The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-475

Chapter 475: The Annihilation of Tochka (5)

“This time, you’ll leave your head behind.”

At the chilling voice that seemed to freeze his very being, Phlorosya recoiled in shock, revealing his true form.

A skull-faced leopard, with a mane as dark as black flames, and eyes that burned bright yellow like sulfur.

[‘Second Corpse’ Phlorosya]

- Danger Level: S+

- Size: ?

- Discovered: Deep within the Gate of Destruction, in the ‘Womb of the Serpent’

- Also known as the ‘Second Corpse’.

One of the ten demon lords feared as the ultimate enemies of humanity, incomprehensible and unkillable.

“I shall turn water into blood.”

- The Decalogue 10:1

The Second Corpse, Phlorosya. The Lying Leopard.

A being that held the second-highest position among the key players who led the Era of Destruction.

The prey that Vikir had set as the ultimate target of this battle was right there.

…Flash!

Eight fangs snapped at the air.

[Gah!?]

Phlorosya recoiled in terror, retreating swiftly.

With Orobouros, the poison spear, now destroyed by Granola, there was no weapon capable of standing against Baalzeebub, leaving him with no other choice.

Whoosh!

Phlorosya took a deep breath before exhaling a massive cloud of toxic mist.

The red death plague that turned water into blood, swelled out from Phlorosya's mouth.

However...

[Pant, pant…]

A creature suddenly darted out from behind Vikir, inhaling the entire red death, absorbing the malevolent spirit in one gulp.

[What the hell is this cursed spider!]

Phlorosya gritted his teeth and unleashed even more of the red death, but it was no use.

Five women emerged from the back of the creature.

“Vikir!”

Camus, Aiyen, Dolores, Sinclaire, and Kirko.

Dolores, who led the group, bestowed a blessing upon Vikir.

A white holy light surged forth, burning away the red death.

The clerics of the Quovadis clan launched a full-scale counterattack.

Even the offsprings of Baby madam banded together to devour the red death.

The poison humans that had run rampant across the battlefield were gradually being captured by the spiders from the Black and White Mountains and the clerics of Quovadis.

With Orobouros gone, there was no further production of the red death, and their end was slowly becoming visible.

As the red mist cleared, Phlorosya's panicked face was revealed.

Vikir immediately closed in.

He couldn’t afford to miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

…Slash!

The fourth form, executed as swiftly as possible, deeply cut into Phlorosya’s chest.

The gaping ribs exposed the heart, still pulsating.

A barrage of attacks followed.

A rain of fire and giant iron spikes created by Camus, Aiyen’s arrows, Sinclaire’s golden golem, and Kirko’s demon sword Asmodeus bombarded Phlorosya.

His body, battered and torn within the flames, began to falter.

Furthermore, Vikir’s eighth form had already completely sealed off all possible escape routes for Phlorosya.

With the situation becoming increasingly dire, Phlorosya began to grind his teeth in frustration.

[……If it hadn’t been for that damned Granola. How could they have possibly seen through my lies?]

It seemed Phlorosya was still baffled by how Granola had managed to see through his power of deception.

Of course, Vikir felt no obligation to answer that question. He didn’t know the answer himself, anyway.

Slice! Thud!

Both of Phlorosya’s arms were severed.

As Vikir drove his hand into Phlorosya’s heart, he spoke.

“I told you not to underestimate this world.”

All the causes and connections that he had encountered so far. The sum total of all organic elements, pure fate.

Even the strongest demon cannot easily contend with the enormous wheel of causality created by these intertwined factors.

And here, in this very place, stood a pilgrim who has walked a thorny path more treacherous and lonely than any other, rolling that wheel of hardship since he was very small.

Vikir. The returner. The Night Hound who has experienced three lives.

He sank his fangs into the neck of his prey.

Squish—

A dark fountain of blood erupted from Phlorosya's neck.

Vikir forcefully drove Beelzebub into Phlorosya's throat and twisted it with all his might.

Crunch!

The sound of tough fur being ripped, resilient muscle fibers tearing, and finally, the heavy, dense bones snapping apart echoed through the air. All the tissues within were brutally torn out.

Shraaak—

By the time Vikir withdrew Beelzebub, Phlorosya's head was already severed from his body.

