30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?!-Chapter 218: The Most Dangerous Creature in the World... (5)

Standing night duty in the military means watching a lot of movies.

It wasn’t about slacking off—it was simply that, in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep, there wasn’t much else to do.

Well, for Ihan...

"You’re reading wuxia novels and web comics again, aren’t you?"

"Dogo-hyung, it’s called a web comic, not an internet cartoon."

His tastes were unwavering, so he rarely bothered with movies.

"It’s the same thing, isn’t it?"

"...Dogo-hyung, are you sure you’re only in your mid-20s?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I mean... you seem really mature."

"Ssshh... That sounds suspicious."

"Ah, look, a movie’s starting!"

"......."

Unlike Ihan, whose preferences never wavered, his superior had a broad taste in entertainment. He loved wuxia novels just as much as he enjoyed sci-fi movies, and as long as a film had even a hint of sci-fi, he would watch it—be it a superhero flick, a thriller, or anything else.

Because of that, Ihan often found himself roped into movie-watching sessions. The ones they ended up watching the most were...

"Dogo-hyung, you sure love those kinds of movies."

"I read a lot of American comics when I was a kid."

"Early education, huh..."

"What was that, you punk!?"

Movies about parasitic aliens. They watched them so often that Dogo-hyung would always ask the same childish questions.

"What if parasitic aliens like that really existed?"

"Are you seriously asking that at your age? ...Well, if I had to answer, I’d say we start with high-explosive bombs."

Then again, Ihan was just as childish. They once debated for four hours about how to kill a parasitic alien.

...And now.

Dogo-hyung, do you see this?

—KEEEEE!!!—

I think we weren’t childish after all. We were visionaries.

A grotesque, blackish-red mass of liquid consumed a fallen half-demon’s corpse, growing larger with each bite.

***

Gurgle... Gurgle...!

The blackish-red liquid was something so repulsive, so horrifying, that touching it seemed unthinkable.

It looked like a pool of crude, unrefined oil, yet at times, it shimmered like molten lava, as if it carried the heat of a raging inferno.

—But one thing.

One thing was absolutely certain.

[Don’t touch that. It’s bad news.]

"...You don’t have to tell me twice."

Even without the owl’s warning, Ihan, Raq, and Maximus instinctively stepped back, retreating as if they were fleeing.

A primal, gut-wrenching instinct screamed at them—every fiber of their being knew that touching that thing would bring nothing but disaster.

Their survival instincts sounded a deafening alarm, a blaring signal that they must not ignore.

And as if confirming their fears...

Slither... Squirm...

The blackish-red liquid melted away the half-demon’s corpse. Or... was it eating it?

Either way, it was a horrifying sight.

"...I never thought I’d see that thing again."

"You’ve seen it before?"

"Hmm, do you remember half a year ago, when monsters were summoned into the Academy?"

"How could I forget?"

The mere memory of that ordeal was enough to make them bolt upright in their sleep.

"Well, do you also know there was a mastermind behind that incident? And that both Galahad and Lionel intervened to take them down?"

"...That’s news to me."

"Then listen up. I fought one of those masterminds—a priest named Andrea Laurent. And that priest used his own body as a sacrifice... to summon that."

"......."

"Just so you know, after fighting it, I had to recover for more than half a month. It was ridiculously difficult to deal with."

"...Yeah, I can see that."

Even without Maximus’s warning, Ihan had no intention of ignoring the grotesque entity before them.

Its appearance alone was already unsettling, but more than that...

WHOOOOOOOSH—!

The sheer force radiating from it was enough to make their heads spin.

As Ihan and the two knights tensed, hardening their expressions and raising their energy in response, a hollow laugh rang out from a different direction.

"Heh... That damned Prophet really did a number on us, didn’t he?"

"He set up a spell to trigger upon our deaths. What a nasty bastard."

Of the assassins still standing—excluding Numbers 5 and 6, who were already dead or too broken to move—Numbers 7 and 11 watched as their comrades were consumed, their gazes empty.

Then, they chuckled.

"Well, dying like this isn’t so bad."

"So, is this better than running away if it means we can take them down?"

They didn’t resist.

Their eyes were like those of the dead—hollow, lifeless. They had already abandoned the will to live.

As if they had long known this day would come.

And Ihan, watching them carefully, suddenly spoke.

"Tch. You worthless shits are really trying to act cool at the last moment, huh?"

"!?!!"

"Since you’re planning to die anyway, let me ask—is Lime still alive? I need to kill that bitch with my own hands."

"You...!"

That single word—you—carried a heavy weight.

Their eyes, filled with disbelief, locked onto Ihan. But he didn’t care whether they were shocked or not.

"Right, I almost forgot. Weren’t you two the ones who defected from the assassin corps to open a bakery? ...But looking at you now, I guess assassination really was your true calling."

