Let the Whales Fight, This Shrimp is Leaving! - Chapter 70

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 70
This place had delivered Deyan Boislav Nemanic the most terrible nightmare of his existence.
And for Glay Holdin, it was a forbidden space he had desperately longed to enter.
[Oh. The magic is quite firmly in place.]
Beval ran his fingers curiously over the Stone Wall’s perimeter.
This damned Stone Wall bore an enormous Magic Circle carved into it.
The Magic Circle, densely covered in characters whose form could not be discerned no matter how thoroughly one searched, barred entry to all save those permitted access to the Underground Chamber.
As a result, Holdin had never once managed to investigate inside until now.
[You dragged me all the way here for this?]
“Yes. I can provide blood whenever you need it.”
[Ugh. I don’t need your bland blood. Not for something as simple as this Magic Circle.]
Beval extended his tongue long and scraped unhesitatingly at the Magic Circle.
Strange characters were carved atop the deformed Magic Circle.
It was as though new characters had been layered over the original Magic Circle, containing it.
[■■■ ■■]
The moment Beval intoned the brief phrase, the sound of grinding stone reverberated through the Corridor.
Grrrrrumble.
The ground trembled faintly, and just as the musty dust that had accumulated began to fall, a heavy metallic clang echoed out.
Holdin swallowed dryly and placed his hand on the Door Handle that had been firmly sealed.
Then, moving cautiously, he applied pressure and pulled the handle downward.
The door opened smoothly, without the slightest resistance.
It was almost impossible to believe it had been left abandoned in this damp air for so long.
[Ugh, the smell.]
As the door opened, the air trapped within rushed outward.
The acrid stench of rotting blood assailed the nostrils.
The dark, discolored floor was entirely stained with dried blood.
Wherever the marks were particularly deep, grooves had been gouged into the stone.
It was no trick of the eye that the space beyond the door appeared unusually dark.
From floor to ceiling, without a single gap, so many people had died that the walls could have been completely covered in blood.
[How filthy.]
Beval clicked his tongue in disapproval.
Holdin shot the demon a glance tinged with bewilderment.
Beval’s eyes, which had grown a vivid crimson, swept across the interior as he growled and added his next words.
[Poor quality.]
“What do you mean by poor quality? Are you saying they were lesser demons?”
[You know that much. Yet you carry around your head as though it’s worth something?]
“Please answer me.”
[Yes. Some mediocre wretch planned quite the astounding revolution.]
Beval let out a brief laugh and strode deeper into the chamber.
Holdin moved to follow him.
But his feet felt as though they had been glued to the spot and would not budge.
It was not demon magic holding him.
He had simply been seized by fear.
“Ha.”
He released a hollow laugh.
‘How did I even come to this point?’
He had yearned so intensely to enter this space.
Whenever Deyan came near this place, he displayed extreme terror and excitement, unable to accompany him.
The few times Holdin had come alone, this space had always rejected him, refusing him entry.
Because he knew that without precisely understanding what lay within, he would have to take a longer route, he had chafed so desperately.
‘Now I’m afraid?’
What a joke.
Holdin struck his own cheek hard enough to make a sharp sound.
[Want me to do it?]
“No, I’m fine.”
The stinging pain jolted his mind awake.
He drew a deep breath, forcing the damp, trapped air deep into his lungs, then gathered every ounce of strength in his body and lifted his feet.
Once he had taken the first step, the next came relatively easily.
As he moved forward with the awkward gait of a child taking his first steps, the gruesome vista became even more apparent.
Just then, Beval flicked his finger toward the entrance.
Thud.
With a heavy sound, the door swung shut of its own accord.
Holdin’s shoulders jumped at the sudden tension, and upon confirming the closed door, he protested in horror.
“Why did you close the door!”
[That.]
“What?”
Beval pointed at the door.
[Your master left that mark.]
At his words, Holdin’s head turned.
On the closed door, among the blackened expanse of rotted blood, a small handprint was visible.
It was the trace of desperate attempts to escape this place.
“…Damn it.”
Holdin spat out a curse like a groan, his fists clenching.
