Chapter 2

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Translated By Arcane Translations

Translator: Yuziro

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“Just looking at your attire and tools, you seem like the owner of some mage’s tower.”

“I wish that were the case. But in reality I’m in this filthy sewer.”

“Yes, reality is often like a sewer.”

The master, who had been wearing a robe that covered all but his jawline even in the dark underground, smiled bitterly.

“So, you’re a warrior of negative concepts. Why did you kill my goblins?”

“Those goblins dug through a sewer wall and completely ransacked some merchant’s wine cellar.”

“…I see what happened. So now you’ve come chasing after one that got away?”

“Yes.”

“Why? To finish it off?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I’ll just let you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Correct. I won’t.”

The goblins’ mage master waved his white staff. Following its trajectory, some unseen force smashed into the sewer wall and then rushed at Valian.

The force was extremely powerful and fast. Valian didn’t even have time to react before being struck and knocked back. The mage took a deep breath and began casting another spell, muttering unintelligible words as his lips moved.

Flames sparked from the tip of the mage’s staff. The flames whirled in the air, forming a spherical shape. The mage searched the darkness for where Valian had fallen.

In truth, after that initial shock wave spell, the mage had hoped Valian would be scared and flee. If this fireball spell didn’t stop Valian completely, it seemed the mage himself would end up with a blade in his throat. Looking at Valian’s large build, that seemed likely – such was the nature of battles between mages and warriors.

When the mage noticed something stir in the shadows across the sewer, he immediately flung the fireball in that direction. The flames illuminated the darkness as they struck.

In that light, Valian’s form became visible. He didn’t appear badly hurt by the shock wave. Contrary to the mage’s expectation, Valian held a hand axe in his right hand, not a sword.

Valian rolled forward, easily avoiding the slower, more visible fireball spell unlike the shockwave.

As he stood up facing the mage, Valian saw that the mage was already panting heavily while he was starting to cast a new spell.

Just as he had done to the goblins earlier, Valian casually tossed the hand axe. But unlike then, this throw carried considerable force and speed. The axe whistled as it cut through the air.

From the mage’s perspective, Valian’s shoulder seemed to blur for an instant, then a searing pain erupted in his forehead as all strength left his body.

“Aaagghh!”

Seeing the mage collapse, the goblin let out a screech and charged at Valian. Valian watched the goblin approach, then simply kicked it when it got close. The goblin let out a muffled cry as it tumbled, then gasped and coughed up blood before dying.

“Worthless creature.”

It truly was worthless, giving hardly any experience points. Valian had hoped for some loot, at least. He pulled the hand axe from the mage’s forehead, blood and brain matter clinging thickly to the blade. The fallen mage’s robe was open, revealing the face of a young man who could barely be twenty, with blond hair and pale skin – quite handsome, now just a corpse.

Searching the body, Valian found a small purse mixed with silver and gold coins.

“More than the bounty reward. Easy profit.”

Valian approached the alchemy tools the mage had been working with. He could roughly guess what each was used for – not his expertise, but he had some modern knowledge, right? That lamp heated the beaker, vaporizing its contents which were carried over, mixed with another gas, cooled and condensed into a different beaker like dew. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure.

Valian reassured himself that it was because he studied liberal arts. Such things didn’t really matter now. He rummaged around, pushing things aside to find anything of value.

In the end, he found a gold ring, an ornate dagger, and the mage’s diary bound in red leather. Flipping through a few pages at a time, Valian skimmed the contents – nothing special. Born a noble’s bastard son, abused by the family heir until fleeing and hiding here. Developing an alchemical potion to make dark forces his minions. Experiments on goblins. Success. Then delusional plans to enhance the spell to create an army of demons, seeking revenge on his father and brother.

“Truly worthless.”

A spell to enslave even the weakest of dark forces like goblins, who hated all surface-dwellers, held incredible potential.

Only potential, as its creator and master had just died by Valian’s hand. Valian set the diary on the mage’s corpse and brought over a torch, setting the body’s clothes alight. The flames wouldn’t fully consume the corpse, just fill the sewers with the stench of roasting flesh to draw every hungry demon like a pack of dogs.

Valian took the goblins’ severed heads and headed for the exit.

The merchant flew into a panic seeing the goblin heads.

“Good heavens, demons really do dwell in the sewers!”

Valian advised him on defenses – to seal the hole firmly with bricks and mortar.

“Was this hole always so large?”

Ignoring the merchant’s muttering, Valian counted his payment: one silver coin and eight coppers, plus a gold ring, serviceable dagger, and the mage’s purse of nine silvers and twelve coppers.

Pursuing the goblins had been an excellent choice, it seemed he would eat well tonight.

Valian headed back to the inn, and bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

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Its leathery wings unfurled slowly in the dark cavern. A serpentine, smooth tail brushed the ground gently. Flame-spewing eyes seemed to gaze into the distance. Serrated fangs and a forked tongue flickered. Large, gnarled hands rubbed its own horns.

“For once, I thought a worthy warrior had come down. How disappointing.”

It had lived down here for centuries. In ancient times, this was known as a labyrinth, drawing countless adventurers with blades, spears and staves in search of treasure.

And it had roamed the labyrinth, rending the flesh and crushing the bones of foolish warriors to consume, growing ever stronger and living ever longer.

But that was all in the past now. The only things that came down here were life’s rejects and runaways, unwanted anywhere on the surface. Foul-tasting dregs only consumed out of necessity to survive.

For once, it had seemed a warrior worth engaging in battle had arrived. But he did little more than dither about up above before retreating. Disappointing.

