Episode 122 The Hunt for the Second Son (3)

<‘Tenth Corpse’ Andromalius>

Danger Rating : S

Size : ?

Found in: In the depths of the Gate of Destruction, ‘The Serpent’s Womb’

-Nicknamed ‘Tenth Corpse’.

One of the Ten Calamities, natural enemies of mankind, inscrutable and unkillable.

“They shall swarm like flies.”

– The Ten Commandments 10: Top –

‘The top ten corpses’.

Refers to the ten Demon Kings who opened the gates to the Demon Realm and ushered in the Age of Destruction, or the ten corpses that became their bodies.

Before his regression, Vikir had a vague idea of their existence, but he hadn’t realized they were actually Set.

‘It’s a good thing we met relatively soon.’

Vikir thought as he stepped back.

More innocent children would have been sacrificed if he had been allowed to live longer in the Baskervilles.

Someone else would have been falsely accused, too.

Like himself before the regression.

Vikir calmed his mind and eyed the enemy before him.

Sure enough, Andromalius, the Tenth Corpse, rose like a mist behind Set’s body, and then began to take shape.

Red eyes, black flesh, horns curved like a ram’s.

From his severed left arm sprouted a long, massive snake, writhing and slithering.

The powerful demon that had taken over Set’s body growled into his mouth.

[I never thought I’d show my true form to a human].

“You should have hidden better.”

Andromalius’s expression went blank for a moment as he heard Vikir’s short rebuke.

Why is it that the humans in front of him are never surprised to see him for who he is?

Of course, Vikir had no intention of answering Andromalius’ question.

He simply compares his pre-regression knowledge with the information from his current life to make the best possible plan.

‘…… I wondered where the culprits who would bring about the Age of Destruction in the coming decades were hiding.’

I never thought it would be this close.

Vikir cut off any and all feelings he had for Set.

He was no longer the kindly half-brother he remembered.

Not even a monster, not even a fiend, but a demon, a true blooded evil.

A demon of the highest order, a demon whose family name is somehow tied to the Abyssal Lineage.

“Even so. There’s no business in swords.”

Vikir was unfazed.

He drew out as long as he could, and the tip of his Beelzebub was imbued with an aura of power.


In the short time it took for Andromalius to descend and reshape Set’s body, Vikir laid down over thirty stabs.

A trajectory so clear in its intent, aimed at killing, not dueling or contesting.

The malice displayed by Beelzebub the Magic Sword was unmistakable, following an extremely efficient route, selecting only Andromalius’ vital organs to stab.

[Ugh! Why, why is it painful, why does the pain of a mere body reach to the soul!]

Andromalius then turned his attention to the awl-like sword that Vikir was wielding.

Sensing the magic emanating from Beelzebub, Andromalius cries out in horror.

[What, no! Beelzebub, the Sword of Gluttony? The remains of the ancient Demonic Constellation, Lord of the Flies!]

Long ago, when Andromalius was not yet born.

A relic of one of the seven great and long-dead kings who once ruled the demon world.

Only then did Andromalius understand the source of Vikir’s confidence.

A normal sword can harm the body of the corpse possessed by Andromalius, but it cannot damage the spiritual body behind it.

Unless it was an aura sword, which was a concentration of pure mana.

However, it’s a different story with demonic or holy swords.

They are the only non-standard objects that can physically interfere with a spiritual body.

And a magic sword or holy sword with an aura?

It becomes a powerful weapon that even a Demon of the highest order cannot ignore.

Moreover, Vikir is a seasoned warrior who has accumulated karma from killing countless demons in his past lives.

Andromalius, who hasn’t yet gained his full strength, is confused as to where this monster came from.


Vikir wanted to end the battle as quickly as possible while Andromalius was still in the dark.

Before Andromalius had taken his body, Set had been an intermediate Graduator, and now that Andromalius was in complete control of Set’s body, he could easily be a Sword Master or higher.

But Vikir was confident, too.

His body was strengthened by the River Styx, his battle experience gained over two lifetimes, and the power of Baskerville family swordsmanship and the magic sword Beelzebub.

Even a Swordmaster could be killed by surprise or assassination.

Vikir sank his teeth into Andromalius’ flesh with conviction.


[……Yes, that was a bit of a surprise, I’ll admit, but that’s it].

Andromalius is essentially an endgame boss, an Archdemon so terrifying that he plotted the destruction of the human world with only ten others.

Andromalius, who had somewhat adapted to Vikir’s onslaught since breaking through the barrier, immediately took action.


