WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 657: Moths Gathering to the Flame - 2

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At least the Sanctum delegation was exceptionally polite and restrained.

The Arcane Federation was a land of mages. Mystical laws of magic governed its territories, and such unusual environments produced specialties found nowhere else.

Celsius territory, which shared its roots with the Crystal Tower and could freely control heat, possessed particularly advanced magic-device crafting techniques.

As a result, many merchants came to Celsius territory to import magic devices, along with bandits hoping to prey on them. Mercenaries followed as well, seeking work from the clashes between the two.

Mercenaries sometimes became merchants and sometimes bandits to make a living.

They could not fight within the rules set by the magic families, so they drifted through the unranked districts and slipped into the territories whenever they earned some money. Still, they were one of the forces that made up the Arcane Federation.

Though they could not compare to the magic families, mercenary groups with a measure of military strength maintained a rough balance among themselves.

Recently, though, a significant change had come to the mercenary power structure.

"Happiness! Give me happiness!"

A shrill cry shook the tent. Moments later, mercenaries came stumbling out from inside, screaming.

"Damn it, she's at it again today!"

"Didn't she just use it all herself? Is that bitch insane?!"

"Get the Apothecary!"

The mercenaries rushed out in a clatter, taking only their valuables. Every one of them clutched their heads and rolled across the ground.

A moment later.

Blue lines laced the tent. At the same time, an explosive slash tore it into dozens of strips. Tables and furnishings, cut apart with the tent, clattered to the ground.

One mercenary who had barely survived was about to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Cough."

The slash had spared nothing. Not objects, not the tent, not even people.

One unlucky mercenary collapsed, chest torn open and blood pouring out. Another, slightly luckier one had an arm split lengthwise, hanging loose like stretched taffy.

Inside the tent, a woman with her clothes hanging open spun in circles, clutching a heavy saber.

She looked ridiculous, but the destruction she caused was anything but funny. Her violent slashes destroyed everything they touched. A surviving mercenary tightened his helmet strap and shouted.

"That crazy bitch...! Why's a drug addict so strong?!"

"Because she attained a principle through drugs."

A soft, calm voice spoke, making it all the more chilling. The mercenary flinched and stepped back.

A young man stood where the voice had come from. He wore black clothes, yet his skin was paler than ice.

"The Apothecary...!"

The Apothecary toyed with a small vial as he spoke.

"You were going to have some fun while she was asleep under the influence of drugs. It's good to see you staying true to your desires. But you should've listened to my warning too. She attained a principle."

"That's a lie...! How can a drug addict be a Master? What principle could possibly lie in that swordsmanship?!"

"The principle isn't in her swordsmanship. It's in her body."

For a martial artist to attain a principle, they needed long experience, deep training, and a mental image of power. Only after harmonizing with heaven and earth and forming the self could they touch the world's underlying laws and twist reality.

Drugs? Elixirs? Or a taboo like Gluttony? Relying on demonic arts like those might increase one's strength. Yet foreign power would eventually become muddled together, making it difficult to establish a clear mental image.

Humans always found a way, though.

Among the internal arts called demonic arts, the most widespread was poison arts.

First, a person was steeped in narcotics. Their addiction was held hostage as torture-like training was forced upon them, until they came to rely on drugs to gain strength. Then the drug was used as a trigger to awaken that strength.

Among them, those with exceptional talent who responded well to the drugs sometimes attained a principle.

Poison Centipede was one such case.

It was a comparatively low-grade principle, one that only enhanced her physical abilities while drugs were in her system. Still, a principle was a principle.

"I was from the Kingdom too, so I had vague fantasies about Masters. Seeing her shattered what little remained of them. Maybe principles aren't all that impressive if even drugs can overwhelm them."

The Apothecary shook his head as he looked at Poison Centipede in the distance.

Then a slash suddenly flew toward him.

The Apothecary bent backward with a fluid motion, almost like a mollusk, and avoided it.

"Aaagh!"

The mercenary was not as flexible. The missed slash cut off an ear. The Apothecary looked at the screaming mercenary.

"I'm more curious about you people. Mercenaries may be impulsive, but you tried to lay your hands on a woman like that. Couldn't you smell death?"

Clutching a bleeding ear, the mercenary panted and shouted.

"Damn it, it's because you play with that woman every day! Let us have some fun with your woman too. It's not like she'll wear out!"

"My woman?"

The mercenary had said something he should not have, but the Apothecary fixated on a different part. He seized the mercenary by the collar. Though he was skinny and looked like a frail scholar, he easily lifted the large mercenary into the air with monstrous strength.

"Listen carefully. That isn't my creation. She's too healthy. I like frail women who look as if their breath might stop at any moment. I like women who, gasping at the moment of death, whisper love to me. I like women who are pale and delicate, who look as if they would break with a touch."