While he had cried and struggled against his father’s violence, Deyan must have endured brutal torture in this place as a child, thrashing against it all.
At first, he had seized his hand out of vengeance.
Next, he had persisted out of pity and restraint out of duty.
And now, glimpsing into the distant Hell of the past, a sense of desolation washed over him.
“Those damned bastards.”
[If you’re going to curse, at least do it properly.]
Beval laughed and walked slowly, following the traces of magic on the floor.
His eyes, shimmering with dark crimson, seemed to rapidly read the situation before his movements suddenly ceased.
[What is this.]
Crrrrack!
The demon’s voice dropped low and his form changed in an instant.
His arms twisted grotesquely and elongated, while his beautiful face swelled and lost all shape except for his pupils.
His darkened skin resembled beast hide, and from his curved spine sprouted sharp spines and massive wings that filled the entire space.
[■■■■■ ■■ ■■■■!]
“Ahhhhh!”
The demon roared, spewing an unintelligible language.
His voice was fractured into multiple layers, some excessively low and thick, others painfully high.
Seized by terror, Holdin flattened himself against the wall without thinking.
In his blazing dark crimson eyes, elongated black pupils moved menacingly, seeking him out.
[Contractor.]
He had addressed Holdin with something approaching a normal title for the first time.
Holdin fought the overwhelming terror rising from his core and barely managed to squeeze out a response.
“Y-yes…?”
[Your blood. Give it to me.]
“But didn’t you say just now you didn’t need it?”
At his timid objection, the demon’s pupils erupted like flames, blazing brighter.
[Back-talk? I need to confirm something, so give it!]
“Ahhh! Y-yes, I understand! Here! Here!”
Holdin trembled and extended the hand he had injured earlier.
Though he still hadn’t entirely overcome his terror, the opposite shoulder remained pressed firmly against the wall.
The demon reopened the wound on Holdin’s hand.
“Ahhhhh!”
A pain of an entirely different magnitude shot up through his arm.
It felt as though his arm had been severed.
Holdin thrashed in agony, breathing heavily.
Regardless.
The demon mercilessly drew blood from his arm.
There was no need to use its mouth.
It was absorbing Holdin’s blood directly through its blackened skin.
Shlurrrp.
The demon made a chilling sound.
As its pupils darkened, Holdin’s consciousness began to fade.
“Damn it, you’re going to kill me…!”
[Contractor.]
“How much blood are you taking, ah, how—!”
[Pay attention.]
The terror of facing the demon’s true form was overwhelmed by the fear of bleeding to death.
He gasped out a broken breath and protested, his voice trembling, before the demon’s tone dropped low.
It was an alien sound, as though crawling up from the depths of Hell itself.
[From now on, I’ll probe the past of this place.]
“What d-does that…ah! M-mean?”
At the sensation of his arm burning, Holdin’s knees buckled.
He rolled on the floor, fighting the agony as his veins withered and twisted.
Could this be just a fraction of the suffering Deyan had endured for half his life?
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
A bestial scream tore from his throat.
It was not a conscious utterance but a desperate struggle born of the will to survive.
[Let’s see what kind of ■ happened here.]
The demon’s split mouth curved into a crescent smile.
[■■. ■■■■■■ ■ ■■■■ ■■ ■■■■ ■■ ■! ■■■, ■■, ■■■■■■, ■!]
Unintelligible characters forced their way into his mind, eroding his consciousness.
Holdin raked his nails across the floor, thrashing wildly.
“Stop, stop!”
In the moment his breath caught and barely held.
His consciousness vanished completely.
* * *
The boy was dying there.
“…Father.”
A final plea, almost a whimper, escaped between lips parched and cracked.
“Please.”
The eyes of the man looking down upon his son begging for mercy were utterly cold.
Like a worm, the boy crawled across the floor, grasping at his father’s trouser leg and clinging to it.
“Kill me, please.”
He wanted to weep, but even his tears had dried up.
“Endure.”
Though he longed for an end, all that returned was that glacial encouragement.
At last, the boy’s reason shattered.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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