The snake that had replaced Andromalius’ left arm swooped down, open-mouthed.

Vikir swung the hilt of his Blood Wind to strike the snake down, but the snake’s teeth left a long trail of blood on his forearm.

Then a dark smile appeared on Andromalius’ possessed Set’s face.

[That’s it, you’re done].

With that, Andromalius stretched out his right hand.

Vikir’s forearm turned white for a moment, and then blood began to gush from the wound.

…gurgle! …gurgle! …gurgle! …gurgle! …gurgle!

Andromalius drained the blood from Vikir’s body and absorbed it into his own.


Vikir suddenly heard the unpleasant flapping of wings.


The ugly insect, plump and fat, was sucking blood from Vikir’s wound.

“……is a bloodsucker.”

Vikir crushed the fly, killing it, and quickly pressed his arm against the wound to stop it from bleeding, but it was no use.


Flies were everywhere.

The flies that had been frantically licking the children’s bones now clung to Vikir.

…buzz! …buzz! …buzz! …buzz! …buzz! …buzz!

Andromalius sucked the blood from Vikir’s body, no matter how far away they were.

The streams of blood gushing out of Vikir’s body were being coiled like snakes by the flies and being absorbed by Andromalius’ right hand.

[Hmph- my strength is returning].

Set’s tattered body began to recover.

Infinite bloodsucking using a swarm of flies.

This power that Andromalius possessed was semi-immortal.

As long as there are wounded and exhausted things around him, his life force is limitless.

The art of digging into the wounds of others and draining the life force from them is common among demons.

And one of the best at it is this Andromalius right in front of you.

‘Set, too, has long since become his sacrifice.’

The need to be accepted by his father, the inferiority complex of his brother.

With these two emotional wounds, Set would have been easy prey for Andromalius.

In the end, Set was left empty-handed, with everything sucked out of him, and this is the result.

Vikir remembered Set’s usual monologue before his regression.

‘I want to be accepted by my father, I want him to look back and see that I’m here.’

‘You’re so amazing, I wanted to be like you, I wanted to walk beside you, side by side with you.’

We don’t know if it was a faint remnant of Set’s subconscious, or if Andromalius memorized and mimicked Set’s last words.

But at the very least, it’s clear that Set had those feelings when he was alive, and it’s equally clear that Andromalius used them to take over Set’s mind.


That made Vikir feel terribly uncomfortable.

Even though he didn’t know Set, he empathized with him on some level.


Vikir swatted away the snakes and flies that were biting at his chest.

Thanks to the protection of the River Styx, he was not mortally wounded, but several chunks of flesh fell off his breastplate.

Andromalius looked at it and mocked.

[Yeah, that’s how you die, with all those wounds. Now, let’s suck blood again… … ?]

But the sneer didn’t last long.


Was it an illusion? For a moment, my vision burns black.

And for the briefest of moments, my head pings as I realize it’s not an illusion.


The moment I regained my senses and came to my senses, this time, the strength in my legs was released.


Andromalius felt a foreign sensation that took his breath away.

It wasn’t just his nose and throat, it was his entire body, and it was happening simultaneously.

He checks himself to see what’s going on and realizes that his entire limbs are numb and shaking.

The blood vessels were clogged with sticky masses, blocking blood flow.

Searching for something, I looked inside my body, and soon realized that I was surrounded by black, clotted blood that was clinging tightly to my veins.

A combination of stroke and other conditions assaulted Andromalius’ soul at once.

As the blood stopped flowing, so did the mana.

For a moment, Andromalius lost control of Set’s body.

[What the fuck! What the fuck!]

Andromalius raised his head, watching the body scatter as it lost its host and turned into mana with nowhere to go.

Whack- whack- whack- whack-

Dead flies fell from the sky.

And there stood Vikir, regenerating the scars on his arms and chest with terrifying speed.

…dip! …dip!

Vikir raised his forearm with a nonchalant expression.

The red blood from the wound in his forearm drips to the floor and turns into a dark dot like tar.


Vikir’s blood made an unpleasant sound as it touched the bones of the floor, and began to boil black.

Andromalius looked dazed.

Finally, he understood. Why his body had changed like this.

[Yes, you…… your blood state changed to……!?]

Normally, an ordinary drop of blood.

But the moment its owner harbors malice, it becomes a deadly poisonous liquid.

A venomous poison that can make even the most powerful in the world cower.

Madame Eight-Legged, the nightmare of the depth, her ghostly toxicity has wrapped itself around Andromalius’ entire body!