Chapter 402 – Black Tongue (4)

Episode 402 Black Tongue (4)

Vikir carried the fallen Kirko to her room.

kkigigigig- gigigig- kkikkeog!

Pulling on the doorknob produced only a loud squeak, but the door refused to open.

This was because the hinges were covered in salt and rusted a lot.

‘…… You live in a bad room.’

Vikir clicked his tongue. Well, the rooms where low-level guards live were all like that.

Vikir also lived in a room used by low-ranking guards below the rank of lieutenant until recently.

The door to the windowless stone chamber opened to reveal a simple scene: a desk and a bed.

Kirko groaned as she laid down on the hard, clean bed.

It was a side effect of releasing too much mana at once, combined with the blow from Black Tongue.


Vikir glanced down at her.

Suddenly, he remembered what Lt. Colonel Bastille had said when Kirko had been promoted to captain.

‘Strange fate, indeed. Children do resemble their parents after all.’

He had muttered this about Kirko, who had been taken by Black Tongue.

Perhaps it was because he knew her past.

Kirko’s parents, who had been used as a tool to drive a deeper wedge between prisoner and guard, and Black Tongue, who had been at the forefront of that process.

‘……I can see why Kirko’s name was not known.’

Kirko clearly has exceptional talent and qualities.

She could grow up to be an epic hero in the same league as Camus or Dolores.

But even so, the reason Vikir had never heard of her in the pre-Regression world was simple.

‘Because she was killed before she could become a hero. By Black Tongue.’

Kirko was born and raised in the worst place in the world, Nouvelle Vague.

And she had a psycho named Black Tongue as her enemy.

Perhaps it would be those two factors that would prevent her from making a name for herself in the future.

Vikir turned back to look down at Kirko, who was moaning on the bed.

“……. ……. …….”

Kirko bit her lip tightly to stifle a groan, even as she fainted.

Kirko had shed so much sweat that the entire bed was damp.

Vikir sighed softly.


Vikir’s hand rested on Kirko’s stomach.


Mana transfers from body to body.

Through his hands, Vikir transferred some of his own mana to Kirko.

The expression on Kirko’s face relaxed a little as she groaned in pain.

‘You made the leap to the higher realms too quickly, which is why it’s not a good idea to awaken in anger.’

Kirko’s anger at Black Tongue turned her into a Graduator.

This kind of awakening was actually not very healthy.

In the same way that lifting a weight you can’t handle or falling from a height can cause your muscles to tear, so does mana.

Awakening in anger is like trying to force a vein of mana to widen and burst.

While it may give you a momentary burst of power, the side effects are very similar to those of a mana surge.

Kirko’s ascension to the upper ranks of the class without becoming a cripple could only be described as a fluke, a miracle.

The odds were so slim that it was like a chimpanzee who knew nothing could sit in front of a piano and press random keys, but by chance the order would match and complete a classical symphony.

‘But that’s a good thing, because you’ve turned bad luck into good luck, and what happens next is up to you.’

Kirko, who should have been killed by Black Tongue, was saved by Vikir.

There was no way to know how this would play out in the future.

Vikir stabilised Kirko’s blood and re-aligned her mana veins.

It was a kindness not often bestowed upon others, and if Vikir had not been a swordmaster, he would not have even attempted it.



As Vikir searched inside Kirko’s body, he noticed a strange phenomenon.

Mana flowing from Vikir’s body into Kirko’s.

It filled the wounds and holes in Kirko’s aura, filling it with more and more mana.

There was one hole, however, that Vikir’s mana could not fill.

Mana and stamina, which had seemed to be filling up at best, were leaking out again through that hole.

‘What is it?’

Vikir felt a tingling sensation and began to retrace the flow of mana.

“……! ……! ……! ……!”

Kirko’s frown deepens as Vikir’s mana was finding its way to the leak.

She broke out in a cold sweat, and her moans of agony grew louder.

Kirko clenched the sheets and bent at the waist, but Vikir was unperturbed and continued to use his mana.

Finally, he found the leak.


Vikir laid Kirko upright and tore off the hem of her uniform.