Having completely fused into the body of Hopps over time, Phlorosya couldn’t even extract his spirit from his physical form before he was decapitated.

Thud! Roll, roll, roll—

Phlorosya’s head rolled across the ground. His face grotesquely intertwined with that of Hopps, creating a monstrous appearance.

His end was rather anticlimactic for a being who had instigated both the Empire's civil war and a species war entangling two dimensions.

“……”

Vikir quietly stared at the severed head of the demon. Although many of the poison humans still remained on the battlefield, they were collapsing on their own after losing their leader.

To Marquis Sade and Warden Orca, the panicking and directionless horde of poison humans, were nothing more than straw dolls.

As soon as the allied forces of Tochka launched their counterattack with renewed momentum, the Poison Humans crumbled en masse.

The struggle of everyone against everyone. This was the demons’ view of life.

The remaining forces of the Reviadon Clan, true to their nature as those who had embraced this worldview, were also descending into chaos.

A fitting end for those who knew neither kinship nor comradeship.

One of the more cunning individuals attempted to regroup the still overwhelming majority of Poison Humans.

“Pull back the troops! We must retreat and regroup... Gah!”

But before he could finish, Thomas, the second son of the Reviadon Clan, was struck in the throat by an arrow and rolled to the ground.

Bianca’s arrow had found its mark, followed by Tudor’s spear and Sancho’s axe.

“Vengeance for Figgy!”

“We will never forgive them!”

“Don’t let a single one escape!”

The downfall of the Reviadon Clan.

With the death of their symbol, Hopps de Reviadon, the formidable front of the poisonous clan quickly crumbled.

The massive Poison Humans lost their sanity and began to rampage.

As Vikir surveyed the entire scene, he sensed the approaching end of this long, brutal war.

[……Hahaha.]

If not for the low, mocking laughter that suddenly echoed from the ground, Vikir might have thought the battle was over.

Vikir turned his head to see Phlorosya’s severed head.

Just like Andromalius in the past, Phlorosya too was clinging to life, even with only his head remaining.

However, Vikir wasn’t the least bit off guard.

“Demons must be slain.”

Always in a state of readiness, perpetually a hunter on the verge of action.

But as Vikir raised his killing intent, Phlorosya continued speaking in a tone laced with amusement.

[Calm down. You can’t kill me anyway.]

An absurd claim. There was no need to be swayed by the demon’s words, especially when the battle was already won.

Like all demon tongues, Vikir knew better than anyone that Phlorosya’s tongue was dangerous, and there was no reason to hold back his blade.

Yet, Phlorosya’s next words were enough to stop even a man with iron veins and a furnace heart in his tracks.

[Killing me will bring about the ‘Era of Destruction.’]

None of the people gathered there truly understood what the Era of Destruction meant.

None except for Vikir.

It seemed Phlorosya knew only Vikir would grasp the gravity of the situation, as he continued to speak, his blackened tongue flicking with each word.

[Before the battle, I intertwined my lifeline, my very essence, with the rings of the Gate of Destruction. The moment that thread is severed, the Gate will open naturally.]

The Demon Realm. The Ultimate Hell.

Vikir vividly remembered the time when that gate had opened.

The approaching destruction, the looming end, the culmination of all terrible things, a nightmare realm beyond human comprehension.

[You think you're the only one who laid traps for the future? If so, you're mistaken. I’ve made my move well in advance.]

“……”

Cold sweat trickled down Vikir's face. His hands trembled, albeit slightly.

Phlorosya was a demon whose specialty was deception. Could he really trust anything the demon said now?

…But what if, by some chance, this wasn’t a lie?

What if killing Phlorosya really did open the Gate of Destruction?

Even as Vikir wrestled with these thoughts, Phlorosya was slowly turning his body into mist.

It seemed he intended to escape by transforming into the very essence of the red death mist.

[Didn’t I tell you from the beginning? All your efforts are in vain.]

Phlorosya grinned broadly, a smile brimming with malice he couldn’t conceal.

Fsssssh…

Phlorosya’s form was fading more and more.

In a few seconds, he would vanish entirely from this place.

The dilemma loomed—kill him now or let him escape for the moment.

Both options were intolerable.

Sching—

Vikir drew his sword.

Would he be deceived, or would he trust in his own judgment?

The moment of decision had come.