Chapter 392: Hellfire (4)

"Cough, cough..."

The painful hacking sounded like it meant to squeeze out all the air in his lungs, and along with it the metallic-sweet blood spilled wretchedly from the corner of his mouth.

Muen staggered back a few steps, face deathly pale.

On his back, every magic vein extending out from the Alchemy Core was, at this moment, cutting his flesh like a knife, and his body had already classified those things that originally did not belong to it as enemies, intent on eliminating and expelling them at any cost.

This is a self-protection mechanism everyone possesses, but right now, under the influence of some external force, a contradiction that should not have erupted at this time suddenly burst forth in an even fiercer way.

His whole body had become the most direct battlefield; therefore Muen had no choice but to draw the red flame back again to maintain the balance between the two, otherwise under such an exacerbated reaction it would soon directly threaten his life.

And the present situation was just as Ailag had said.

The Alchemy Core was in an unstable state.

The red flame had to be used to sustain his own body.

Facing the enemy, Muen’s two strongest trump cards were, in # Nоvеlight # this brief instant, directly sealed.

"You really are giving me a lot of credit."

Amid Ailag’s manic laughter, Muen raised his head and wiped the blood at his mouth:

"A dignified Evil God actually used such a despicable method on me personally—and even waited to confirm the method would work before daring to show up in front of me. Should I be proud of that? Or..."

Gazing at that mocking pupil split open on Ailag’s cheek, Muen bared his own teeth:

"Lord Love God, isn’t this behavior of yours a bit of an embarrassment to the title of Evil God?"

"..."

The eye on Ailag’s cheek remained cold. As a dignified Evil God, He naturally wouldn’t react just because of a few barbed words.

However, Ailag’s head suddenly turned at an unnatural angle, bringing that eye to the front to stare at Muen—as if overlooking an ant.

Ailag’s lips writhed, yet what came out was an eerie language no human throat should produce—ethereal, vast, making one unconsciously want to kneel:

【Muen Campbell.】

"Oh?"

Muen raised a brow. "You even know my name so clearly—how flattering."

【I ask thee.】

The Love God spoke coldly:

【How didst thou obtain the Withering King’s divine favor? What didst thou trade for it? Thy flesh, thy soul, are both intact; why would He grant His power unto thee?】

Hearing this, Muen’s eyes narrowed.

Looks like the Love God has started to suspect there’s something fishy about my identity as a "Withering King believer."

"As for that..."

Muen suddenly smiled in a secretive way and said:

"Not gonna lie—turns out the Withering King is my different-father, different-mother real brother. If He treats me a bit better, isn’t that only natural?"

"..."

"Alright, alright, I’m joking—don’t glare at me with that disgusting big eyeball."

"But if you want to know this..."

Muen leaned forward, meeting that pupil without a trace of fear, and said with utmost sincerity:

"Kneel and call me ‘Daddy,’ and I’ll tell you."

The split eye suddenly contorted into ferocity, and Ailag roared in step:

"Shut up! How dare you be insolent before a Deity!"

Boom!

Phil once again extended a single finger in that uncanny, puppetlike motion and pointed lightly at Muen.

Dozens-fold gravity slammed down again in an instant.

Only this time, Muen failed to dodge in time.

Under the colossal pressure, Muen’s body suddenly bent; his bones creaked under the burden, and he could only resist with difficulty in a half-crouch.

"Ha—hahaha!"

Ailag laughed: "Look at you—look at yourself now, Muen Campbell! Without those plugins, you’re nothing but an ordinary man after all!"

"I’ve always been just an ordinary man. Don’t lump me in with a thing like you—a pervert in both body and mind." Muen spat a mouthful of blood and said coldly.

"You—!"

Ailag’s face showed a vicious light, then he sneered: "Sharp tongue! But that mouth is all you’ve got left!"

"For the sin of blaspheming a Deity, kneel and repent at the feet of the great Deity!"

Gorgeous flowers rapidly sprouted along Ailag’s arm, soon covering it entirely.

And as the roots and stems intertwined and anchored, that arm suddenly swelled; the twisted limb seemed to turn into a huge tentacle that smashed hard into Muen’s abdomen.

Muen was swatted into the air by the terrifying force like a sandbag thrown aside, but before he flew far he abruptly dropped mid-air in defiance of common sense.

The crushing gravity—enough to mash a powerful magical beast into pulp—pressed down on him again, and Muen had no foothold in the air to resist. He could only be swatted head-first to the ground like a pathetic fly.

"Kill him."

Ailag issued the order coldly.

The marionette-like Phil moved stiffly. From her trembling delicate body one could faintly see she was still resisting, but under the clustering flowers, those dried lips—of which only half showed—finally... slowly began to writhe.