It closed its eyes, folded its wings and coiled its tail. Time to sleep again.

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After taking a few more odd jobs over the past few days, Valian felt there wasn’t as much work as he expected. As an old city, Noife did have its fair share of demonic issues. But Valian found the work scarce because he was selective about what jobs he took.

Why was he so selective? To avoid drawing attention. His towering height, bulky build and distinct appearance already made him stand out enough. So he stuck to minor, quickly completed tasks to keep a low profile as much as possible.

Which is why when Valian received a summons from someone who clearly didn’t want to avoid notice, he could only silently curse to himself.

Noife’s lord ruler Viraki sat in a plush, oversized chair, eyeing Valian. His balding crown and protruding chin and belly gave him the look of any ordinary middle-aged man.

What marked this middle-aged man as Noife’s great ruler were his eyes.

Two eyes that seemed to flicker like a serpent’s. His slitted eyes, narrowed further by his plump face, suggested his two decades of political success owed little to luck.

He spoke:

“I’ve been watching you these past few days. You showed quite the skill in dealing with those sewer goblins.”

Valian paused, unsure if Viraki was mocking or genuinely praising him. Viraki didn’t wait for a response.

“One of my men recognized you, said you had a bit of a reputation before drifting into Noife. Isn’t that right, manticore hunter?”

Valian briefly considered feigning ignorance. But no, this nobleman was already convinced.

“…Its tail-spikes were a bit tricky to avoid.”

Viraki smiled, looking rather ominous.

“How did you kill it?”

Valian scratched his chin.

“Cut off its head with a blade.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. What else is there?”

“Don’t other hunters use bows, apply potions, or even cast spells sometimes? Or have priests bless them before battles? You did none of that?”

“None of it.”

“Why?”

“I work alone, and can’t use spells.”

“A blade is all you need?”

Valian grinned, revealing pointed fangs.

“For a warrior of Valtazar, it has to be.”

Viraki nodded approvingly.

“A heathen, then. A barbarian. Good. I like that.”

Like what? The fearless barbarian warrior act? Then his performance must have improved considerably. Good news. Or should he feel uneasy about how accustomed he’d become?

Viraki stood and went to retrieve a bottle from a nearby table. He poured two cups, handing one to Valian before taking the other and sipping from it.

“I have many brothers. Any who have bled alongside me, even if not from the same father or mother, I consider a brother. So the soldiers protecting Noife are all my brothers, most having fought beside me since the Eastern War. Loyal men, all of them.”

The Eastern War – surprisingly, he may be a war noble who earned his title through military accomplishment rather than inheritance.

Viraki paused to take another sip, his face twisting slightly as he swallowed the alcohol, forming an unexpectedly bitter expression despite his smile.

“But no matter how loyal, they’ll never be true brothers – born of the same mother’s womb as I. That’s the nature of family, I suppose. I’ve always doted on my actual brother, and he reciprocated that affection, standing ever at my side, often shielding me first. He was remarkable.”

Suddenly, Viraki’s mouth contorted, his face no longer bittersweet but twisted with sorrow and rage.

“And yet this most devoted brother fell victim to a curse – the work of an enemy of mine. Bulbous blisters erupted across his skin, his teeth sharpened to daggers. His hair fell out, replaced by grotesque horns. And he lost all reason, that brilliant, wise youth transformed into a demon who hated all surface things.”

He drank again deeply.

“I’ve tried every possible way to break that curse. All useless efforts. Plenty of charlatans came too, claiming they could help. Of course, I made sure they paid with their lives.”

Valian listened impassively, having little interest in the man’s story but waiting for him to get to the point.

“And finally, I realized the surest way to undo the curse – to kill its source, the one who cast it in the first place.”

“You mean your enemy?”

“That wretch is long dead, torn apart to feed the cavern dwellers.”

Cavern dwellers? Did he just say cavern dwellers?

“The witch who actually cast the curse on him. Kill her, and it should break.”

“A witch?”

“Yes. Slay that wicked bitch, and the curse will be undone.”

Valian looked perplexed.

“Then why not just send those loyal men you have?”

Viraki drained his cup in one gulp.

“They won’t do. The fools are all too terrified. At first a few brave ones went to kill the witch, but ended up transformed into the same kinds of monsters as my brother. According to one who fled midway, they were all overwhelmed, unable to resist her spells.”

Valian let out a snort of laughter.

“So what makes you think I’ll fare any better?”

Viraki’s serpentine eyes glinted like glass.

“I don’t think you’ll fare better. I don’t care if you die. But you will undertake this task, for in my city, my word is law.”

Valian’s smile faded. Damn. This was exactly why he tried to avoid nobles’ notice.

“But if you succeed, if my brother’s curse is broken, then I shall reward you. The entire year’s tax revenue from Noife, if you wish. So go, fight with the ferocity of your barbaric ways, in the name of Valtazar you heathens worship. Or refuse, and my men will battle not some witch, but an Aynakian savage like yourself – they’d probably prefer that to a witch. You can try fleeing too, but then wanted posters with your face will blanket every civilized land.”

Valian drained his cup in one gulp. Bastard.

“…At least tell me where this witch dwells.”

Viraki called for one of his soldiers outside.

“This is Bervira, he’ll guide you to her lair.”

Without another word, Valian followed the soldier out.

Viraki remained seated at the table, cradling the empty cup in his hands as he bowed his head slightly.

“…Epollu, I beg you to save my brother.”

The barbaric warrior’s wellbeing was the furthest thing from his mind as he prayed.

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