Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

Chapter 649: The Favour From Lady Radiance

Knight Sheyi stood amidst the putrid air that clung to him like a second skin, his decayed features twisted into a grotesque smirk. "I saw the battle from afar," he rasped, his voice carrying both mockery and venom. "I won’t lie—I didn’t dare come closer. Watching Manu Madayaki and the Seer clash was like witnessing two calamities. With the power that monster wields, I’d long resigned myself to the fact that I’d never get my revenge on him."

He stepped closer, his rotting armor creaking with every movement, and pointed a decayed finger at Chiron. "But it seems the heavens have granted me mercy. Here you are, the so-called great Chiron, broken and battered. And now, I will be the one to end the great curse that is you."

Sheyi’s single eye burned with hatred as he looked Chiron up and down. "I can still sense it," he sneered. "Magic from Manu Madayaki clings to you like a stain. You carry his essence in your body. If I kill you—the origin of the curse afflicting me—then perhaps I can be free of this rot. After all, such is the law of magic!"

Chiron staggered, his vision swimming as he fought to remain upright. His teeth ground together as he bit down hard on his lips, drawing blood just to keep himself conscious. Most of his body had gone numb, the pain too overwhelming to process. Every breath was a struggle, his lungs burning with each inhale.

Still, he glared at Sheyi, defiance flickering in his crimson eyes. Devil’s Touch trembled in the air, but his dantain screamed in protest. A sharp tug within reminded him that there was no more energy left to spare. The walls of his dantain were cracked, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Chiron coughed up blood, the effort to summon his blade draining what little strength he had left. His weapon faltered, crashing to the ground as his knees buckled. Desperately, his mind reached for the Fate Change System, its familiar interface his only hope.

But the alerts flashing across his vision were a chaotic blur, and his pounding head made it impossible to focus.

Knight Sheyi chuckled, his raspy voice dripping with satisfaction. "Even the mighty Chiron has limits," he mocked. In a single leap, he launched himself into the air, his rotting form blotting out the moonlight.

Chiron looked up, his expression hard despite his trembling body. He knew this was the end. His mind braced for the final blow, the inevitability of his death looming like a shadow over him.

But then, the world seemed to shatter.

The air around him fractured like broken glass, shimmering fragments falling away to reveal an entirely new scene. For a moment, Chiron was disoriented, but then he heard it—a voice, soft and soothing, like a melody carried on the wind.

"I truly underestimated you," the voice whispered by his ear. "But you’ve done well. Consider this a small repayment for interrupting your work last time."

"Isn’t this a lovely homecoming?" the Clown said, his chuckle dry and hoarse as he struggled to prop her up. "Though I must admit, we make quite the grim spectacle. A miracle they haven’t thrown us out yet!" His laugh echoed in the cathedral, hollow and jarring against the heavy silence.

They entered the Holy Cathedral, a structure of unmatched beauty and mystique. Its walls and spires constructed from ever-moving glass, shifting and refracting the light in endless patterns, as if the building itself was alive. The kaleidoscope of colors shimmered and danced, a stark contrast to the grim procession of the Seer and her companion.

Clerics and priests froze at the sight of her, their faces a mix of shock and horror. Gasps filled the air, and a few of the younger clerics ran off, their panic evident. Whispers trailed in their wake:

"Is that the Seer?"

"How is she still standing?"

"Dear heavens, what has happened?"

The Seer ignored them all, her eyes fixed ahead as she dragged her mangled body down the cathedral’s central aisle. The Clown wobbled beside her, his bright laughter a twisted melody to the sound of her dragging steps.

At the altar, beneath the radiant beams of glass-light, sat a figure. He was young, with sharp features and glasses perched neatly on the bridge of his nose. His demeanor was calm, almost unnervingly so, as he reclined on the high chair of the altar.

On his lap rested the severed head of a woman. Her long hair spilled across his legs like a dark waterfall, her lifeless eyes staring into the void.

This was none other than the head of the Night Mistress of the Magicians, her beauty eerily preserved despite the absence of life.

The young man ran his fingers absentmindedly through her hair as though she were merely sleeping, his other hand gesturing animatedly as if he were telling her an amusing tale. His voice was low, and the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips as though he were entertaining a dear friend.

The Seer and the Clown paused before the altar...