CH797 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 797: Body of Magic

“Not bad.” Roland tilted a nod toward the darkness where the curtain had swallowed her, and a smiling face surfaced from the shadow like a pale bloom, acknowledging the praise before sinking back. Without knowing it was a witch, he might have shouted.

“Your Majesty — there are enemies in the hall.” Faldi’s voice came low and careful. “Their magic power reads nearly as strong as hybrid demonic beasts.”

“Can you handle them?”

“As long as none of them are Senior Demons, Ling and I won’t have trouble.” Phyllis answered without hesitation.

“Then we proceed as planned.”

As Roland moved through the long entrance porch, he noticed the windows were boarded over — wood planking and tape sealing every pane. The lights inside were sparse, barely enough to push back the dark. The cold hit next, sharp and stale, as though the air conditioning had been running for days without purpose. Then the smell: a deep, wet rot that built in the back of his throat and refused to leave.

At the center of the hall, a man in a suit stood motionless. From the moment Roland stepped inside, the warmth in his body surged — several times stronger than it had for the fake man in the park. His pulse answered it.

Faldi had found a big fish.

But what arrested him was the wall behind the suited man.

A sculpture hung on the two-story mural surface — something vast, assembled from material that looked like weathered wood or cured leather. A human face sat above a body that made no anatomical sense: broad hind legs, curled and powerful; slender forepaws folded at the chest; a pair of wings spread wide. Close to four meters in length. The carving of every feather, every vein beneath the skin, was so precise and lifelike that the craftsmanship alone put its value in the millions.

“The grotesque taste of the rich,” Roland muttered, and looked away.

“Begin.”

Phyllis struck from two meters behind the target, her blade claw lashing from her back with a speed that outpaced reaction. At this distance even an Extraordinary would not have had time to turn fully before it was over. The claw opened the suited man diagonally from shoulder to hip. He went down.

Dark red blood painted the floor.

So — even a Fallen Evil dies if its body is destroyed severely enough, regardless of whether the core has been removed.

“That’s all?” Ling surfaced from beside the sofa, looking faintly disappointed.

“The main work is next.” Roland covered his nose. The rot smell had thickened, which might have been perception — or might not. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Ling raised her hand promptly. “Gold ornaments, red paper, chests with orbs. Coins are worthless. Leave the gemstones.”

“Exactly. Red paper most of all.” He had learned from the Holy City of Hermes that gems fluctuated too wildly to sell without loss. Gold was stable. Cash was best of all. Please don’t let this one be an enthusiast of digital transactions.

He crouched over the body, reaching for the Force of Nature mounted near the man’s torso.

“Hold on.” Faldi’s expression shifted. “Why do I still sense magic?”

The others went still.

“The source isn’t gone. It’s growing.” She turned her head, scanning. Her eyes landed on the sculpture. “That monster — it’s alive.”

The sculpture opened its mouth.

A tongue shot out — long and whip-thin, like a frog’s, moving at the speed of a thrown blade. It aimed at Roland.

“Careful, Your Majesty!”

Phyllis stepped in front of him. Her claws rose to intercept.

But Roland had already reacted. He caught Phyllis at the waist and pulled, rolling sideways, and the tongue missed them both — burying itself into the bisected corpse on the floor instead. It coiled the Natural Core and jerked backward. The crimson core, which had been solid and still in Phyllis’s hand a moment ago, began to rotate the instant the creature touched it.

Insects swarmed out from the sculpture’s back, panicking in all directions. Roland understood immediately: they had been drawn to the creature’s magic power, nesting inside it. And because he couldn’t share what he was seeing with Faldi, she had registered the insects and the sculpture as a single source rather than two.

“A pack of martialists delivering themselves,” the sculpture said, and swallowed the core. Its voice emerged from the wrong place — not the mouth, but the chest, as though it were speaking through the hollow of itself. “Thieves in the sacred territory. You have no right to be here.” It inhaled, that vast carved chest expanding. “Go to hell.”

What came out was not fire or acid or any force Roland had encountered before. It was magic power in its raw state — a gust of blood-red air that unmade everything it touched. Furniture exploded. The matte curtains were struck and torn; Dawnen and Faldi, concealed within, were thrown and cut and dropped hard. Only the edge of the blast caught them rather than the center, or the result would not have been wounds.

Roland, closer to the source, found something remarkable: as the force hit him, the warmth in his body rose to meet it — spreading through his chest, his arms, his spine — and held. Like armor laid down between his organs and the impact.

“What kind of attack is this?” He had never seen magic power transformed directly into kinetic force. Whatever this creature was, it was not a Fallen Evil.

The witches’ faces confirmed it. Even Phyllis, who had fought Senior Demons in the real world, was looking at the creature with open shock.

“Its magic reaction is close to a Senior Demon’s,” Faldi said through her teeth. “How is that possible?”

“So you call my ancestors demons?” The creature’s voice had lost its theatrical quality. It shifted now, colder, flatter. “You trespass in the Divine Domain and steal from it — then use such words?” It snapped the mounting rivets from its own wings and leapt from the wall, landing in a deep crouch between the party and the exit. “I am a Chaser. You are nothing.”

“Divine Domain? Chasers?” Roland filed both words. “What is it talking about?”

From behind the creature, a thread of black shot from the shadow. Ling. The dagger crossed the space between them in an instant, entered through one eye and out through the back of the skull with a sound like ice cracking. Then she was gone again, back into the dark.

“Beautiful.” Phyllis breathed it like a verdict.

“Beautiful?” The creature did not fall. A fracture appeared across its wooden-looking face. When it spoke again, the voice had gone thin and cold, all affect stripped away. “Common metal and a trace of magic power. You have no understanding of the Divine Domain. I will show you what the Lord’s true strength looks like.”

A series of sounds split outward from the fracture — rapid, sharp, like a shell under pressure. The crack extended to its body, and the outer surface began to fall away in dark fragments. Beneath it was something else entirely.

The revealed interior glowed dark red, like blood illuminated from within. Small clusters of star jade pulsed inside its form. Gradually they pulled toward each other, converging into a single great ring at its chest.

Roland stared.

Not flesh. Not bone. Not shell.

A body formed entirely from magic power — and the star jades inside it were the machinery of that power, grinding slowly toward some terrible convergence.

This was not a Fallen Evil. This was not anything he had a category for.

A magical creature. That was the only term that applied.

Discussion

Suggest a change