[Aaah! Sis! I'm scared!]
[Brother! Help me!]
[Someone help me!]
The crying faces of the children.
Dantalian must have collected the faces of the children as they tried to escape the orphanage.
Vikir remembered a strange code of conduct he'd seen a while back.
It was probably meant to frighten the children to prevent them from running away, and to ensure that no one would reach out to the children who did.
And knowing all of this, Dolores was able to summon up an intensity of holy fire that she had never been able to muster before.
…Grumble!
A pure white flame began to engulf Dantalian's entire body.
[Aaah!?]
Dantalian writhed as his flesh burned.
However, Dolores was unable to see the scene.
"Bad... of all evil... you bastard!"
There's not much swearing she can do.
Her vision is blurred by the tears streaming from her eyes.
She lowered her head, unable to meet the eyes of the children suffering in the flames.
Her innate divine power was immense, but she hadn't yet acquired the practical experience to manifest it efficiently.
... But there was a veteran hand to make up for it.
Bam!
Vikir. The night hound bared its razor-sharp teeth again, slicing through a chunk of Dantalian flesh.
'This is an opportunity.'
Dantalian is engulfed in Dolores' flames, and the pain of the burning is terrible.
At this moment, if he slowly sliced through Dantalian's body, he had a chance.
…Whoosh!
A fiery aura exploded from the tip of Vikir's sword.
The sticky liquid aura that symbolized the Gradient Superlative had now become almost solid.
[Hmph!? How dare you on a mortal being!]
Dantalian stood up, his body burning with white flames, and drew out his purple tongues.
Boom! Clang! Clang!
Vikir's sword and Dantalian's tongues clashed fiercely.
Dozens of blows were exchanged in the blink of an eye.
But the skilled Vikir was no match for Dantalian's demonic speed, and he continued to attack.
Ta-ang!
Vikir felt his knuckles crack as Dantalian's tongue slammed down on his back.
'...Surely stronger than Andromalius.'
Andromalius, who was in the body of Set Les Baskervilles, was also a very high level demon of the Demon King class.
The difference was that back then, the knights of the House Baskerville had fought together, and Hugo Les Baskervilles had been the one to finish him off.
However, Vikir, who was now fighting Dantalian one-on-one, had a reliable ally.
"Night Hound, please step aside!"
Dolores formed a barrier of white flames in her hands.
Vikir, who had swung his sword without blinking or taking a breath during the high-speed exchange of blows, was able to step back behind the barrier and recover.
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle...
A white heat that consumed the darkness, sending Dantalian into the distance.
But Dantalian was in no mood for impatience.
[Ho, ho, ho! No human has ever pushed me like this before. Interesting, indeed].
"Interesting? Let's see if you can say that before you get fucked."
[Fucked? You mean you're going to kill me now? Ho, ho, ho. That's a lot of balls. Yeah.]
Dantalian pulled one of the gentleman's mustachioed faces forward, and then said softly.
[Aye. All humans believe they are special. Chosen. Unique. A hero who can kill demons and bring peace to the world. A protagonist. Something like that.]
His face soon changes into that of a seductive woman.
Then it changed to that of an innocent child, then that of a stubborn man, then that of a fierce old man.
A thousand faces. It was indeed a transformation worthy of Dantalian's face.
[But no, everyone in the world is special. Everyone is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. They're all protagonists, and they all have their own stories to tell].
At the same time, Dantalian exhaled a thick black mist from his mouth.
The mist filled the entire room in an instant, like smoke from a fire.
Flutter.
Three unpleasant objects fell in front of Vikir and Dolores, who stepped back.
They were dull leather sacks, similar to the ones that Ephebo, Hebe, Pedo, and Geronto had once worn over their faces.
The leftmost sack wriggled.
…gasp!
Black blood stirred on the surface of the thin leather sack.
And then.
… thud! … thud! … thud!
The three leather sacks began their mad rampage.
Their ominous flailing was like the sacks covering a condemned man's face as he wriggles on the brink of death.
Dantalian smiled with satisfaction, as if he had already seen inside the sack.
[...Now, shall we hear your story?]
* * *
In the dense fog.
Dolores looked around for Dantalian, who had disappeared behind the fog.
"What is this fog? It doesn't disappear even with divine power."
"...Be careful."
Vikir had faced Dantalian before.
His attack patterns were somewhat predictable.
Then, he saw one of the three black sacks floating in the air open wide.
Vikir spoke in a dry voice.
"That is the 'Sack of Shame' carried by Dantalian the Face Collector."
"...?"
Dolores scratched her head.
The sack of shame turned toward Dolores and pulled something out of it.
Dolores's expression instantly turned to horror as she saw what was inside.
"Ouch! What?"
It was Dolores herself who emerged from the sack.
[....]
The fake Dolores looks at him with an expressionless face.
Vikir calmly explained.
"The Sack of Shame causes the target to make a face of shame. It's a mental attack by bringing their most shameful memories to life."
So what I'm about to see is a recreation of one of Dolores' most humiliating memories in her life.
