The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-496

Side Story Chapter 1

By the time the river of blood slowly started to dry up, a battle was still raging on a high ground on the western front, where the remnants of the demon army had yet to be defeated.

* * *

The fortress of Morg, consisting of countless towers, stood tall. Its exterior looked as if numerous spikes had been driven into the ground. Hidden within one of the most secluded towers was a secret underground area. The Morg family was divided into two factions: the Light Side and the Dark Side, both possessing mysterious underground spaces.

One such space, known as the "Depths of Darkness," extended over 600 floors below ground. The deepest layer, the 666th floor, housed the headquarters of the Dark Side. This space was so secretive that neither the Empire nor even the Morg family's head could access it. Only the members of the Dark Side’s council knew of its existence.

At the very bottom of the endless spiral staircase, a woman sat on a throne, her eyes closed.

Tsutsutsutsutsu...

A mage was checking the flow of mana in her blood vessels. She had red hair and pale skin, a figure exuding the aura of a grand archmage. Her name was Camus Morg. She trusted no one and relied on no one. She had fought fiercely with the world her entire life—sometimes winning, sometimes losing—yet she lived as though she had never been hurt.

Hoo...

Eventually, Camus finished her meditation and opened her eyes. When a mage examines their mana, they become highly vulnerable. There’s even a saying, “A mage inspecting their mana is like a newly molted crab or shrimp.”

For this reason, Camus always meditated in this secluded 666th floor of the Depths of Darkness, where no one could enter.

Absolute independence. She trusted no one, so she never employed guards. Her body was her sole responsibility.

...But.

"Done meditating? That took longer than usual."

As soon as Camus opened her eyes, she was greeted by an unbelievable sight. A woman wearing a mask with a stork's beak emerged from behind a pillar.

The fact that an outsider had made it to this 666th floor, accessible only to the Dark Side’s council, was astonishing enough.

"Longer than usual?"

But what made Camus frown even more was the implication behind the masked woman’s words—that she had been watching Camus meditate regularly. The woman’s comment wasn’t just provocation; it was an observation, as Camus had indeed spent more time meditating than usual.

Kururururuk!

Mana began to boil around her. Camus summoned flames and metal spikes, hurling them at the intruder.

"I don’t know who you are, but die first. I’ll ask questions later."

As a master of necromancy, Camus felt more comfortable dealing with the dead than the living, especially when it came to interrogating prisoners or spies.

However.

Kwakakakwang!

What happened next left her even more bewildered. Flames and metal spikes flew from the other side, perfectly neutralizing her attack.

And then something even more astonishing happened.

Susususususu...

Long, thin branches, as delicate as a woman’s hair, extended toward Camus.

It was the Ghost tree, a mana tree that grew within a mage’s mind, feeding on the karma of souls and drawing sustenance from their subconscious. It thrived on the abstract and metaphysical, its fruit manifesting in the physical realm.

It was also the signature magic of the eighth demon lord, Sere.

"N-No way! Sere! I definitely destroyed that demon along with Snake!"

Camus was in shock. It was only natural—she had killed the demon lord long ago. But now...

"Calm down. I didn’t come here to fight."

The masked woman effortlessly neutralized Camus’s attack and took a step back.

"Who are you? Are you a servant of demons? How do you wield the power of the eighth demon lord?"

"Like this."

The woman shrugged at Camus’s question, and something wriggled out from her shoulder.

"Se-Sere...?"

Camus started to shout but then abruptly stopped, momentarily at a loss for words.

The figure before her, once known as Sere, the Demon of Necromancy who nearly brought the world to ruin, now appeared rather… lacking.

“...Why are you so small?”

Camus half-opened her mouth in disbelief as she looked at the now small and insignificant Sere.

The masked woman tilted her head and replied, “I’ve absorbed most of its power.”

“...Absorbed a demon's power? Is that even possible?”

“Sure is.”

Camus frowned, incredulous.

“What kind of crazy person would even want to absorb a demon’s power? You must be beyond insane. There's no point in letting you live.”

“Don’t spit while lying down.”

“...?”

Camus tilted her head in confusion.

The woman removed her mask, revealing her face—red hair, red eyes, and a familiar set of features.

“...!”

Camus's eyes widened in shock. The person standing before her was... herself.

“What... what is this?”

“What else would it be? It’s you.”

The unmasked Camus smirked and stepped forward.

“I thought you’d have aged more, but you haven’t. As expected of me—still beautiful, even with age.”

“...?”

Still bewildered, Camus watched as her doppelgänger stood before her.

At last, the other Camus revealed her identity.

“I’m you, from a parallel world.”

“What kind of bullshit...”

“Sounds ridiculous, right?”

“...”

The Camus in her 20s looked up, scrutinizing her. Even though the Camus standing in front of her was well into middle age, there wasn't much physical difference between them.

“To make things clearer, let’s refer to me as ‘the Camus from over there’ and you as ‘the Camus from here.’ After all, I’m from another world.”

