Chapter 401: Hellfire (13)

Flames rose.

Like dancing sprites, the crimson fire flowed and shifted at Muen’s side, gradually igniting those intricate formation lines. It climbed along the pitch-black wall of the colossal tower, scaling up toward the vault of the sky.

It was neither scorching nor blazing.

But when that light filled the entire space, what it illuminated were a million faces twisted in terror.

“An Evil God?”

The old woman shrieked in madness. “Another Evil God? You’ve colluded with an Evil God as well? Aren’t you—”

“Relax. I haven’t colluded with any Evil God.”

Muen spoke softly. “I’m only borrowing it for a moment.”

The flames finally reached the vast amplification array at the tower’s crown. Clusters of fire blossomed like midsummer lotuses, luxuriant and wicked.

“Ah!”

Piercing screams tore through the air. On many of the deformed silhouettes, a fire that burned all things began to kindle.

“So you also possess an Evil God’s power—who would have thought!”

The wrinkles on the old woman’s face contorted into a snarl. More mutations erupted across her body; in mere breaths she no longer even resembled a “person.”

“But so what? So what if it’s an Evil God’s power? It still isn’t the Evil God in person. You are only a man—and you’ve been badly hurt, haven’t you? You’re so weak that even I can see it.”

“And I...”

“And we...”

The old woman raised her arm and cried, “We are a full one million strong!”

The mud sea raged.

It roared.

It heaved.

A sky-blotting black surge rose as if to drown the world.

A colossal shadow fell, looking down coldly upon the tiny, # Nоvеlight # golden-haired man.

What is a million, exactly?

If a town held a thousand people, you would have to slaughter a thousand towns to reach a million.

If a million people each spat once, Muen might be drowned outright.

Even if it were a million pigs lying here for Muen to kill at his leisure, he could hack from dawn to dusk until he dropped dead and still not finish.

And now, the million gathered as one—anger and bellowing together—threw off a backwash that could grind a pebble like Muen into dust.

“Indeed, just this much... does seem a bit insufficient.”

Muen coughed lightly and, without drawing notice, wiped the blood from his palm.

The wounds in his body had not fully healed.

The rejection of the Alchemy Core was still tearing at him without respite.

He was, at this moment, at his weakest—weak enough that Liya could probably put him flat with a single punch.

But.

Muen remained unruffled.

He even inclined his head slightly to that world-devouring black surge, as though admiring the might born of a million gathered as one.

Then, he closed his eyes.

An accustomed summons.

“Black Book.”

【I am here.】

In the depths of his consciousness, the black book—seemingly long prepared—stirred from sleep, words surfacing across its pages in answer.

“Can you separate the Withering King’s Divine Favor from me?”

【I can.】

The Black Book gave a faint shake. 【But.】

【Are you sure you want to do this?】

“I am. There’s no external interference right now; I can suppress the rejection for a while. Do it.”

Muen answered without a shred of hesitation.

Toward that gift from an Evil God, he felt no attachment.

【......】

This time, the Black Book said nothing more. Its pages riffled at speed, and then—one blank sheet separated itself.

Muen opened his eyes. The sheet appeared in his palm.

It was no longer blank. An image had surfaced upon it.

A monstrous, enormous eye—halos unfurling—vivid, ferocious, and imperious.

“Th—this... what is that?”

The instant the page appeared, the bearing-down black surge halted dead. The old woman’s hideous face rose at its center, and she screamed in terror:

“No! You mustn’t!! You mustn’t do this!! That... could it be?!!”

When she understood what the page in Muen’s hand represented, the emotion called fear spread across the entire mud sea in an instant.

Her face groveling and base once more, the old woman pleaded, “Calm down, calm down—please. We can negotiate. Salvation needn’t be that girl. You can take your girl and leave—we can choose someone else. We aren’t picky...”

“‘Not picky’? That sounds like you’re rating a dish.”

Muen’s eyes stayed mocking. His fingers slowly stroked the page.

“No—no matter what, you cannot kill us. Do you know the consequences? Do you know what will come of killing us? We are a million human beings—this is the sin of a full million lives!

“Even an executioner would be tormented by such sin—let alone you!

“I know you are a good man. If you can travel at the Saintess’s side, you must be a good man. Since you are good, please—”

“When,” Muen cut her off, voice slow, “did I ever say I was a good man?”

“Eh?”

“Quite the contrary—I am no good man. I’m the villain.”

He looked at the stunned old woman, and at that million souls, and spoke, one word at a time, under his breath:

“I am, in this story... the one and only officially designated yellow-haired villain.”

With that, Muen slammed the page down upon the formation beneath his feet.

Boundless crimson fire leapt for the heavens.

All of the formation lines and arrays were reduced to ash in an instant.

Because there is no magic capable of amplifying a thing like this—of amplifying the Authority that comes from the Evil God Himself.

Even if it is only the tiniest fragment.

“Behold, everyone.”

Muen clapped his hands and cried:

“The salvation you asked for—your sun—has risen!”

And so, a sun truly rose from the top of that black tower.

Limitless searing radiance broke through the clouds and drove away the blood-mist.

It shone upon this nation that had never once known a sun.

