Ch.100100. Septimus (2)

With a bright smile on his face, feeling as if he could fly, Septimus raced excitedly through the streets.

Part of his anticipation came from the fact that he would kill that cursed sow of a woman—with her damnable mouth and disgusting mind, bloated with fat—with his own two hands rather than through some indirect, curse-like means.

But more than that, Septimus felt the blessing of the great Red-Robed King enveloping his body, and the sensation that stirred his very soul was what moved him most, making him tremble with emotion.

It was a pleasure like ecstasy, as if his spirit had left his body and was flying freely through the sky, continuously stimulating and dominating his mind.

Because of this, Septimus ran mindlessly, unaware of how much time had passed, and somehow arrived at the guild headquarters building despite it being a distance that would normally take 20 minutes to walk.

‘…Phew.’

The moment the guild headquarters building came into view, Septimus rapidly regained his senses as if cold water had been splashed on him. He briefly considered his infiltration route before reaching a conclusion.

‘I’ll climb the wall.’

Having made this decision in an instant, Septimus immediately strengthened his body with the blessing, then repeatedly jumped up the wall until he reached the roof of the three-story building.

And then, using knowledge gained from years of working there, he precisely located where that bitch’s office was, skillfully opened the window, and entered.

‘…What a sight.’

“Snore… wheeze, snore… wheeze, snore… wheeze, snore… wheeze.”

After infiltrating Meladona Fork’s office, he quietly muttered to himself as he saw the fat sow sprawled out, snoring.

The office was plastered with all sorts of precious metals, jewels, and artworks as if to flaunt wealth, but it actually looked grotesque and tacky even to Septimus, who had little knowledge of art.

Moreover, the expensive-looking carpet woven with gold thread on the floor was stained with food scraps and spilled alcohol, and garbage was strewn everywhere as if to evidence her gluttony.

The place was such a mess that calling it a pigsty would be an insult to pigs. With genuine disgust, Septimus cast a sound-blocking barrier around the entire office and then raised his dagger—

“What…? You, you! What are you trying to d—”

—Slash!

“AAAAARRRGGHHH!!!”

Meladona Fork was granted death one hour later.

After Septimus’s other self had arrived at work.

※ ※ ※

That day, after Meladona Fork was found brutally murdered.

Unexpectedly, there were no significant changes at his workplace.

The new guild master, dispatched directly by the head of the Fork family, was quite competent unlike Meladona, and even actively supported the hardworking Septimus by appointing him to an important position.

As a result, Septimus found social stability with his increased income, but for some reason…

Perhaps because he felt he couldn’t properly repay the grace he had received from the great Red-Robed King, he developed a sense of debt that left him with constant anxiety in a corner of his mind.

It was a psychological state difficult to comprehend by normal standards, but Septimus was quite severely afflicted by this sense of debt.

Having received power beyond his station from a transcendent being he unilaterally worshipped, yet unable to do anything appropriate in return, Septimus judged this to be due to his own lack of ability.

Thus, Septimus slowly descended into fanaticism.

Whenever he was alone, he would mutter prayers given to him by the cult, and almost daily he would harm himself, offering his blood as sacrifice.

Though he still retained enough rationality to hide his worship of this god of vengeance, the very fact that he engaged in such behavior would mark him as an excellent fanatic by any normal standard.

‘Ugh, what’s that… disgusting.’

Anyway, as Septimus spent his days in self-atonement that pleased no one except himself—not even the deity he worshipped—something happened.

After his self-harm reached an extreme point where he left the cult’s permanent symbol on his chest, did his fanaticism finally overflow into delusion?

‘That’s right… there must be meaning in sending me such a holy relic!!!’

Going beyond merely considering himself a sinner, Septimus became convinced that something had been bestowed upon him. Now consumed by an unfounded sense of mission, he became obsessed with proving his worth to the god of vengeance by fulfilling some glorious task he believed had been assigned to him.

Since this was a story that had reached completion in his own mind without any external interference, it was nearly impossible to resolve this delusion.

Thus, with a mind trapped in his own world, Septimus decided that his glorious (not really) mission for the god of vengeance would be to assassinate the current Tribune.

Tribune—an elected position in the Roman Empire where two individuals are chosen by citizen vote. Though often mocked as mere puppets of the Senate, they were undeniably among the highest authorities in the Roman Empire.

And one of these two Tribunes was currently leading the charge against those who worshipped the god of vengeance, the Cult of Vengeance, both by the Senate’s will and his own conviction.

In truth, from the perspective of a leader who should govern the nation by law, the Cult of Vengeance, which affirmed private retribution, was an anti-state organization even in the most positive light.

So while he might genuinely believe he was upholding justice for the rule of law and social order… how could such justifications work on a fanatic like Septimus, whose self-absorption, victimhood, and religious fervor had merged into one?

Therefore, Septimus, who had meticulously crafted what he considered a detailed and elaborate plan, and who had even begun receiving support from the Cult of Vengeance, finally decided to target the Tribune during a public speech.

At this point, Septimus was inwardly certain of his success.

The Tribune, being a bureaucrat, had no military power of his own, whereas Septimus, as the chosen one, had received all sorts of blessings.

Thus, he was prepared to fend off mere guards, and the cult had even secured him a seat closest to the podium.

In Septimus’s mind, failure would be more surprising, which only made him more confident as he finally executed his plan.

“Those evil groups threaten innocent citizens and ignore the rule of law—”

“Die, you heretic!”

On the day of the speech, having quietly hidden among the crowd, he leaped forward like a shot at the very moment the speech reached its climax, empowering his enhanced body and shouting those words.

Never doubting that the blade of his sacred relic would pierce that heretic—the Tribune—Septimus lunged with a triumphant smile, aiming the dagger precisely at the throat, but—

“Die, you vermin.”

—Slash!

Thud!

That smile dissolved when the blades of two soldiers—mid-level warriors who were also centurions—standing on either side of the Tribune sliced through his body.

“Aaaaarrrgghhh!!!”

His right arm holding the dagger was cleanly severed and flew far away, followed by both legs being cut off by swords that wrapped around his thighs, causing him to fall to the ground like a worm.

Perhaps because three of his limbs had been severed in an instant, Septimus writhed in agony, howling from the piercing pain throughout his body… when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

What was the cause of this perfect plan’s failure?

After pondering various ideas for what felt like a long time in his slowed perception, Septimus reached a conclusion without hesitation.

‘Yes, it was my insufficient faith…’

That’s right. According to Septimus’s judgment, the cause of failure was his lack of faith.

He had been immodest, overestimated himself, acted arrogantly—behavior that could be considered heretical even for a believer.

Having concluded that his current state was only natural, he immediately reached another conclusion.

All this happened because he had tried to continue living for himself.

Therefore, he must let go of all attachments.

“Remember me!!!”

And so, writhing on the ground with most of his limbs severed, he suddenly shouted toward the sky, then raised his only intact left arm upward.

“Stop him!”

Someone who noticed that the dagger he should have lost was now in his raised left hand shouted, but Septimus was faster.

—Squelch!

Without the slightest hesitation, he plunged the dagger into his chest, and suddenly a sinister red light erupted from his body as his flesh began to swell.

“Damn it!”

Clang!!

And one step faster than the mid-level warrior guard who thrust his sword at him.

[■■■■■■■■■■—!!!]

Septimus had already transformed into a monster—an abomination—driven mad by either divine curse or excessive divine blessing.