The Mad Dog of the Duke's Estate-Chapter 147

The Commander slowly opened his eyes.

This was a sacred ceremony, a blood offering to the late emperor. No one was permitted to disturb it. And yet, someone had arrived to disrupt this solemn ritual. He was able to sense it even without venturing up to the first basement floor.

"Who dares..." he muttered, his voice heavy with malice.

He picked up the staff resting by his side and turned toward the thick iron door. It was a double-layered barrier that, to the untrained eye, appeared plain. But it served a deadly purpose—at the first sign of intruders, the magic woven into the door would activate, shattering it into lethal fragments that would tear any foolish intruder to shreds.

"Incompetent fools," he growled.

The first basement floor was laced with traps and guarded by knights of at least the 5-Star level. The very fact that someone had reached this depth meant every defensive measure had been breached. Their hideout had been compromised. The Commander wondered who could be responsible.

To break through so swiftly would require at least two full Imperial Guard squads. Considering the overwhelming speed of the breach, it seemed likely that a guard commander-level warrior had personally intervened.

"I suppose the mission at the Academy failed," the Commander said to himself. He thought there could be no other explanation. And that idiot Bail had no doubt spilled everything under interrogation.

Still, the Commander remained unfazed. He had prepared for this scenario, so a short-range teleportation circle was already in place. It was only a matter of inflicting damage on the intruders through the iron door and calmly slipping away.

"Come," he said darkly. At the tip of his staff, immense quantities of mana began to gather.

However, before he could properly react...

BOOM!

The iron door erupted in a storm of flames and shattered into pieces.

"You wretch!" the Commander roared.

Whoosh!

Before the iron door collapsed completely, the Commander's spell was completed.

CRASH!

In an instant, the red-hot iron door exploded, scattering shards in all directions. The torrent of molten shrapnel consumed the corridor, a storm designed to rip through flesh and bone alike. Even the most skilled knights couldn't hope to withstand such destruction unscathed.

The Commander smirked, satisfaction curling his lips as he looked at the iron door. But then, from within the haze of dust and debris, a dark, blue-tinged glow flickered ominously.

A voice rang out, casual and mocking.

"Well that was fun. You should also experience it too," Caron said.

The fragments came hurtling back toward the Commander, who recoiled in fright and hastily conjured a protective barrier. However, the shards easily shattered the shield and lodged themselves into his body.

"Urghhh..." A strangled groan escaped his lips as he staggered.

Then, a young man emerged from beyond the wreckage, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Building a place like this right under the capital's nose. The world's getting pretty interesting, huh?" Caron said. His tone was anything but serious, dripping with insolence.

The Commander recognized him at once.

"Caron... Leston."

It was Caron Leston, the youngest of the Ducal Family of Leston, who deserved to be cursed. He was the grandson of the despicable Halo Leston, who deserved to be torn to shreds. There was no doubt about it.

"Once I kill you, this assassination will be completed because you're the last witness," Caron said with a crooked grin as he sauntered deeper into the basement chamber.

The Commander pressed his staff, which had landed at his feet, against the altar. Then, the parts of his body pierced by shards quickly began to regenerate. He shot Caron a sharp glare as he asked, "Did you come alone?"

Caron nodded with a big smile, then said, "I'm the type who prefers to move alone."

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"I've heard of your arrogance. Laughing so easily when you've already dug your own grave..." the Commander replied.

"The only one fit for a grave here is an old man like you," Caron retorted with a smirk, his eyes scanning the room.

Unlike the first basement floor, this level had no separate rooms. The space was a single open expanse. In its center stood a bloodstained altar, surrounded by five iron cages. From within came ragged breathing, the unmistakable sound of prisoners.

"Sir Luke did mention that there were a lot of reports on missing people in this area. Seems we've found the reason," Caron remarked.

The stench of blood thickened the air—a pungent, oppressive odor that had built up over a long time. Any ordinary person would have fainted from a single breath.

"Is this all you've prepared?" Caron taunted.

Perhaps it was because they were already exposed, but the Commander no longer bothered concealing his dark mana.