"...!!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"You still don’t get it?"

They were asking how he knew a secret only they should have known. Ihan simply shrugged before speaking again.

"It’s me. Cutie."

"????"

"...Why the fuck are you guys looking at me like that!?"

The spear-wielding assassin and the large brute looked at him like he had lost his mind.

Ihan, realizing how absurd that sounded, instinctively shouted back in frustration.

...To cover up his sheer embarrassment.

‘...Shit.’

It wasn’t even a nickname he had come up with.

***

KEEEE!!

The writhing mass of liquid—the creature that had absorbed all the corpses—let out a roar as it took shape.

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It was as if it had just broken out of an egg, and its grotesque form resembled a cross between a mollusk and a demon.

A thing clad in blackish-red, leathery skin.

Its body, still incomplete in form, radiated an overwhelming aura of death. If any ordinary citizen had been present, they would have suffocated on the sheer, oppressive force alone.

That was how intense, how vile, the energy pouring out of the creature was.

And then—without hesitation—

FWOOSH!

[?]

...Suddenly, flames erupted from its body.

"You—you’re really Number 8?! That Number 8?! How the hell... No matter how extreme a mutation is, how does an entire species change?! ...No, even if you were injected with demonic factors, you shouldn’t turn into something like that...?!!!"

The bomber mumbled to himself frantically, speaking in a stream of incomprehensible words—yet never ceasing to launch explosions and bursts of flame.

The creature merely watched, silent as the heat washed over it.

...It itched.

KEEE!!!

It rampaged.

Though its form had yet to fully stabilize, the creature was still monstrously strong.

BOOOOM!

Every swing of its eight newly formed arms sent out massive shockwaves, turning the surroundings into a wasteland.

If this weren’t the Holy Vault, protected by countless enchantments, but instead an ordinary city—then the entire place would have been leveled in an instant.

"It’s as strong as a giant."

THUD.

The only one here who had fought a giant before—the brute from the North—endured the creature’s rampage and muttered his assessment.

That didn’t mean he was at ease.

WHOOOSH!

The creature wasn’t just physically powerful.

It also released a curse—a force as deadly to knights as poison.

"Of all things, a curse..."

Even the spearman looked troubled for once.

For centuries, curses and sorcery had been the natural enemy of knights.

Knights countered mages.

Mages countered shamans.

And shamans countered knights.

The world had always been ruled by balance. In that sense, it was only natural for the spearman to feel uneasy.

A single curse could leave behind permanent damage.

Which is why—

"Number 8... That Cutie ended up like this? Time really is cruel."

—A shaman was the most crucial existence in this battle.

"[Om.]"

Among the Eleven Apostles, the one known as Shaman Yan spoke an incantation.

CRACK!

The curse and the deathly aura emanating from the creature shattered like fragile glass.

Though Yan’s spell wasn’t strong enough to completely erase the curse, it was enough to neutralize it.

The brute let out a grunt of appreciation.

"Impressive!"

"Haha, I don’t think I deserve your praise. Unlike mages, we shamans don’t rely on vast mana reserves. It’s all about precision, like solving a puzzle."

"...Better than my family’s shamans."

Shamans were even rarer than mages.

Only a handful of them remained in the entire Pendragon Kingdom.

The temple had purged shamans in the past, nearly eradicating them from the southern regions.

Only Galahad and Lionel had provided enough support to ensure the survival of the remaining few.

And in this battle, the importance of shamans became painfully clear.

They were the perfect counter to knights.

"Haha, now that I see it, you might just be the most dangerous enemy here. If we weren’t careful, we could’ve been wiped out."

"I appreciate the praise. But for now, keep your focus on the real threat. That thing isn’t done growing yet."

"Mm!"

The brute nodded heavily at the shaman’s words.

Because—

CRACK!

The creature’s form was still mutating—growing even more monstrous.

Watching this unfold, Maximus thought to himself—perhaps for the first time—that he was glad he had joined forces with those he had tried to kill just moments ago.

"My brother was right to convince me. Even if this is only a ‘temporary alliance.’"

"...She and I are still struggling to process it, though."

Yan’s gaze turned toward the man who had convinced them to fight together.

—"You guys owe me a favor, don’t you? Remember when I saved you from Number 2, that bisexual bastard? Even if you’re gonna die here, at least pay me back first. I protected your purity, after all."

In the past, that man had saved them.

BOOOOOM!

And now, he was punching the creature’s fists, meeting its force head-on.

Truly... he’s grown into an absurdly strong—no, a terrifyingly dangerous—being... Number 8...

"...Ha."

The shaman let out a hollow chuckle.

As a shaman, he should be the one bewitching others.

Yet somehow—

He felt like he was the one being bewitched.

Not by a spirit.

But by a knight.