The Reaper (Death) 2

Suppressing her thoughts, Sophia followed Doyun once more, with Rosinante hurriedly trailing behind after grasping the situation.

‘Sigh…’

Doyun steadied his racing heart with deep breaths.

His eyes stung dry, saliva tasting like blood, rage boiling over.

Already disliking this place, he now wished to kill everyone in sight.

‘Just a little…?’

He could actually do so without repercussions.

Excluding his companions, all others present were scum betraying the Alliance.

Deserving of poison gas and the blade.

Without realizing it, a thin, menacing aura began emanating from Doyun.

Then, a woman with night sky-violet hair brushed past his shoulder.

The saccharine drug scent provoked his fury.

“…”

“Oops, excuse me.”

As she continued walking ahead, she snickered.

A jingling came from her bosom, her pocket shifting.

‘Tch… heavy load there…!’

A gaunt face peeked out from under her robe before disappearing – clearly the culprit.

That bulk and weight was undoubtedly at least a silver coin purse…

“…?”

The stolen purse vanished.

Looking down, it rolled on the crimson-stained ground.

Not just the purse, but the hand clutching it as well.

“Kyaaaahh–!!”

An ear-splitting scream rang out as she crouched, clutching her severed wrist.

“My, my hand! Hand! I, I…”

Swiftly regaining her wits, she fell prone, having learned such survival instincts on these streets.

“Pl, Please spare me! I beg you!”

After briefly making eye contact with Doyun, she immediately understood.

‘Shit.’

She had provoked the wrong person.

A manic, murderous glint shone in Doyun’s eyes, distinct from his usual calm.

The brutal side from his 10th cycle, surfacing when overly stressed.

Elroar and Sophia averted their gazes, familiar with Doyun’s abhorrence for certain individuals and temperament. They were accustomed to him.

Only Rosinante briefly stiffened in surprise before relaxing, simply appearing bewildered.

However, he refrained from overreacting.

Having witnessed the Captain’s iron-blooded ways in the Cradle, Rosinante could roughly gauge his temperament. Timid but not naive.

“Spare me! Spare me! Please…”

“Open it.”

“Huh? Wha…”

The woman’s words caught in her throat as she looked up to question him.

Even lying prostrate at his feet, that thick, menacing aura was palpable. She sensed any further utterance would cost her life.

Clack clack clack.

Her chattering teeth produced feeble sounds.

Trembling violently, she opened the fallen purse as blood gushed like a faucet from her severed wrist – fear taking precedence over pain.

However, upon seeing its contents, she seemed to forget the agony.

“…Eh?”

Glistening, brilliant gold coins – at least 50.

Merely a coin purse to Doyun, but an exorbitant fortune an street-walker like her could never touch even in 10 lifetimes.

Unable to conceal her emotions, her astonishment and elation showed on her face, noticed by the observant onlookers.

“Take it and scram.”

“Huh?”

She began questioning again before flinching silent, desperately glancing around instead.

After trembling for about 4 seconds, she rose and scurried away, her wrist utterly forgotten.

Sacrificing one wrist for 50 gold coins? No joke – today was the luckiest day of her life.

However, as she entered an alleyway trailing an iron scent,

‘I, I’m rich now…’

Thump-

She lost consciousness.

Those lying in wait swarmed her like bees, viciously beating her down. The spilled coins swiftly disappeared into countless pockets.

Beneath the swarming crowd, the woman was already a battered corpse on the ground.

Watching this, Doyun let out a vexed sigh.

‘I thought I might feel a bit better…’

Seeing such cockroach-like scum only fueled his fury further.

Wretched beings betraying the Alliance. Scourges.

Licking his lips, his hand moved towards the sword hilt on his waist.

‘One clean slash would finish them all off…’

As his lips parted and a metallic gleam flashed from his waist,

“…?”

A 4-meter giant blocked his path.

“Captain!”

It was Rosinante.

“…”

After a moment’s contemplation, Doyun’s still smoldering gaze calmly met his, as if urging him to speak.

Rosinante flashed an awkward yet somehow amiable, vacant smile.

“Captain. I’ve heard Cocachoatl’s specialty is herbs. Herb tea, herb skewers, herb… Uh, there’s herb bread over there! Allow me to fetch some, would you care to try it?”

“…”

Doyun looked up at Rosinante with slightly widened eyes.

