Episode 77 The Hound of the Night (3)

The doors to the official residence opened.

As expected, there was no one on the other side of the door.

There was only a stone statue with a saintly voice.

[What business have you come to see me for?]

The voice of the saintly Dolores came from the statue’s mouth.

Apparently, she wasn’t going to meet Vikir in person.

“……, of course. It’s only natural.’

Vikir’s outfit now looked suspicious.

A large hat, a stork’s beak gas mask, and a black cloak covering his entire body.

No wonder the saint wouldn’t meet him in person.

Vikir approached the statue and spoke.

“I have come to report a plague in the slums.”

As he spoke, Vikir held out a bucket of well water, imbued with the energy of the Red Death.

A good cleric would be able to detect the peculiar aura of this water.

The moment.


The voice from the statue cut off.

Vikir had a hunch. The saint had stopped sending her voice through the stone.

And then.


The door behind him slammed shut.

It wasn’t the only one.

…ding! …ding! …ding! …ding! …ding!

The doors on the front and sides began to shut.

In an instant, the main lobby was isolated and shaped like a gladiatorial arena.


Out of nowhere, a line of white-armored paladins appeared on the terrace on the second floor.


Vikir took a quick look around.

Normally a lobby and parlor, the room was designed to be converted into a battlefield in a pinch.

Indeed, with all five doors and corridors blocked, there was no escape in any direction, and above them was a siege network of ever-present paladins.

The various statues tucked into the corners provide no concealment, and once trapped, there is nothing to do but wait for judgment.


However, Vikir doesn’t react, just stands there in silence.

As if he had already anticipated this reaction.

Just then.

“Who are you?”

The gravelly voice came from among the statues on the first floor.

Beyond it, a man walks out into the center of the square.

Over two meters tall, with a scarred, shaven head, white armor and cloth wrapped around his entire body.

The man has no eyebrows, a noticeably large nose, and a large mouth.

His eyes were gently curved as if he were smiling, but the aura he gave off was quite harsh.

His arms, thick as logs, cradled a large book, which appeared to be a holy book of some sort.

Vikir squinted behind his gas mask.

‘……Inquisitor Mozgus. Long time no see.’

“Mozgus Quavadis. He was a friend of mine before I went back.

A man I often trusted with my back in battle against demons.

His bulk is like an iron wall, and the holy power he emits can light up a thousand miles.

A man who would never compromise with injustice and could be more cruel than the demons themselves when it came to justice.

It was refreshing to see an old comrade-in-arms here, who had died so spectacularly during the Demon War, single-handedly facing off against a thousand demons.

“Come to think of it, I learned my torture techniques from him.”

Vikir recalled the memories of torturing the masters of the Seven Families in Underdog City.

But those beautiful (?) memories belong to Vikir alone, and in this life, Mozgus is seeing Vikir for the first time.

He held up a thick Bible that must have weighed dozens of kilograms and turned to Vikir.

“You are dressed suspiciously for someone who has come to report a plague in the slums, and I will not allow you to see the holy woman until you remove that mask and show some manners.”

“I can’t remove my gas mask for a reason. My duties are complete at the point of reporting, so I must return.”

Vikir dropped the bag of red death to the ground and raised his arms in a gesture of non-committal.

Then he slowly backed away.


Mozgus rushed forward.

He slammed his Bible, a weapon in its own right, down on Vikir’s head and tried to stamp on him.

But Vikir was faster.

Vikir took advantage of the gap in the book’s upward motion, and in a flash, he was back through the hollow between Mozgus’s sides.


A deep crack appeared in the floor where Mozgus had struck with the book.

Vikir squinted at the white aura emanating from the corners of the pages of Mozgus’s personality book.

‘A book. You still wield an unusual weapon, and you’re an intermediate to advanced Gradient.’

Half as good as he was before his regression.

However, given that this was the home of the Quarvadis and that he had the divine power to heal himself, it was almost a tie.

As he watched Vikir take up his stance, Mozgus let out a low growl.

“I sense an evil energy in the water in that stupid thing. If that is indeed a plague, you must be the one spreading it.”

“If I were the culprit, why would I come to report it?”

“We don’t know. Maybe it’s a trick, or maybe it’s a ruse to draw you out.”

Vikir shrugged, because it made sense.

“I’m just here to report a suspicious group of people spreading plague in the slums.”

“Your outfit is the most suspicious for saying such a thing. We’ll hear your statement later, in jail.”

With that, Mozgus swung the book around.


The book opened, the white pages inside flipping over with a loud crackle.

At the same time, bolts of white aura emanate from the pages, targeting Vikir.

“Have you ever been cut by stiff paper? It hurts.”

Mozgus was performing a strange and unique attack, opening the Bible and slashing with his aura against the sharp edges of the pages.

Quack, quack, quack!

Hundreds of pages of parchment scattered in all directions.

However, with a similarly black ghostly movement, Vikir dodged all of Mozgus’s blows.

It was a trick he had learned from the hunters of Balak.

At the same time, Vikir drew the magic sword Beelzebub from his wrist.


The tip of the blade erupted with a sticky aura.


Mozgus and the other paladins were stunned.

Vikir’s aura, a powerful aura that was no match for Mozgus’s, was now intertwined with Mozgus’s aura, forming a tie.


Vikir had even activated Oxbear’s skill, “Thousand Muscles,” which was sealed inside Beelzebub.

Vikir’s weight swelled to nearly 600 kilograms in an instant.