"Ah, it's been a while. Time for a feast. I love it," Guillotine whispered in Caron's mind, satisfaction in its voice.

Caron narrowed his eyes, gauging the Commander's strength. He seemed to be at a similar level as the one who had tried to summon the Demon King last time. In other words, he was a 7th Circle dark mage.

However, the dark mana that guy wielded was all too familiar to Caron. It was a kind of dark mana he could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

"The Malevolent Emperor," Caron muttered.

It was the very same dark mana that the Malevolent Emperor had bestowed upon his servants. There was no way Caron could possibly forget the dark mana that had held his soul captive throughout his entire previous life.

"Where did you get that dark mana?" Caron asked, his tone sharp.

The Commander chuckled darkly and answered, "The Malevolent Emperor granted it to me personally. A gift beyond your comprehension, you brat."

Whoosh.

With a deep hum, dark mana emanated from the Commander and began to fill the entire second basement floor. His robe flapped as his aged face came into view, lined with deep wrinkles. That face undeniably resembled someone Caron remembered.

"If I offer the grandson of a traitor as a sacrifice, the late emperor will surely be pleased," the Commander sneered.

Boom!

The Commander's dark mana tore apart the cages. Then, several humanoid monsters came bursting out from within the iron bars. Citizens infected with variant maw worms began running toward Caron.

"I'll be sure to deliver news of your death personally to your grandfather," the Commander said.

"Aha." A spark of realization flashed in Caron's eyes. "Now I remember."

He swung his sword with a casual flick of his wrist.

Sssssss.

A fog unfurled from his sword, spreading through the charging figures. It was Oceanwolf Sword Arts Form 7: Sea Fog.

The fog moved with surgical precision, slicing tendons with eerie accuracy. The infected citizens froze mid-charge, trapped in the enchanted haze. It was swordsmanship so masterful, it bordered on magic.

But what made the Commander's eyes widen in disbelief was what Caron said next.

"Nur. That's your name, right?" Caron asked. He finally remembered the Commander's name.

The Malevolent Emperor's lackey—one of the vermin who had spread cruelty under the Emperor's shadow.

"...How... How did you know?" Nur, the Commander, asked.

"Are you curious?" Caron raised Guillotine to Nur's throat, his smile turning predatory as he continued, "I'll tell you—right before you die."

"You insolent—" Nur began, but was cut off.

"You can look forward to it," Caron interrupted. Having drawn upon his mana, he whispered in a low voice, "Beating up old men like you is my specialty. A great troublemaker doesn't discriminate, even against elders."

To Caron, age was nothing but a number.

***

The battle began in earnest. Caron's first move was to block Nur's escape.

There was a short-range teleportation circle inscribed in the far-right corner of the second floor. Ignoring the dark magic bombarding him, Caron strode through the onslaught and smashed the circle with ease. He didn't expect it to work anyway—not with Pluto's interference—but it was best to be thorough.

The situation favored him more than ever.

The ocean he wielded had grown mightier since he reached 7-Star. The enchanted armor, Kavana, was overflowing with mana that soaked up Nur's dark magic with ease. On top of that, the mana absorbed by Kavana flowed directly into Guillotine. Purified by the sword, the mana surged endlessly into Caron's core, granting him an unceasing wellspring of strength.

Azure Mana coursed through the veins of the Leston family; it was a force inherently opposed to dark mana. With both Guillotine and Kavana amplifying that natural advantage, the balance of power tipped decisively in Caron's favor.

"...This... This can't be!" Nur cried as he lashed out, pouring every ounce of his dark magic into a desperate assault. Black flames roared, poisonous mist swirled, and curses hissed through the air.

He unleashed everything he had, straining to stop Caron as the latter shattered his defenses one after another. This was power personally bestowed by the late, great emperor himself—a gift of unparalleled might. And yet, it was crumbling before Caron's relentless onslaught. Even as Nur witnessed it with his own eyes, he couldn't believe it.

The altar, sustained by countless sacrifices, granted Nur an inexhaustible reservoir of dark mana. But not even that could guarantee his victory.

Boom!

A blast of fire so intense it could have reduced the entire floor to ash fizzled uselessly against the blade of Caron's dark blue-hued sword.