After a brief silence, he chuckled lightly before turning to resume walking.

“That’s just false marketing to increase drug addiction. They quite brazenly substitute dried narcotics for herbs when making food.”

“…! Re, Really…?”

“Well, your physique is unlikely to get addicted so easily. Didn’t you say you’d fetch it?”

“…”

Rosinante sweated profusely, his unfocused eyes swiveling erratically as his pectoral muscles comically twitched, as if expressing bewilderment.

Doyun smiled faintly as he plodded on, his relaxed hand retrieving more coins from his dimensional pocket into a different purse.

“The horsemeat from the neighboring town is quite renowned, we should dine there.”

“Hor, Horsemeat…?”

“Why? You dislike it?”

“No, not at all!”

Rosinante vigorously shook his head, spraying spittle and cold sweat.

Pocketing the purse, Doyun inhaled deeply, the drug stench no longer as pungent as before.

“Thank you, Rosinante.”

“Yes, yep! Please, enjoy to your heart’s content! Frrrruuurr-!”

As the 4-meter giant whinnied while enveloped in his thick robe, drawing attention, Doyun paid no heed as he continued with a lightened gait.

Over the 18 cycles of being weathered by time and war, Enoch had undergone significant changes.

In the 10th cycle, he had gone mad.

The loss of people and memories, the anguish of death, the formidable Dark Lord, the thorny, hopeless path – his psyche had consumed itself.

Ultimately, the 10th cycle Enoch had become a mere butcher.

All emotion had died, indifferent to everything, existing solely to mechanically grow stronger.

He had even acted with disregard for his life, engaging in perilous training or conflicts for experience.

Yet paradoxically, his survival rate had been highest during this period, alongside substantial progress. His life-disregarding habit had taken root as a side effect.

After enduring this way for some time, in the 13th cycle, he had perished from stress-induced heart failure.

From then on, Doyun had fled stress by indulging his desires – food and sex being the primary outlets.

This was why Enoch had gained renown as a refined gourmand and sommelier.

Of course, fine dining had been a mere stopgap, not a fundamental solution. Enoch’s psyche had continued deteriorating.

It was around then that he had befriended Hecleus and Viewsker.

‘Indeed…’

Ultimately, the answer had been people.

‘I suppose I have a good eye for comrades.’

Even afterwards, Rosinante continued chattering for Doyun’s sake, despite not being a talkative type, clearly making an effort.

Feeling admiration for Rosinante, Doyun smiled faintly.

And then.

“Ah, right. Besides horsemeat, another specialty from the neighboring town is…”

…

…

Doyun’s world froze.

[You are faced with intense mortal terror. ‘The Seventh Sense’ is activating to the extreme.]

[The ‘Seventh Sense’ skill has leveled up.]

His heart constricted, preparing for a powerful pump – survival instinct.

The dormant Dragon Heart blazed like the sun, an intense mana flow scorching his blood vessels.

Yet his body remained rigid.

Fingertips trembling, tense muscular contractions painfully constricting his joints.

Tensed back muscles pulled his shoulders taut, creaking joints stiffening his fingers.

‘I’m going to die.’

In this moment, Doyun recalled his 15th death.

Forcing his creaking, petrified body to move, he shoved Rosinante away with his palm, the giant lurching towards Sophia and Elroar.

Leaving their puzzled gazes behind, Doyun reached for his waist.

Lowering his stance, his Hecleus’s Style-infused legs sank into the Horse Stance.

Like an earthquake’s epicenter, gossamer cracks radiated outwards from his feet.

His body convulsed, expelling mana in desperation to survive.

[Ruozvolnick Style (柳) Kensai Grandis]

The legendary blade Yupiter emitted a golden radiance from its sheath.

A brilliant luminescence embodying the supreme will to slay demons (魔殺).

Yet unlike usual, the light flickered precariously like a candle, raging against terror.

The mightiest Warlord. One who would have attained the Dark Lord’s title had the Great Dark Lord not existed.

The continent’s deadliest assassin. The one who had delivered overwhelming death to the Alliance’s strongest.

There was no time to ponder why she was here.

[Kengenzakushi (Sword Manifestation: Enemy Demon, Kill on Sight)]

In this hell heralded by the Reaper’s advent, Doyun screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Run–!!”

The Reaper (Death) had come for him.