“What nonsense have you been spouting since earlier?”

The Camus from here gritted her teeth.

“Demons must die. Those who use demonic power must die too. All of them must be killed.”

“...Wow, you’re a lot more fiery than my version of me.”

The Camus from here sent flames and spikes flying towards the other Camus. But the Camus from over there used Sere, who was bound by the roots of the Ghost Tree, as a shield to block the attack.

[Aaaaah! Camus! It hurts so much! I’m not Decarabiaaaa!]

As Sere screamed in pain, the Camus from here stood in shock, her mouth half-open.

At that moment...

“Would this make you believe me?”

The Camus from over there tossed something to the Camus from here as a peace offering.

...Thud!

It was the head of Baal.

The Camus from here widened her eyes in disbelief.

“Th-This is Baal! The Mother of all demons! Did you kill it?”

“Well, technically it’s just the shell. The real body is hiding somewhere else.”

The Camus from over there spoke nonchalantly.

“I couldn’t find where Baal’s true body was hiding. I tortured countless demons, but none of them knew. It seems Baal doesn’t care much about conquering the human world. It’s her underlings who keep trying to carry on his will.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you. I’m you, and you’re me. That’s how I could even get into this place.”

The other Camus glanced around.

The sealed entrance that only responded to Camus’s body, the familiar arrangement of pillars, and the magic circle drawn on the floor—all of it was exactly as Camus knew it to be.

At that moment, the Camus from over there began to tear up, her eyes turning red.

“This is where my master passed away. Even now, whenever I think of Uncle Snake... I can’t help but tear up...”

“Wait, Snake? A master? Why would that filthy beast be your master?”

“What? Beast? Did you just call Uncle Snake a beast?”

“...?”

“...?”

Both Camus glared at each other, the tension between them rising rapidly.

“To me, the only uncle I had was Adolf. He died caught up in the full-on demon assault. As for Snake? He was just a traitor who sold his soul to the demons. A despicable dog.”

“If you insult my master, even if you are me, I won’t forgive you.”

“Shut up. Snake was a lowly backstabber who caused the deaths of both Adolf and my mother.”

“He wasn’t to me.”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Didn’t you say you are me and I am you?”

“Apparently, not in this case.”

The brief moment of potential reconciliation brought on by Baal's remains evaporated, replaced by a sharp tension that hung in the air like a fragile ice sheet.

Then, a low voice came from behind one of the stone pillars.

“I sent you to join hands, and here you are wrecking the place.”

A shadow emerged between the two Camuses.

It was Vikir, the Night Hound who had crossed countless lives.

In that instant...

“...!”

The Camus from here hesitated, her gaze falling upon Vikir. Despite her proud and headstrong nature—often likened to an empress like Wu Zetian—his intense, deep gaze caused her to falter. Her body felt weak, her heart trembling with a strange new feeling she had never experienced before, something almost budding in the depths of her being...

“Hey! What are you staring at?”

But the Camus from over there snapped her back to reality, shouting as she swiftly ran to cling to Vikir's arm.

Then, with a firm warning, she pointed at the Camus from here.

“Don’t go eyeing my husband.”

“Didn’t you just say I am you and you are me?”

“Well, apparently this doesn’t apply either!”

The Camus from over there scoffed with a mocking laugh.

And then, Camus from here turned toward her counterpart and her husband(?) to ask.

“So, what brings you here?”

“To join hands.”

“Hands? What, you want to get a manicure together or something?”

“You know my personality, so don’t push it. Mock me one more time, and I’ll kill you.”

“You know my personality too, right? Go ahead, try killing me.”

“Ha, you crazy...!”

Just as the tension flared again, Vikir shook his head, as though expecting this, and stepped between them once more.

“She means to say, we should unite our strength.”

“To do what exactly? Killing demons?”

“Not just that. There’s something even more fundamental.”

“...What could be more important than slaying demons?”

“Restoring humanity.”

“!”

Vikir continued, answering the Camus from here’s unspoken question.

“Since the era of destruction, 99.99% of humanity has perished. In this world, Tudor, Bianca, Sancho, Figgy, and so many others have met their fates. Even those used as mere pawns by demons, their bodies overtaken, have been lost.”

“And what can we do about that? The dead are dead. There’s no bringing them back...”

The Camus from here dropped her gaze, her voice trembling with emotion, likely recalling the losses of people like Respane and Adolf during the war against the demons.

But then...

“There is a way to bring them all back.”

Vikir’s words made her look up.

And standing before her was the other Camus.

Thump. Thump.

The Camus from over there stomped the floor with a radiant expression.

On the ground, an incomplete, yet massive, magic circle lay, unfinished but unmistakable.

In that moment, the other Camus's eyes widened in shock—her most unsettled expression yet.

Finally, the voices of the two Camuses merged into one.

“The Ritual of Complete Resurrection!”