Chereads / Chronicle's of the Nameless Shadow (Serialized) / Chapter 10 - Of Blood and Broken Bones

Chapter 10 - Of Blood and Broken Bones

"Lesser Cure Wounds."

I muttered the incantation softly, a faint green glow enveloping me as I healed my battered body. I glanced down at Cedric, who writhed on the floor.

"Are you curious?"

I grabbed the ruby necklace from around his neck and started dismantling the traps strewn about the room.

"Curious why you cannot move, even with that miraculous recovery necklace?"

The traps, while effective, needed to be cleared before anyone returned to the mansion. The reason I set another trap in the closet was, though I had coated my dagger with the same concoction, it was sheer luck I managed to stab him. I needed another card to secure his death.

"Kgghhh... Grgrraahhh!!!"

Even in this state, he could still growl? His willpower—or his hatred for me—was impressive.

Not that it mattered. No matter how much noise he made, the Area of Silence spell he had cast still cloaked the room.

"You see, the string I set near the door was just a decoy." I spoke as I worked, more to distract myself from the rush of adrenaline than to entertain him.

Cedric's body jerked slightly as if he wanted to lunge at me.

Pathetic.

"While I was busy scanning the mansion for the safest place to hide Lucia, you relied on your keen sense of smell, sneaking in through the window. I knew you'd think that unguarded entrance was your ticket in."

Cedric's glare intensified. He must have realized how thoroughly he'd been played.

"The moment you believed my trap failed, I've already won."

It had been a simple psychological game—prolong the battle, frustrate him, and bait him into triggering the real trap. A little perfume was all I needed to set the stage.

"I'm glad you have such a keen sense of smell. It made planning your strength so much easier."

That prized ability of his had betrayed him at the crucial moment. 

In his anger, he'd recklessly boosted his power with the Demonic Imprint—a move that sealed his fate.

"The Demonic Imprint sure is convenient, to harness that much Arcane energy far beyond your mana capacity... Impressive, really."

At those words, Cedric's eyes widened, a flicker of panic replacing his fury.

Ah, so he understood.

The Demonic Imprint was thought to be a lost relic of magic, its secrets buried for over a thousand years. And yet, here I was, casually mentioning it as if it were common knowledge.

"Mana Deficiency," I explained, crouching down to meet his panicked gaze. "That's what you're experiencing now. Imagine the pain of overloading your mana core, multiplied by tenfold. That's your reality."

Cedric thrashed weakly, his lips twitching as if he wanted to scream. I wasn't sure if he could still hear me through the torment, but I kept talking regardless. My own heart was still racing from the fight.

"I know of a certain grass that can significantly reduce Mana Deficiency pain, do you know how it works?"

I noticed his face moved in rage. Good, he was still listening.

"It's well known that drinking a mana potion while in a state of Mana Deficiency is fatal. The recovering mana core becomes confused and shuts down entirely."

If you recover your mana using a potion during its repairing state, the core will be unable to react.

Even just a drop would be deadly.

"The grass I mentioned? I boiled it into a liquid for my traps, but there's a very specific condition you must avoid when using it..."

...

"When you release an excessive amount of Arcane energy—far surpassing your mana limit—after absorbing the concoction," I explained, finishing the last of my cleanup, "it triggers a reaction."

Normally, such an act would be impossible. Casting a spell beyond one's mana capacity is a death sentence. But with the Demonic Imprint.

"That reaction kicks in immediately, alarming your body as though it's entered Mana Deficiency—even if it hasn't."

 A hint of recognition in Cedric's gaze. He understood now, at least partially.

"This confusion tricks your mana core, forcing it to act as if the false alarm were genuine. The core overreacts, forcibly pushing your body into a Mana Deficiency state. Whether you like it or not."

I dusted off my hands, standing over him as I finished dismantling the last trap.

"I'm sure you already know why the pain feels so... unbearable now, don't you?"

The realization was written all over him, as if he hated that I was right.

"I just added a couple of mana vials into the grass liquid." I can't help give him a slight smirk.

"A touch of irony, isn't it? The demonic power you yearn so much, was the reason for your final defeat. The very same deadly effect as drinking a mana potion mid-repair—except tailored to your particular taste."

Good luck surviving that. You wouldn't.

"So," I added, leaning in just slightly, "how does it feel to be killed by your own powers?"

A concoction specifically brewed to kill users of Demonic Magic, I'd have to think of a name for it later.

That's the danger of playing with unstable power. Far too many drawbacks, and far too little consideration.

"But what did I expect?" I muttered, mostly to myself. "Your kind—idiots chasing delusions of reviving the Demon Lord—would never learn."

Cedric's breaths came in ragged gasps, his hatred giving way to resignation. He knew the truth as well as I did.

"You might not know this, but your Order? It's destined to fall. One day, a hero will rise to stop you. It happened a thousand years ago, and it'll happen again."

They'd been crushed once already. What made them think this time would be any different?

"Though, for the record, that hero isn't me. I'm just an average bystander in the grand scheme of things."

That's the truth. I wasn't some chosen savior or a noble warrior.

"But you? For all the demonic strength you were blessed with, you couldn't even kill an average person. You're nothing but a circus act."

Cedric's glassy eyes glared up, then fading.

"Looks like you're losing consciousness." I stood up, slipping the necklace into my pocket. "I'm done here. Now, let's pay a visit to your dear sir Benjamin."

I left Cedric sprawled on the cold floor, his body convulsing weakly. His eyes remained wide open, refusing to close as the last breath escaped his lips.

---

Benjamin stood over Gerrard's motionless body, blood pooling around the fallen Captain.