The flesh on her lower abdomen, where the palm of Black Tongue’s hand had last touched, was black and dying.

And in the middle of it all, a black sphere.

A round, black, egg-like thing was attached to Kirko’s stomach, trying to take root.

“A leech.”

Vikir knew immediately what it was.

It was similar to those that had infested Black Tongue’s stone chamber.

Amazingly, the leech larva was growing larger and larger as it sucked Kirko’s blood and mana.


Hands, feet, and a head appeared, and soon a face formed.

It looked like it had been shaped into a smaller version of Kirko.

It grew larger and larger, feeding on mana and blood, until it was the shape and size of the Kirko of his childhood.

Except for the fact that everything was black from head to toe, it was almost believable that it was human.

If things continue like this, a black monster with the exact same shape as Kirko might be born.

…… However.

“A leech with strange powers.”

Vikir ripped the leech from Kirko’s stomach and sealed the wound with the power of drought.


The leech fell to the ground and was soon crushed to death by Vikir’s military boots.


Finally, Kirko’s complexion calmed.

The sweat had stopped, and her irregular moans and gasps had evened out.

Vikir murmured quietly.

“Have you ever heard of……, a leech larva that feeds on someone’s blood and mana and transforms into its own form?”

[No. I’ve never seen one].

Decarabia attached to his chest replied, rolling its eye.

Not even Vikir, who had lived through the Age of Destruction and seen it all, knew of it.

Even the long-lived Decarabia had never seen or heard of it.

‘…… Perhaps Black Tongue is a new creature developed here in Nouvelle Vague.’

While there were some strange creatures on Earth, such as the Bone-Sucking Mosquito, there was no such thing as an unusual creature that steals the strength and appearance of its opponent.

[Hohoho…… It’s going to be a big deal if this magical creature becomes known on earth, its uses are endless, even the demons will covet it].

This was an entirely new kind of monster that even the demons didn’t know about.

If a former Decarabia can say this much, it must be true.

Vikir’s eyes sparkled.

‘I kind of want this.’

Vikir had been thinking this ever since he had been told that the leeches he had met at his initiation were the pets of Lt. Colonel Black Tongue.

For the first time since coming to Nouvelle Vague, he wanted something.

Vikir began to formulate a plan to obtain the eggs of these leeches, which Black Tongue had developed and bred.

It was a private desire, separate from the public task of escaping.

‘Let’s organise my escape route around obtaining as many leech eggs as possible.’

In order to do so, he would have to deal with the Black Tongue Warden, who might be an obstacle to his escape.

There was no point in keeping him alive, as he was a danger whose identity, status, and affiliations were unknown.

Vikir hoped it would have a positive effect on Kirko’s future.

It was a bit of a debt of gratitude.

After all, she was Garm’s first and last love, who had lent Vikir his identity.


Just as Vikir was about to get out of bed.


Anxiously, Kirko grabbed Vikir by the collar.

She was sending him a faint glance through squinted eyes.


Judging by the half-speech, she hadn’t fully regained her senses yet.

It was clear she was floating between dream and reality.

“Thank you.”

She turned her parched lips toward Vikir.

“……It was nothing.”

Vikir tried to turn away with a dry reply.


“Can you not go?”

Kirko said, as if vomiting something inside.

The Ghost Castle of the Great Deep. A child born and raised here. A woman with nowhere to go.

“……I don’t want to be alone.”

Vikir looked down at Kirko in disbelief.

“I want to get out of here.

Suddenly, he remembered the words that were always last on every page of Garm’s diary.

‘With her.’

But Vikir shook his head.

He was not Garm. Even here in Nouvelle Vague, he was only passing through, and he still had a long way to go before the final stage.

“You will not be alone.”

That’s all he could say.


By the time Vikir finished the last word, Kirko’s hand, which was clutching his collar, had fallen to the bed.

……. ……. …….

Kirko’s eyes were closed and she was fast asleep.

Vikir made sure that her complexion and breathing had completely stabilised before he left the room.


The door closed after being held open for a moment.

It was much looser on its hinges than when it first opened.