Nur wondered if it was just his imagination that it seemed as if the young brat was getting stronger with every passing moment.

"This was a grand plan I've been preparing for a long time," Nur snarled.

He had endured fifty years for this moment. Fifty long years of patience, nursing the bitter memory of the last emperor's unjust fall, being driven into exile by traitors... All that time, Nur had toiled to carry forward the great emperor's will.

Finally, he had taken the first step. If he had been granted just a bit more time, death would have seeped into the very heart of the capital. From the tragedy at the academy, a wave of terror would have spread throughout the city.

But history repeated itself. Once again, the bloodline of the Ducal Family of Leston thwarted their ambitions.

"Die!" Nur yelled.

A dark, decaying hand burst from the floor, gripping Caron's leg. It was the 7th Circle dark magic: Decay. It corroded everything it touched, dissolving life and matter alike.

But it didn't even leave a scratch on Caron.

Slash!

Caron flashed by, slicing through Nur's right ankle in a blur of motion.

With his right foot gone, Nur staggered, losing his balance.

Crunch.

The altar pulsed, knitting his flesh back together once more.

Caron cut.

Nur healed.

The pattern repeated endlessly, a grotesque and tiresome cycle.

"You've wasted your years away, haven't you? Fifty years in seclusion just to reach the 7th Circle? If I were you, I'd have bitten my own tongue and died of shame. Do you want me to tell you why you ended up like this?" Caron called out mockingly.

"Shut your mouth," Nur said.

"It's because you're an insect. A useless insect with no talent of your own. A parasite that clings to the powerful, never achieving anything on its own. You're a pig wearing pearls," Caron provoked Nur. His mocking taunts came mercilessly, each word deliberate and cutting.

Nur's eyes darkened as he could tell that the young man was toying with him.

I need a way to turn things around, he thought. If he didn't act now, defeat was certain.

There was only one way to turn the tide. It would delay the resurrection of his lord through the altar, but that could wait. It was more important to overcome the situation he was facing now.

Determined, Nur planted both feet firmly on the altar. With a surge of dark power, hundreds of black tendrils erupted from its surface, snaking their way around him until they enveloped his entire body.

The life force of countless sacrifices was thus converted into pure dark mana.

Nur opened himself to the overwhelming power, welcoming it into his flesh. Slowly, his form began to shift. A guttural growl escaped his lips. His frail, aged frame contorted, muscles bulging grotesquely as he transformed into something monstrous.

He was becoming a demon, the altar's dark mana reshaping his human form into that of a fiend.

Nearby, the variant maw worms skittered across the floor, burrowing into his flesh. Bones cracked and sinews stretched. Pain like molten fire ripped through him, and yet Nur accepted it gladly.

This was a great evolution. He was casting aside the fragile shell of humanity to become something far greater. Though the transformation was incomplete, that mattered little. Once he killed Caron Leston and absorbed his power, perfection would be his.

You'll regret entering this place alone, Nur vowed silently. The tendrils thickened, weaving themselves into a cocoon around him.

But before the process could finish, a cold voice whispered into his ear.

"Who in their right mind waits for someone to finish transforming? You idiot."

Slash! Slash! Slash!

Caron's dark blue sword flashed in swift arcs, slicing through the black tendrils without hesitation. In an instant, his hand shot forward. He gripped Nur by the neck and tore him from his protective cocoon with brutal force.

Lifting Nur's limp body with one hand, Caron sneered, "You've lived long enough. You're overdue for a peaceful death."

"Caron... Leston..." Nur managed to call out Caron's name.

"This is your burial money," Caron added.

Schlunk!

Guillotine plunged into Nur's abdomen, its hungry magic devouring his dark mana greedily.

Nur gasped as he felt his mana draining away, helpless against the sword's voracious pull. He couldn't move. His body was frozen in Caron's grip, utterly at his mercy.

"Well then," Caron said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Shall we begin? Time for a little rejuvenation, old man."

Moments later, Nur's screams—raw and filled with agony—tore through the chamber.

It became difficult to tell who the real villain was.