A direct hit with the full strength of his demonic magic—no one should have survived that, not without enchanted armor or defensive spells.

The Captain had been an unanticipated obstacle, but he was dealt with, albeit at the cost of precious time.

Benjamin's narrowed eyes scanned the tunnel.

How did he even find this place?

The thought lingered, but he had no time to dwell on it. He had to move swiftly. His mission was clear: kill the Viscountess's daughter before any more complications arose.

"Hm?"

Benjamin's gaze flicked back to Gerrard. A twitch. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. His brow furrowed in disbelief.

Impossible.

"That punch was meant to kill," he muttered, taking a step closer, scrutinizing Gerrard's unmoving form.

But then, to Benjamin's astonishment, Gerrard began to move. Slowly, agonizingly, the Captain pushed himself off the ground, grunting in pain.

"It is a shame..." Benjamin said, sliding another dagger from his sleeve. "I thought the Viscountess had a good eye for people. Why waste someone like you as a mere Captain?"

Despite his injuries, Gerrard staggered to his feet, swaying but upright. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes burned.

How many times must I kill you before you finally die?

"You should've played dead."

Gerrard ignored him.

"I see. So be it."

Benjamin lunged, his dagger a blur, enhanced by the speed of his demonic magic. Gerrard didn't move. He stood, seemingly too weak—or perhaps unconscious—to react.

He doesn't even flinch, Benjamin thought. Maybe his body's moving on instinct...

Fine. Your death will be painless.

THUMP!

"Kgghh-?!"

Benjamin's eyes widened as pain exploded across his face. Gerrard's fist had connected, sending him flying backward.

"What the—"

Blood poured from Benjamin's nose as he clutched his face in disbelief. His head spun as he tried to process what had just happened.

Gerrard stood firm, his bloodied fist still raised. His expression was devoid of mercy.

What is he...?

Benjamin pushed himself up, but before he even could regain his footing, another fist barreled into his face.

The world tilted violently. His ears rang, and his vision blurred.

This is bad. I need to regain the momentum.

Benjamin managed to find an opening between the Captain's brutal strikes. With precision, he plunged his dagger deep into Gerrard's right bicep, piercing through armor and muscle alike.

"That should do it," he panted, staggering back. "That arm's useless now—"

But Gerrard didn't stop. The dagger remained embedded in his arm, yet it didn't slow him.

...What?

Another punch came, smashing into Benjamin's ribs and sending him sprawling.

I cut his muscle. I hit him with demonic magic. What kind of monster—

He didn't know Gerrard's past. Few did.

Before serving the Viscountess, Gerrard had been a forest bandit—caught and conscripted by the old king to fight in a brutal civil war.

It was there that Gerrard earned the name "Raging Berserker." On the brink of death, his body would activate a survival mechanism: a state where he no longer felt pain and his strength surged beyond human limits.

This "Berserk" state made him unstoppable on the battlefield. Not even the kingdom's knights could match his raw power.

But it wasn't invincible. During the war, Gerrard had been subdued in under a minute by the Viscountess herself. Instead of killing him, she offered him a position in her service.

Never a man for loyalty, he quickly switched sides to save his life.

At the time, he didn't understand the purpose of the war; it seemed like a struggle between two royals for power, with nobles vying for scraps of leftover glory.

To him, the outcome made little difference.

He was young and ignorant.

Looking back, he was grateful Lady Leticia found him that day. Without her, he might have died in one of the battles for the mad king.

A ruler who enslaved other races, committed massive corruption, and caused the common folk to suffer.

Gerrard kept asking himself over and over why he ever thought slavery was a normal thing.

After the new king claimed the throne and banned such acts, living alongside the demihumans, he realized they were never so different.

Despite initial caution and distrust on both sides—humans cynical and demihumans justified resentment, they began to accept each other over time.

Understanding the real culprits were the old king and the corrupt nobles, and seeing how the new king punished and immediately executed those who still practiced slavery, the demihumans began to forgive, even if just a little.

Gerrard in his former day would laugh at the current him, who's trying to protect those places.

Rosemount, he was glad to serve.

"I don't know what your plan is for this city," Gerrard growled, blood dripping from his lips. "But I won't let it succeed."

His voice carried a murderous intensity, one Benjamin hadn't felt in years.

"I WILL KILL YOU HERE AND NOW, ASSASSIN!" He will risk his life again, not for profit from his banditry days, not for war either, but to protect something important.

"TALK BIG FOR A DYING MAN!" Benjamin roared back, lunging forward with his blade.

The two collided in a violent clash. Benjamin's dagger, infused with demonic energy, found its mark, piercing Gerrard's chest and carving a gaping wound in his solar plexus.

Gerrard coughed up blood, his strength fading.

It's over, Benjamin thought, trying to withdraw.

But Gerrard's hand clamped down on Benjamin's arm, holding the dagger in place.

"Caught you."

With a sickening crunch, he crushed Benjamin's arm, eliciting a scream of agony. Then, with his remaining strength, Gerrard swung his fist.

Benjamin saw it coming. Time seemed to slow. But no matter how much he willed himself to dodge, his body wouldn't respond.

His life flashed before his eyes—memories of hatred, violence, and suffering. No joy. No peace. Only the faces of his victims, staring back at him.

Innocent victim, deserving victim, all cursing his name.

The fist connected.

SPLAT.

Benjamin's head exploded in a gruesome mess, flesh and bone scattering across the tunnel walls.

Gerrard collapsed moments later, falling beside the assassin's lifeless, headless body.

Related Books

Popular novel hashtag