“Agh!”
Pelorro couldn’t hold back the something rising within him and coughed. The warm liquid that clung to his lips stained his hand a bright red. Only then did he realize that Luscelt’s arm had pierced his abdomen.
“You… bastard!”
Pelorro grasped Luscelt’s arm with trembling hands, trying to pull it out, but Luscelt’s strong arm didn’t budge.
“Ahyahyahya! When I said goodbye, I meant you were bidding farewell to your life, you idiot!”
Luscelt laughed uproariously, looking up at the sky. Pelorro, who had believed he could just walk away from this, appeared utterly ridiculous to him.
“I’m not giving you any money, you fool! You barely gave us any useful information, so don’t get any ideas!”
“You… betrayed me?!”
“Haah?!”
Pelorro, sweating profusely, glared at Luscelt with desperate eyes. The guildmaster sighed deeply, exasperated by the dying man’s misguided words. He despised idiots and useless people.
“Since when were we close enough for it to be considered betrayal? Don’t kid yourself. To me, you were nothing more than a toy for Heinichen… My toy!”
Luscelt had never considered Pelorro a comrade. At best, he was a toy—treated well as long as he was amusing, discarded when he was no longer interesting. It was that simple.
“Even if we were comrades, what made you think I wouldn’t betray you? I’m from a dark guild, not a half-baked guild like Yerkchira. We’re the most feared dark guild, Heinichen the Steel Matriarch!”
“Gah!”
Pelorro’s body went limp, and he coughed up more blood as he collapsed to the ground.
Of course, Luscelt had no intention of understanding Lucil’s feelings. He was the type to sneer and mock the sorrow and anger of others.
“Die!”
Lucil reached Luscelt quickly, driven by his rage toward the man who had killed Apollo, Ligg, and Pelorro. He swung his sword down in a fit of fury.
“Fool. You’re no match for me!”
Luscelt countered Lucil’s descending sword with a simple punch to the blade. The sword shattered into pieces, scattering in a glittering spray. Lucil stared in shock at the broken shards. “What?!”
“Goodbye. Enjoy your reunion with them.”
Luscelt grinned and brought his fist down on Lucil. But just before the punch connected, Lucil’s form vanished.
“Huh?”
Did Lucil manage to dodge the attack at a speed even Luscelt couldn’t track? He dismissed the thought. No weakling from a small-time guild could evade his attack.
The answer was obvious.
“You!”
Luscelt turned his gaze to Master. As expected, Lucil was now standing beside him, bewildered and wide-eyed.
“How did you get him out of the way? Magic?”
When Luscelt asked, Master nodded calmly, not bothering to hide the truth.
It was likely a form of teleportation magic—a highly difficult and mana-consuming spell, almost as rare as illusion magic.
“Ahyahya!” Luscelt laughed.
Yes, that’s exactly what he wanted. Anything less wouldn’t be worth crushing. This was a war between two of the strongest dark guilds, and Luscelt sought a thrilling, blood-pumping battle.
“Great! As expected of the Master of Yerkchira the Messianic Legion. You’re nothing like these weaklings I’ve killed!” Luscelt exclaimed.
It was true that Master was strong. While Luscelt had easily killed Apollo, Ligg, and Pelorro, this man wouldn’t be as simple to defeat. However, Luscelt had no intention of losing.
“But remember, I’m an undead—a deathless fellkin. No matter how strong you are, how long can you fight against someone who can’t die?” Luscelt taunted, grinding his teeth with a gleeful smile.
Being undead, Luscelt could continue fighting even with injuries that would be fatal to humans or other fellkin. Though undead typically had weaknesses to magic and weapons blessed by the Church of Angels, Luscelt, Guildmaster of Heinichen, the Steel Matriarch, had already overcome those vulnerabilities.
The only way to truly stop him would be to cut off his limbs and render him immobile, but even then, Luscelt possessed the ability to self-heal. He was undoubtedly the strongest, most invulnerable undead.
“Master, let me fight too…” Lucil said, rising to stand beside Master. Luscelt was a powerful fellkin, and if Master fought alone, he might be killed. Lucil wanted to fight alongside him.
“Master…?” Lucil looked up to see Master’s gentle and reassuring smile as he extended an arm, signaling Lucil to stay back.
“Ahyahya! Yeah, stay put, kid! Even if you join in, it won’t change the fact that you’re all going to die!” Luscelt laughed, reveling in the situation.
Finally, the day had come when he could crush the Messianic Legion. Soon, the world would recognize the Steel Matriarch as the undisputed champion of the dark guilds.
No matter how much Luscelt tried to spread his infamous reputation, those who knew about Yerkchira refused to acknowledge him. The fact that they didn’t recognize Heinichen as the strongest dark guild infuriated him to no end. But now, his frustration was about to end. By killing the Master of Yerkchira, he would force everyone to acknowledge Heinichen as the most powerful.
“But if I win too easily, it won’t be any fun…”
Luscelt kicked the ground and grinned.
“Make sure you entertain me!”
In the next moment, the ground beneath Luscelt shattered with a thunderous noise. Using his undead strength, he closed the distance to Master in an instant.
“What?!”
Lucil next saw Luscelt with his fist raised before Master. Lucil couldn’t move a muscle. The speed at which Luscelt attacked was beyond his ability to react. There was no way to avoid the attack now. Luscelt aimed his fist at the always-smiling Master’s face, intending to land a devastating blow.
But instead…
“Huh?”
Luscelt could only utter a bewildered sound.
His punch, which should have struck Master, was caught effortlessly by Master’s hand. Luscelt had envisioned smashing Master’s face and beating him to a pulp before making him beg for mercy, only to laugh and kill him by gouging his stomach.
Yet his full-force punch was easily caught.
Master, still smiling gently, clenched his hand.
With a sickening crunch, Luscelt’s fist was crushed.