It's a terrifying technique that not only breaks down the bond between colleagues in an instant, but also makes you lose your composure.
... but?
Shhh-
After walking out of the sack of shame, Dolores didn't do much.
The only thing she did was pee her pants ....
"...."
"...."
Vikir and Dolores shut their mouths at the same time, as if they had made a pact.
"I'm dead!"
Dolores immediately unleashed a burst of white flames that blew away the sack of shame.
[Ack!? What the hell, how did you overcome the face of shame so easily?!!]
Dantalian's bewildered cry could be heard from beyond the fog.
Apparently, overcoming this illusion would damage the demon beyond.
And then. The next sack came to life and opened its gaping mouth at Dolores.
Vikir's expression hardened.
"Next, the 'Sack of Fear'. It causes the opponent to make a face of fear."
In other words, you bring out the face that scares them the most.
The thing that emerged from the sack of fear stood before Dolores.
It was a middle-aged man with a stern expression.
Vikir recognized his face at once.
"Cardinal Humbert!
The godfather of the Old Order and Dolores's biological father.
Dolores' expression stiffened as Humbert's face appeared.
"Oh, my father..."
He was so flustered, he couldn't even speak.
[Dolores, why are you out here at this hour? Have you done your homework?]
Cardinal Humbert stares down at Dolores in a commanding manner.
The whip in his hand was making her pupils dilate uncontrollably.
"That, that...."
Dolores breaks out in a cold sweat, but she can't meet Humbert's gaze.
Just then.
A snap.
There was a blow that blew Cardinal Humbert's head off.
Vikir. He had intervened in Dolores's memory.
"...The illusion is only an illusion. There is nothing to fear."
At the sound of Vikir's voice, Dolores let out the breath she'd been holding.
A cold sweat trickled down her cheeks and onto her chin.
"S-sorry. I don't have a good relationship with my father. For a moment, I forgot that it was an illusion."
"... understands."
Vikir nodded, not asking any further questions.
There was only one sack left.
"...That is the Sack of Love."
Dolores nodded at Vikir's words.
At this point, I know what to expect. Perhaps the face of his beloved.
But even for Dolores, it was hard to predict exactly what face she would find.
She couldn't remember a time in her life when she could say with confidence that she had ever loved someone.
Sure, he'd been guided by the Rune Order's law of "love your neighbor," but Dantalian's "love" wouldn't be that "love.
And then.
Tsutsutsutsuts...
What emerged from the sack of love began to take shape.
It was a man dressed in some sort of black robe.
A black cloak covered his body, a top hat covered his head, and a grotesque mask shaped like a stork's beak covered his face.
It was the Night Hound.
"...."
"...."
For a moment, there was an awkward silence between Vikir and Dolores.
"Is this ...?"
"Oh, no, that sack is weird, it drives people crazy!"
Vikir slowly turned his head, and Dolores threw up her hands in frustration.
Just then, from beyond the fog, Dantalian's sneer could be heard.
[Ho-ho-ho! My sack is honest, even more so than yours, and will pick up on the smallest emotion you have hidden in the deepest recesses of your heart and bring it out, even if you didn't know it!]
Dolores's face turned bright red at those words, like a confirmation.
"Wait! You're wrong, I swear! ...No, not really, but anyway, I never thought of that...!"
"...."
Once again, Vikir said nothing.
He simply drew his sword and engaged the night hound before him.
Bang, bang, bang!
Backed by the holy flame of a saint, Vikir easily drove his sword into the night hound's body, dispersing it into a handful of mist.
"Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be able to replicate the power of its body."
That was probably because Dantalian hadn't yet drawn on his magic reserves.
For when they had met in the Age of Destruction, before the regression, Dantalian had been able to recreate his opponent's face in his memory, and even his strength.
Vikir felt fortunate to have found Dantalian so soon.
Meanwhile.
"...."
St. Dolores stirred, unable to speak.
Vikir pondered for a moment what he should say to her.
…Clunk!
The three sacks began to move again.
[Ho-ho-ho-ho I didn't really expect much from a saint, I mean, what kind of a punk would have a past like that].
"...."
[However, I do expect something from you,]]
Dantalian's words were aimed squarely at Vikir.
A demonic technique that could draw out and manifest a target's shameful memories, fears, and love ones.
It was now unfolding against Vikir.
Coming up.
Tsutsutsutsuts...
The first, the Sack of Shame, has begun to sift through Vikir's memories and recreate them in the present.
Next.
Landscapes and objects began to materialize in the mist.
"...huck!?"
It was enough to make Dolores gasp.
[...er?]
Even Dantalian, the creator of the illusion, was at a loss for words.
A sky stained black. A mountain of corpses. Rivers of blood.
The center of a world where everything has been destroyed.
A single tall pillar stood above the horrifyingly barren ground.
Dolores's gaze naturally traveled to the top of the pillar.
And soon, the 'something' at the top of the pillar imprinted itself deeply on her retinas.
A head.
A severed head, laid out in a grotesque display.