“”
Time came to a halt.
Then Valletta’s voice rang out again, and in one simultaneous sweep of their swords came an explosive wave of fire.
“Gngh?!”
First flames, then lightning, then ice, they bombarded him with all variety of magic attacks. Like rain, the barrage fell upon him from all sides, and though Bete was able to dodge the raging hurricane thanks to his unparalleled dynamic vision and motor reflexes, the brilliance of those same abilities was already rapidly fading. And thanks to his broken Frosvirt, he couldn’t absorb the magic, either.
The second shadow Valletta had painted across the floor—her Shaldo—had him in its icy grip.
It was even worse than a curse. A permanent set of chains that had been wrapped around his entire body. He truly felt like a flea caught in a spider’s web. The more he struggled, the more those threads wrapped around him.
Just like the spider’s prey, left to await its inevitable end at the hands of a ghastly predator.
“Ngh?!”
One of the magic blasts finally hit its mark as Bete attempted to flee the barrier.
It was a direct hit, dyeing Bete’s vision a fiery red.
“Gnghaaah!!” he screamed, the pained cry torn from his throat.
“Just die already!” Valletta shouted, a sadistic smile on her face as another simultaneous blast came flying at him.
“Nnggaauuugh”
The wolf’s shadow flickered in the midst of the blinding flash.
“Again!”
Like heralds of death, the Thanatos Familia servants raised their voices, sending forth another murky stream of light in an attempt to bring the giant werewolf to his knees.
They went through magic sword after magic sword as they rushed, half-frenzied, to carry out Valletta’s orders; as soon as one sword broke, they simply grabbed another one and chipped away piece by piece at Bete’s frame.
Not even the spilled blood on the floor could withstand the attack, evaporating in the brilliant gleam as the entire chamber thrummed with the building waves of colossal magic power. It became a veritable concerto of light, with Valletta holding the conductor’s baton.
“He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he! Kill him! Kill him!! Kill the little Loki Familia hotshot! And then? I’m coming after you, Finn!!” Valletta squealed, practically climaxing at the scene of absolute liquidation in front of her.
Beneath her feet, Shaldo gave its own flash of euphoric light, almost as though joining her in riotous laughter.
“This…”
Back aboveground in the Pleasure Quarter’s restoration zone.
Aiz had just happened upon the very same message that had led Bete to Belit Babili.
“Come to the palace…Vanargand…” She slowly read aloud the bloodred Koine words on the piece of stone beneath the archway. She’d caught sight of the trail of blood almost immediately upon entering the war-torn district of brothels and had followed it to this spot posthaste.
She threw a concerned glance in the direction of the abandoned assassin corpse, then made to leave, prepared to follow the clue and find Bete. Except…
“Hn…?!”
A sudden vibration underfoot brought her to a halt.
It was faint, almost like an earthquake. And while it wasn’t strong enough to throw her off-balance, the intermittent shock waves that followed were enough to clue her in to the fact that something wasn’t right.
Kneeling down, she pressed her hand to the ground.
The rumbling against her palm made for a sort of haphazard melody, almost as though a great many bombs were going off underneath the earth’s surface.
“It’s coming from…underground…? No!” With a start, she realized what was going on. Her head popped upward, and she took off in a flash.
Kicking off first from the ground, then the walls, she leaped free of the streets and onto the roofs of the surrounding brothels. She raced ever forward, row after row of shingles beneath her feet and the shadowy visage of Belit Babili, standing tall and solemn, in her sights.
Making a beeline toward that towering palace, she ran, moving among the rain-swept slopes and dilapidated crags of the buildings below.
The cacophony of explosions continued in the underground chamber, so numerous that Bete had lost track of them.
“Grrugh…Gah…!”
Smoke fizzled from his skin; Bete himself was only just managing to keep from collapsing to the floor as globules of scorched, congealed blood dropped from the wounds now littering his body.
“Tenacious little bastard, aren’t ya?” Valletta hissed, the depraved delight momentarily fading beneath her furrowed brows at the sight of Bete still standing.
It didn’t last long, though—that unforgiving smile of hers returned within seconds.
But this is the end, Vanargand. Once my Shaldo’s got its grip on you, it never lets go.
Even now, the wolf’s entire body was being bound tighter and tighter by the invisible threads of her masterpiece glowing underfoot, not only sapping his Status but completely inhibiting his escape, as well.
One quick stab from a cursed weapon’d end this right quick…But why take the risk? There’s no need to get that close. Even as he is now, one misstep could see his teeth in my neck!
Yes, there was no need to rush things. Not anymore. Better to just keep on doing what she was doing, chipping away at his life bit by bit from afar.
He was much too wounded to make any attempt at escaping now, after all.
And it’s a good thing I lured him down here, too. Don’t wanna risk his going all beast mode on me…No, there’s nothing Vanargand can do to turn the tables now.
The biggest risk one took confronting a werewolf on the surface was their transforming under the light of the moon. And once that happened, they were said to possess power far greater than that of any other species.
