprinted towards the entrance, still clutching the bloodied cloth as if it were a treasure, and Azriel trailed behind more casually.

Unfortunately, the orphanage interior was even worse—truly the set of a horror film. The halls were cluttered with debris, shattered glass littered the floors, and spiderwebs (with plenty of spiders) decorated every corner.

Azriel wasn’t exactly afraid of spiders, he just... despised them intensely. Disgusting freeloaders, living rent-free everywhere.

Eventually, Azriel found himself standing before a wooden door. The boy, still radiating excitement, pointed proudly.

"We’re here, mister! The Water Goddess is inside with Lia, the matron, and the director!"

Azriel nodded appreciatively.

"Thank you, you’ve been extremely helpfu—"

Before Azriel could finish, a sudden loud crash echoed from behind the door, followed by furious shouting. Words spilled out clearly, freezing Azriel and the boy on the spot.

"You foreigner bitch! How dare you barge into my orphanage and try stealing my children with your saintly act! You’re nothing but a money-hungry whore! Get out before I call the Village Chief to have you burned at the stake! Hell, maybe he’ll cripple you first and sell you as a slave—a whore like you should at least make me some profit!"