Mozgus looked down on Vikir’s small size and tried to push him with his strength, but when he couldn’t get him to budge, he was extremely puzzled.

“It’s like pushing a boulder! What the……!?

It’s not surprising that Mozgus, no matter how big and strong he is, can’t be as physical as Oxbear.

Vikir wielded Beelzebub as he was.

A Baskervillian carnivore, a lurking ambusher.

It looked nothing like a Baskerville on the outside, but it was a Baskerville on the inside.

Its hidden teeth shredded Mozgus’s aura to pieces.

It wasn’t a known swordsmanship anyway, so revealing a bit wouldn’t give him away.

Vikir drew a long blade from his wrist and formed six teeth.

He slashed at Mozgus’s head, neck, both shoulders, and both backs.


Mozgus tried to cover the Bible and hold it up as a shield, but…… was too late.

“If you’re going to use it as a shield, you should have used it sooner.”

Vikir slashed the back of Mozgus’s hand as he grabbed the Bible.

A moment.


The breath of Cerberus, the Hound of Hell, blazed hotly from the tip of Beelzebub.

The unquenchable flames of the oil field scorched the back of Mozgus’s hand.


Mozgus rolled on the ground, clutching the back of his burning hand.

The fire of Cerberus cannot be extinguished by water or sand.


The torn pages of the holy book were consumed by flames.

Vikir looked at the fallen Mozgus and sheathed his sword for a moment. He had not come here to kill him.


“You blasphemer! What sorcery are you practicing!”

Mozgus’s fighting spirit was immense.

With a burst of divine power, he grabbed the water flowing down the statue’s mouth and turned it into holy water.

Push, push, push!

Suddenly, the fire on the back of Mozgus’s hand was extinguished. The fire on the back of his hand was extinguished.

But even with the hasty extinguishing of the fire, the battle was already won.

Mozgus felt a lump in his throat.

He looked up and saw that Vikir had already stepped on the thick holy book and was standing on top of it.

“Stepping on a holy book is blasphemy!”

“By that measure, your throwing and swinging the holy book is worse.”


Mozgus was forced to keep his mouth shut.

Vikir spoke, boiling a black aura with the tip of his outstretched awl.

“Do you wish to try more?”


Mozgus clenched his teeth at the arrogance in his voice.

How many other beings in the world were capable of pushing him like this, even though he had reached the upper ranks of the Graduators?

Mozgus clenched his fists tightly together and summoned his aura with all his might.

Quack, quack, quack!

Mana spinning at high speed quickly enveloped his entire forearm.


Mozgus charged with all his might. With enough to blast the opponent in front of him with a single punch.


Vikir didn’t react.


He merely kicked the holy book off the ground.


Next, Vikir kicked the Bible into the air.

The Bible spun and flew toward Mozgus.

Mozgus had just turned his head to dodge it.


He had to doubt his eyes.

Vikir, the man who had been in front of him until the Bible was a thin straight line across his eyes, disappeared from view in that brief moment when the Bible stood vertically and took up a large area.


I screamed. A cold sweat runs down my spine.

Suddenly, I hear a ghostly whisper in my ear.

“…… looking for me?”

In the fraction of a second it took for the book to fly and spin, Vikir was out of Mozgus’s line of sight and holding onto his back.

Mozgus spun around in surprise.


Vikir’s aura slammed into Mozgus’s entire body.

Swung like a hammer, Vikir’s aura shattered Mozgus’s full body armor like grains of sand, and even the chainmail he wore was shattered.

Uh-oh! Thud!

Mozgus smashed through three statues behind him and fell to the ground.

The paladins on the second floor terrace could only gape at the shocking result.

They had never seen Mozgus Quavadis, Inquisitor, Archbishop of Quavadis Family, and leader of the Knights of the Inquisition, lose so easily.

“Am I dreaming?”

“Lord Mozgus has been defeated?”

“No way, how could this happen……!”

But after a moment of confusion, they drew their swords in unison like the elite of the Quarvadis and leapt to the first floor.

“Get that blasphemer!”

White auras rose from everywhere.

Vikir adjusted the gas mask that covered his face.

“Quite the way to deal with a stray lamb.”

The paladins who had jumped from the second floor now surrounded the front.

What’s more.


Behind them, among the shattered remains of the statues, Mozgus heaved himself to his feet.

He had stripped off all of his shattered and distorted armor and was clutching a large shard of stone with both hands.

Blood was dripping from his body, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Only if you want to see the end.”

Vikir drew his magic sword, Beelzebub, as long as he could.

A sticky liquid aura, a testament to his advanced graduator status, bubbled and boiled at the tip of the blade.

All the paladins, including Mozgus, tensed at the overwhelming momentum Vikir exuded, a black ghostly figure.

They couldn’t close their eyes, couldn’t swallow their saliva.

The slightest slip of the tongue would be enough for that black ghost’s teeth to tear at their throats and hearts.

“Where did this monstrosity come from…….?

Mozgus regretted his rashness and took a stance.

One-on-one, a must-lose.

Many against one, half and half.

The opponent was a creature that could not be completely defeated, even with all of the paladins here, including himself.

Normally, he would have taken a step back and formally declared a crusade…….

“There is a saint here.”

The stakes were too high for him to take any chances.

Vikir, Mozgus, and the rest of the paladins stood in a tense confrontation.


A voice shattered everyone’s concentration.

A figure poked its head out from the terrace on the third floor.

It was Saint Dolores, and she was here.