The rain may have stopped up above, but they were safe below the surface, where not even the slightest trace of moonlight could filter through.
Valletta let out a loud peal of laughter, completely assured of her coming victory. Hearing this was enough to bring smiles to the faces of her minions, as well. For them to take down a first-tier adventurer, after all, would be a major step toward attaining their life’s greatest desires.
Seduced by thoughts of joy, excitement, and an appetite for destruction, they released yet another salvo at the already crippled werewolf.
“…Tsk.”
Bete grimaced through the bolts of lightning, shards of ice, and flaming embers as they formed a whirlwind around him. He clenched his hand into a fist, muscles practically shaking from the sheer fury rushing through him.
“Dammit…dammit…dammit…DAMMIT!” he groaned, teeth grinding against one another.
He was angry with himself. With Valletta and her men. With the world. The fang on his cheek felt like it was on fire, the pain buried inside begging to break free.
His world was red.
The anger had taken control.
He cursed the world. Cursed fate. Cursed reason.
A white heat overtook his vision. His thoughts were a raging, chaotic mess. He couldn’t accept this. He couldn’t accept himself. Just like he hadn’t been able to accept much of anything for as long as he could remember. That scar, that wound from his past, was always there to prolong the anger inside him. Bete’s heart was a constant storm of turmoil on the battlefield.
But there was one thing for certain, and that was if he kept going like this, his anger would have nowhere to go. It would completely destroy him.
The fiery rage from having his companions torn from him. The inferno of enmity at seeing that girl get killed.
They were unacceptable.
Not everyone could be protected. Not everyone could be saved. But Bete was the only one who couldn’t seem to put out the flames.
The strong were the only ones who couldn’t forget.
The cries of the weak as they fought back a
gainst the world.
The tears of the frail when they were forced to yield to fate.
“Goddammit!!” he roared, cursing his own self.
And then, raising his head, he looked through the waves of flames to meet Valletta’s smile head-on.
He decided, then and there, to break the one “commandment” he’d given himself.
The one selfish act he’d childishly told himself he’d never resort to, even in the face of certain death.
All of a sudden, the memories of the past few days flashed across his amber eyes.
Then.
He began weaving his song.
“Chained Fros, king of the wolves”
And casting his spell.
“Wha…? Vanargand using…m-magic?!” Valletta stammered, completely taken aback.
This wasn’t possible. How could she not have known about this? Loki Familia’s Vanargand was a meaty powerhouse who belonged on the front lines with the Amazons. That was why he had to rely on his metal-boot Superiors if he wanted to use any kind of magic.
A look of panic crossed her face. This kind of trump card might actually be able to turn the course of battle. There was no way she was going to let him get away with this.
“Don’t just stand there! Hurry up and fry ’im!!” she screeched, her underlings releasing another wave of fireballs and lightning bolts. But Bete made no move to dodge or even block them, his eyes shut and arms dropped to his sides as he focused everything he had on the chant. Withstanding direct hit after direct hit, he simply stood there, continuing his spell as the world of shadow around him lit up in a brilliant phantasmagoria.
“The first wound: Gelgja, the fetter. The second wound: Gjöll, the cry. The third wound: Þviti, the hammer. The ravenous slaver your only hope, may it form a river, mixing in the tide of blood, to wash away your tears.”
Bete wasn’t capable of Concurrent Casting.
Nor was his magic power anything to write home about.
He’d never had any reason to spend time honing a skill he’d told himself he’d never use.
“Never forget those irreparable wounds. This rage and hatred, thine infirmity and incandescence.”
Bete hated this spell.
It was a reflection of the caster’s nature, as well as the contents of their soul.
“Denounce the world. Acknowledge fate. And dry thy tears.”
And it revealed the weakness buried in his heart.
Brought his focus back to the scar he’d tried so hard to ignore these many years.
“May the pain become your fangs, the lament your roar—and your lost companions your strength.”
He hated this spell more than anything else.
“What the hell are you guys doing? Are you even trying to hit him, you incompetents?! He’s half-dead already—I couldn’t have served ’im to you on a better platter!” Valletta screamed
“L-Lady Valletta, we’re definitely hitting him…he’s just—not going down!” one of her associates yelled back helplessly.
And it was true. Though the blasts from their magic swords were landing direct hit after direct hit, setting him ablaze, the werewolf’s feet were still firmly planted on the ground. Even as his upper body rocked from each subsequent impact, his lips kept reciting the chant, almost as though some sort of caged beast was struggling to break free.
“Free yourself of the chains that bind you, and release your mad howl. O lineage of enmity, pray use this vessel and devour the moon, drinking greedily from its overflowing cup.”
With that, the chant of the wounded wolf began to increase in speed.
Valletta, meanwhile, could only scowl in growing concern as more and more magic swords began to explode, having reached their maximum use.
“Gnngh…Fine! Then just attack him directly! Skewer ’im with your cursed weapons! Go, go, go!” she finally howled, completely giving up on the magic approach. Her followers were quick to respond, gulping as they took off toward the wolf.
