Chapter Seventy-Five: The Demon Grand Duke

The souls of the departed transformed into Vaid’s shield, willingly sacrificing themselves for him. Their courage and fury made them fearless in the face of death.

Vaid beheaded the necromancer who had brought untold suffering, his blade piercing the throbbing heart. The furious head rolled on the ground, and the headless corpse collapsed.

Casimodo’s proud corpse-poisoning spell was, to an undead, nothing but empty talk; Vaid felt no effect from the toxins. The stitched beast’s explosive corpse was countered by the souls of the departed, who met it with their own lives.

The conditions for victory had long been established.

Vaid was certain he had killed Casimodo Modovic. His instinct as a skeleton allowed him to sense any living creature, any trace of life.

A necromancer could not use a puppet or zombie as a substitute to deceive his soul-sight.

As a skeleton, his vision could not be obscured; nothing forged could escape his gaze.

Just as Casimodo instructed his undead hounds to find the hidden Tania people, so could Vaid find him.

Necromantic spells were nearly ineffective against Vaid.

Even the dead paved the way for him, swearing to destroy this evil man.

Vaid had destroyed Casimodo’s body, but the task was not yet complete—the mage’s soul remained.

The malice within that shell had not yet dissipated, but there was nothing to fear. With head severed from neck and heart pierced, the mage’s arcane power had scattered, his soul now exposed, weak as a candle flickering in the wind.

The feeble soul could no longer bind those resentful spirits. The specters that had once circled Casimodo found release; joyfully they chased the starlight above.

Remaining in this world brought them only pain.

They did not torment the mage’s soul or seek revenge—only rejoiced in their newfound freedom.

Under the moonlight, the wraiths gradually became transparent, faint glimmers drifting from their edges. No longer did they emit a dull glow, but merged into the river of starlight, dancing with the departed.

Vaid heard their words of gratitude; some shimmering lights descended, landing on his palm and transforming into pure, transparent crystals.

They resembled tears, or perhaps diamonds.

He sensed that these crystals contained a certain pure power, akin to the Heart of the Undead, yet distinctly different.

These diamond-like crystals were imbued with spirit, not mere material; he could not feel their weight.

He did not know the purpose of this gift from the wraiths, nor was it the time to ponder its use.

Even the mage’s soul could not be allowed to linger.

He placed the crystals in his pocket and called Mia. The little ghost floated over the corpse, extracting a dense cloud of black mist.

This was the mage’s remnant soul. Vaid ordered Mia to unravel and digest it, thus eradicating Casimodo Vic entirely.

If left unchecked, who knew what contingency a necromancer’s soul might have—perhaps even to revive himself as an undead.

To cut the grass, one must remove the roots; no future troubles can be allowed.

It seemed Mia would need some time to fully consume the soul, and Vaid could not yet relax.

Behind him, the bloated Demon Mother turned around.

She no longer charged at Vaid, but simply stood still.

She stood there with a disturbing calm, unnervingly tranquil.

The Demon Mother faced Vaid from afar—more accurately, faced Casimodo’s corpse.

The bizarre smile on her swollen, blood-red face suddenly grew more twisted.

Her enormous mouth gaped open, splitting to the very base of her ears.

Jagged, sharp teeth protruded, a sight both eerie and chilling.

She no longer hurled fireballs at Vaid. Instead, she raised her hands and, as if mutilating herself, plunged her fingers into her own eyes.

A guttural growl rumbled from the Demon Mother’s grotesque chest; dark red blood streamed from her eye sockets as she crushed her own eyeballs. Though her mouth was smiling, the sound that escaped was a baby’s cry.

Within that wailing, Vaid discerned a pattern resembling language.

The blood flowing from her eye sockets traced the contours of her massive body and, rather than running aimlessly, drew an ancient magic circle on the ground.

The scene was reminiscent of legendary demon summoning rituals. Vaid did not know what would happen, but anything involving demons could not bode well.

He raised his shining blade, intending to interrupt the Demon Mother’s ritual. But her gaping mouth suddenly widened, forming a vortex-like circular maw. A gale swept from behind, as she frenziedly inhaled, the suction from her mouth immense.

The demon had lost all semblance of normal form, becoming something unnamable—a mass of raw, bloody flesh.

Mia was buffeted by the wind. Vaid dropped his iron sword and reached out to seize her, lest she be swallowed by that abyssal maw.

Yet though he caught the little ghost, another thing slipped from his grasp.

Casimodo’s corpse!

Vaid suddenly understood what the Demon Mother aimed to do—she meant to devour Casimodo’s body!

The brand on the corpse's left arm and the sigil drawn in blood by the Demon Mother were identical.

That left arm, after the Demon Mother’s self-mutilation, again emitted a red glow.

There was no time to stamp or seize the corpse; everything happened too quickly. Vaid could only swing his sword, hoping to sever the body.

He managed to hack at Casimodo’s left arm, slashing several times in an instant. The powerful blade cleaved the limb, but the fragments of flesh and shattered bone swirled together in the wind, keeping the sigil intact.

An irresistible will and force preserved the pattern from interference. The Demon Mother successfully swallowed Casimodo’s corpse.

The demon closed its enormous mouth and fell silent.

The blood on the ground scorched the stone, releasing a lava-like radiance.

The surrounding air grew searing—though it was winter, waves of heat shimmered around the Demon Mother.

The snow in the square melted; even Vaid felt the heat. As a dead man, he should not have felt warmth, yet the burning sensation was as if he were alive.

Since becoming a skeleton, he had only felt temperature from Mia, and that was cold; this time, it was as if he were submerged in boiling water, stinging pain like ants biting spread through his soul.

Mia’s state abruptly worsened. Trembling, she whimpered and curled up in Vaid’s palm.

The mage’s soul, which Mia had extracted, was now pulled away, drifting toward the mass of flesh.

Mia watched the soul, reaching out her tiny hand. The black mist split into two, one large, one small. Mia hurriedly swallowed the smaller cloud, then pressed her hands tightly over her mouth, as if afraid her “meal” might be snatched away.

Something beyond all measure was about to descend.

The shining blade’s brilliance dimmed; even its hum faded. It seemed to become an ordinary iron sword, its sanctity suppressed by a greater evil, silenced.

The air congealed. Vaid felt he had entered a domain—a place he must never set foot in.

A phantom of flame emerged from the sigil.

As he beheld that shadow, countless images flashed before his eyes: magma and fire, black mist and volcanoes. Just the sight of it made him feel as though he would ignite.

Amid thousands upon thousands of visions, he heard countless voices chanting a name:

—Aym.

At the moment when he felt himself about to be reduced to ashes, his very soul burned away—

Suddenly, he heard singing.

A melodious, enchanting song carried from a distant land, echoing through a valley.

It was like a lullaby, soothing and calming the heart, dispelling the burning agony.

In that instant, Vaid saw only a lock of silvery, soft hair.

Silvery strands flowed in the wind, as fine as silk and as dreamlike as mist, with twinkling starlight among them.