Terror filled the mercenary's eyes. The Apothecary, lost in sentiment as he spoke, held the mercenary and lamented.

"The problem is that women like that die too quickly. Even if they are completed by death, that moment is far too brief. I've fallen in love with more than twenty-seven women, but every last one left my side."

"Cough... C-crazy..."

"Perhaps vampire blood could have been the key to overcoming that... But once immortality is promised, they are no longer fragile beings. I realized that dilemma too late. The military state had already tricked me into entering Tantalus..."

Kuram, once called the Apothecary, had been the Kingdom's greatest poison master and a serial killer. His methods were so cruel and horrifying that even the military state decided it could not use him and imprisoned him in Tantalus.

After finishing his lament, Kuram smiled calmly.

"Still, it wasn't all bad. It gave me a chance to understand my heart. Parting may be sad, but I'll carry all that sorrow and keep searching for my love..."

Blood and entrails spilled before the muttering man. The Apothecary tilted his head.

Blood dripped from the mercenary's missing lower half.

The woman's slash had torn the mercenary apart. Blood flowed from the mercenary's mouth as the body trembled. Kuram quietly watched and said,

"Oh. I'm starting to like you."

That moment was brief as well. The mercenary breathed his last. The Apothecary gazed fondly at the body, then threw it away as if he had grown bored.

What the Apothecary liked were people just before death, not dead people.

After the Apothecary discarded the mercenary, Poison Centipede staggered toward him. Taking two steps forward, one step back, then three steps each to the left and right, she reached him and clung to him as if embracing him.

"Kuram. My happiness ran out. Hurry, give me hap-happiness... Give me something that feels good..."

"Sigh. If you need it, I'll give it to you. Listen while you take it."

Without a moment's hesitation, the Apothecary drove a syringe into Poison Centipede's vein.

Ecstasy filled her face in an instant, and an excited moan escaped her as though she had reached a climax. While her body, freed from her control, jerked and twitched in delight, the Apothecary whispered into her ear.

"It's a letter from Lankart."

As drugs were injected into her, Poison Centipede's reason gradually returned. Her eyes became clearer than before, and she looked curious.

"Heh... It's been a while. Almost the first time since we left Tantalus. What's going on?"

"There's a Demon God on top of the tower. The letter says to take it if we want it."

"A Demon God?"

"Ah, you don't know anything. To put it simply, it's a mystery like the Abyss."

"Heeh..."

Curiosity, interest, anger, and hatred.

Poison Centipede's eyes sparkled as her mind returned. She pressed the used syringe against her body again and again. After rubbing herself against it until she could squeeze out even a little more, she licked her lips and asked,

"If we get that, can we kill the military state?"

"I can't say for certain, because I don't know either. But without it, you can't accomplish anything with your strength alone."

Two criminals once imprisoned in Tantalus: the Apothecary and Poison Centipede.

Their abilities were unusual, and they were just a little too useful to discard simply because they had committed crimes. The military state had stored them in Tantalus because it might find use for them someday, but that had been a misjudgment.

Humans had emotions. The irritation and rage of those imprisoned had been perfected during a long confinement underground.

"I wonder how beautiful the military state will be just before it dies."

Most of the criminals imprisoned in Tantalus had fought among themselves and died. A few of the survivors had rebelled against Lankart and had their bodies torn apart.

Only those two prisoners of Tantalus had survived. Following Lankart's orders, they came to the Arcane Federation, became mercenaries, and nurtured their hatred for the military state.

Survival meant strength. The malice concentrated beneath that Abyss like venom bred in a poison jar was aimed at the military state...

"Hmm~."

One of the fallen mercenaries discreetly lifted his head.

The mercenary had clearly been a burly, fierce-looking man. Now, though, she was a woman with a mischievous face. Dressed in clothes far too large for her, she changed clothes and muttered.

"Those two petty criminals won't put the military state in any real danger~. Still, putting off homework isn't good, right? I really am a workaholic~."

Yet if those two remained together, even Hilde would have difficulty interfering with them. Separately, each was a defective mess with conditions attached, but together they perfectly covered each other's weaknesses.

After thinking for a moment, Hilde shrugged as if she had no choice.

"I have no choice but to target the moment they climb Babel~. Well, now I have a reason to climb the Dragon Gate too."

Having reached a conclusion, Hilde hummed as she walked out of the tent, now a sea of blood. Even where corpses lay piled up, she walked as though nothing had happened.

"The job's done, so I should go get some healing from Father~."

The sacred relic of Saint Rene, the Demon God's relic.

Hundreds of people flocked after that tempting prize.

Footnotes:

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