A long chant poured clear and limpid from between her lips and teeth.

Vast magic was brewing.

The vicious light in Ailag’s eyes turned into elation.

Phil Siegel—among the faction-ridden Origin Tower—was the undisputed genius of geniuses. After her Saintess-candidate identity came to light, not a few old geezers in the Origin Tower even opposed her choosing that path.

In those elders’ eyes, the Saintess seat would instead hinder her progress in magic.

So then—this genius girl, up to now, just how many kinds of magic could she use?

As a fellow mage of the Origin Tower, Ailag had only heard she excelled at gravity magic and summoning magic.

And that question, at this moment, finally received its answer.

She didn’t even need a supporting staff; immense magic swiftly converged overhead like a mass of colored cloud pressing down.

Once, those two famous sisters who defected from the Origin Tower were renowned and feared for their proficiency with multiple casting.

But Phil’s multiple casting was even more offhand than theirs.

Several dreadful spells were chanted in parallel at the same time, interweaving and fusing. If not for Phil’s own realm being insufficient, it would certainly have been an apocalyptic scene.

And now, that apocalypse had resolutely descended upon the man who looked to have no power to resist.

Boom—

The magic fell.

Blazing radiance reduced everything to rough black-and-white strokes—

A proclamation of destruction and end.

It’s over...

In that single godless eye, a crystalline tear slipped from Phil’s face.

Like mourning.

...

"Heh, this is the end that awaits those who blaspheme a Deity!"

Watching the spreading dust, Ailag sneered and curled his lips.

On his cheek, that bizarre opened pupil was just about to slowly close.

What He cared about was only Muen Campbell. Since he was already dead, the rest...

"Ah, so that’s how it is."

Suddenly, a voice came from within the dust—so clear.

"What?"

Ailag froze, almost thinking he was hallucinating.

But he was the one who played with Illusion; how the hell could he be hallucinating?

The eerie pupil snapped wide and fixed on a point.

"I get it now, you old back-alley schemer of a Love God—you didn’t inject much power into this time at all. Otherwise, given the deep bond between us up to now, you wouldn’t be killing me in such a roundabout way."

From the dust, a figure walked out at an easy pace, arcs of electricity crackling around him.

Muen’s clothes were in tatters, like he’d just done shuttle runs through a fire scene; even his head of yellow hair was largely scorched.

Blood still trickled at his mouth, his face was very pale; he looked utterly miserable.

But... he was still alive. Still... standing.

"How... how is that possible? That spell... taking that spell head-on... why are you still alive?"

"Because I dodged it, of course."

Muen looked at Ailag like **: "Who the hell just stands there and tanks magic head-on for no reason? I don’t have that kind of special kink."

"Dodged? But gravity magic..."

Ailag’s words suddenly stalled, because he abruptly noticed that behind Muen along the path he’d walked were footprints—very, very deep...

He was still under the suppression of gravity magic.

"Gravity magic, huh. Mm—this level of gravity pressure on me right now... is about the same burden as when I use sixtyfold Time-Slowing. It’s practically like being back home."

Muen’s bones creaked; his skin, from ruptured capillaries, now and then wafted with a faint mist of blood.

But Muen didn’t seem to notice at all; his back stayed ramrod straight—he even stretched lazily.

"Why... why?"

Terror crept over Ailag’s features; he retreated a few steps by reflex:

"You shouldn’t be able to use those two things—why... why?"

"Mm, I can’t use them for the moment. I even had to spend a bit of time adjusting just now—otherwise I wouldn’t have passively taken a few hits from you."

Muen nodded seriously:

"But—Ailag, and Love God—you’ve both mistaken something."

"The red flame and the Alchemy Core have indeed given me tremendous help."

"But you can’t seriously think that what I’ve relied on to make it this far... is only those things."

Muen casually tore open what little could only be called rags still clinging to his upper body.

He revealed that solid body.

The muscles were compact, the lines graceful—every strand as if carved by the finest artist; like being cast in gold, charged with explosive beauty.

Even covered in wounds and running with blood, one could still feel the terrible power hidden in this human frame.

"The red flame and the Alchemy Core are only my tools—my weapons. What has supported me up to now, the source of my strength... is the effort I have never slacked on for even a moment since I came to this world!"

Yes.

Every day.

Every night.

Every spare moment.

In the Black Book.

In the depths of his consciousness.

In the flower sea of that old loli.

In the academy library or anywhere else.

Killing.

Fighting.

Getting beaten.

Studying.

Not for a single moment did he ever slacken!

This accumulation drop by drop—that is the source of his power.

Does a beast become helpless because its weapons are confiscated?

No.

Because it still has its inborn fangs and claws!

Muen grinned savagely, drew his blade, and charged Ailag again.