Grabbing cursed spears, they leaped, four of them flying across the length of Valletta’s magic barrier and quickly closing in on Bete with spearheads hurtling.
“Bare your fangs—and devour all.”
Only…
Bete was a second faster.
His amber eyes popped open with a treacherous glint—then he released the chains of ego muzzling the colossal wolf of his magic.
“Hati.”
The short name seemed to echo throughout the room.
Then…
A flaming pyre engulfed Valletta and her men.
“GGRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
As Valletta hastily threw her hands up to shield her eyes, she heard four sets of screams. With a startled gulp, she made to strengthen her magic barrier, only to see the forms of her companions wriggling and squirming as they burned alive in the searing inferno—followed by the terrifying visage of the werewolf as he shredded them to pieces.
Through the multitude of embers he walked, four searing flames now sprouting from his body.
One on each of his hands and each of his feet.
Four flames, four parts, and at their center, a crimson inferno.
“Ha…ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! What the hell is this, huh? All that buildup for a stupid little enchantment? I ain’t scared of that shit!” Valletta forced out a great guffaw, her earlier tension melting away.
While certainly it must have been a fairly strong enchantment to allow him to take down four of her guys even after the Status Down, it was still just an enchantment. So long as she didn’t get close, that thing couldn’t reach her. And considering Bete’s abilities were still dropping by the second, he’d go down long before he got anywhere near her.
Bete, however, wasn’t fazed by her laughter, not saying a word as he began walking toward her.
“Shoot him, you half-wits! And this time, make sure you blow him away!” she commanded, stirring the rest of her troops back into action. As they began their magic-sword barrage anew, the underground chamber was once more filled with a brilliant deluge of light, a whirling storm of flames forming around Bete.
“Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haHuh?”
Only…
Her laughter among the explosions quickly came to a halt.
She watched.
As with every new wound opening on the wolf’s body from the magic salvo, the flames encapsulating his limbs grew in strength.
The hellish conflagration pouring from his body grew more fierce, more crazed, the more he was attacked.
“L-Lady Valletta…?!” came the shaky voice of one of her fellow Evils.
Though the flaming wisps on his hands and feet had started out around the size of a shield, they were silently, and ever so certainly, growing. They were already taller than Bete himself. Even now, from where they stood a safe distance away, the malevolent waves of flame seemed liable to swallow them whole.
“It’s like he’s…eating the magic,” one of the Evils associates muttered in awe.
And suddenly, they all came to the same realization.
The glinting hellfire in front of them was actually absorbing each one of the blasts from their magic swords. Just like Bete’s broken Frosvirt—just like a ravenous wolf—the flames were devouring everything, magic and all.
As they watched the blaze grow larger and larger, they quickly halted their attacks in horror. Their zealous determination to take the wolf down first had been completely engulfed by the flames.
As it would turn out, though, their hypothesis was only half-correct.
Because Valletta noticed something else about Bete.
And that was the new burn that had appeared on his right shoulder.
It almost seemed to be in sync with
the flame enveloping his hand, a hazy film of light hovering just on its surface as the wisp on his fist grew ever larger.
Don’t tell me—?
Valletta swallowed hard, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Then, with a glint in his eye, the wounded wolf charged.
The speed was nothing compared to Bete’s normal abilities.
However, it was just enough to close the distance between him and the stock-still enemies in front of him now. They barely even had a chance to react, their eyes widening as he leaped forward, flourishing the blaze on his right hand. It drew from the power of the three other mini infernos, swelling up to an unimaginable size as he sent his flaming fang flying.
Valletta immediately grabbed the shoulders of one of her nearby subordinates, using him as a shield.
Then…
In one single swipe of his arm, the entire chamber erupted in a brilliant, incandescent hellfire.
It happened the moment Aiz reached the palace, bringing her wind-like rush to a halt.
The immense garden guarding the entrance exploded into flames.
“?!”
The mighty crimson roar burst straight out of the earth, splitting the ground with it.
Aiz barely had time to avoid it, forcefully diverting her forward momentum and activating her magic as the fiery hurricane swallowed everything.
“Awaken, Tempest!”
Protected by her armor of wind, she pushed back against the oppressive waves of heat.
“What the…?!”
The explosion was visible from even as far away as Babel Tower in the center of the city.
Like an incarnate of fire, the colossal pyre towered, a monstrous wolf howling at the sky.
“I-it’s an inferno! And it’s coming from the direction of the Pleasure Quarter…?!”
“Seems our boy has gone and used that magic of his.”
“M-Mister Bete? Magic? Does he even know any?!” Raul sputtered in response to Gareth’s awed murmur. The dwarf merely nodded as Raul and the rest of the stupefied Loki Familia members looked on.
“He does, indeed. Though he’d rarely deign to use it,” he continued, throwing a glance at Loki, who confirmed his words with a nod of her own.
Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? On the Side: Sword Oratoria, Vol. 8 Page 18