...

...

“About nine left—I win, yay!

Before the black tower, Annie—blood from head to toe—glanced at the crystal in her hand, now almost full, then cut a side-eye at Margarita. She couldn’t help a triumphant smile as she thrust out her chest.

Although the group was jointly fighting the twisted monsters besieging the tower, Reta—the war machine—still outstripped the sword-skilled Paul in kills.

At this rate, the next Saintess’s seat would be in her pocket!

“I suggest you don’t celebrate yet. It isn’t over. And...”

Margarita wiped the blood from her cheek and sneered coldly:

“And even for the Saintess’s seat—you’ll need to finish things here if you want a life left to sit on it!”

Under their feet, monsters kept swarming up that narrow stair, one after another, dense as ants, as if their numbers would never dwindle.

At this pace, they would soon fight to exhaustion and die. And who knew whether sheer exhaustion would even trigger their transport scrolls.

“Tch, true enough.”

At that thought, Annie’s face shifted as well. She gnashed her teeth. “Damn Freya—dying so easily and not even telling us how long we have to hold out. This hellhole doesn’t even have a sun. We can’t possibly... huh?”

In mid-complaint, Annie jerked to a halt, her neck stiff as she slowly lifted her head.

Beside her, Margarita—who sensed the anomaly even sooner—had gone paper-white.

Was it an illusion...? Why did it feel like... daybreak—damn it, not an illusion. It really was day.

And the sun had risen—right above their heads!

“Th-th-th—this freakin’ thing is an Evil God?”

Annie recognized the sun’s essence at a glance, and her eyes nearly popped. “Why would an Evil God descend directly to a place like this? Kanteville’s under the Church’s control—don’t tell me...”

Her face drained. “The Church has been wiped out? It’s the end of the world? Wh—what do we do? I haven’t even used the Saintess’s power of guidance to create a world where only A is beautiful—how can I—”

“Calm down!”

Margarita snapped back to herself and barked, “Much as I approve of your pathetic little dream, look closely first! That isn’t an Evil God in person—that is only an Evil God’s power. There’s no Evil Will in it!”

“Hmm... you’re right.”

“And... look around you.”

“Around us?”

Following Margarita’s pointing finger, Annie looked—and her eyes flew wide.

All around, the twisted monsters had ceased their mindless charge.

One after another, they knelt where they were and gazed up at that sun radiating endless power of annihilation.

Their bodies were burning—every inch of flesh convulsing in agony—yet they still looked so full of longing, faces wet with tears.

“Thank... you.”

The monsters, fading away by degrees, prostrated toward the sun and spoke with human voices.

...

“Is it... over?”

Watching the mud sea being continually consumed by crimson flame and the million souls writhing within it, Muen finally had a moment to let out a long breath.

He felt as if something was missing from his body—a nagging discomfort.

After all, the Withering King’s Divine Favor had been cut out of him; it was only natural to feel that way.

“A shame. Big Brother Withering’s stuff was pretty handy.”

He looked up. From this angle, that sun was awe-inspiring.

“But compared to a pretty girl, it’s still far behind—let alone Liya.”

“So losing the Crimson Flame isn’t that big a deal. It’s just...”

Muen let out a self-mocking laugh.

“After slaughtering a full million people, I’m probably the greatest executioner in this world.”

Just as the old woman said: even if they were sinners—even if they betrayed all humanity—

Killing a million people was still real, solid... sin.

“Here’s hoping I don’t get retribution.”

He gave a few wry chuckles, brushed off his clothes, and forced his weakened body to stand.

Next he had to go congratulate Liya on becoming the Saintess—he couldn’t very well show up looking too pathetic.

“Sinner...”

Muen’s steps halted abruptly.

The feigned, easy smile he’d just managed to force out faded, freezing into a marrow-deep chill—nearly a snarl.

His neck turned stiffly. The voices he’d taken for hallucinations grew clearer.

“Sinner...”

“You... sinner!!”

“Murderer!! Executioner!!”

“Why did you kill us? I curse you! Curse you!!”

“Mom, it hurts!!”

In his sight, the people writhing in the flames suddenly lifted their anguished faces and hurled furious roars at him.

But in the next daze, he saw only their howls of pain, blood tears streaming from the corners of their eyes and burning away in an instant.

“W—what the hell?”

Muen staggered. A chill like a viper coiled around his skin, loop after loop, boring into his body.

He saw black vapors—who knew whence they came—wrap around him with mind-splitting whispers.

His consciousness and flesh began, together, to be... corroded by something.

“What is this?”

Muen clutched his head. Veins bulged on his forehead; his face truly twisted into a snarl.

【Pollution.】

The Black Book replied:

【Pollution formed from the hatred and resentment of a million people in the instant before death.】

“Why would there be something like that?” Muen froze.

【It’s simple. As lambs raised by an Evil God, when He was feeding them, He naturally added a little something extra.】

“So that Evil God is the type who—even if He isn’t eating yet—spits into His food in advance?”

【Yes.】

“Disgusting.”

Muen ground his teeth. “So what happens to me?”

【Naturally, you will be corroded by the pollution and become a monster even I cannot predict.】