Chapter Sixty-Nine: Collapse (Requesting First Subscription)

In a brief span of time, Mulan had no idea how far the monster had carried him. At this moment, he couldn't afford to care about anything else; if he didn't use his hidden powers, he wouldn't survive.

A sharp hiss sounded as his fangs tore through half the shell of the monster's armor, piercing its flesh.

With a thunderous roar, the creature slowed abruptly, its limbs gouging the earth as it tried to halt. The massive inertia flung Mulan away like a cannonball, sending him crashing into the distance.

He smashed through a tree, his body still propelled backward. Suddenly, his feet struck the ground; leaning forward with both feet braced, he slid back, churning up huge swathes of earth. Even as he continued to slide, his stance remained firm.

A fierce whistling rent the air. Instinctively, Mulan leapt aside, swinging his sword toward the swirling airflow. The blade sparked and then conjured a misty red haze; his blind strike found its mark, slashing the monster's eye.

A surge of exhilaration welled in Mulan's heart. Without pausing, he dodged again, his other hand already drawing his revolver.

A volley rang out, emptying the chamber. The bullets, glowing and mist-laden, shot forth like six javelins, piercing toward the monster. Its massive form and recent pain left it no room or time to react.

Four bullets sparked harmlessly off its armor, but two found their mark, sinking into the gaps with a sizzle like water splashing into boiling oil.

Mulan moved swiftly through the mist, reloading his revolver and firing at the beast as it charged again. Using the gun's peculiar recoil, he darted about, barely keeping pace with the monster.

He counted his bullets; after last time, he'd doubled his reserves. Now, he was not without the power to fight back.

The shadow enveloping him seemed to transform into a sinister gentleman with blood-red eyes, his fangs extending within the gloom. Always on the run, Mulan suddenly pivoted using his revolver, charging headlong at the monster. Just before they collided, he angled his gun to the ground behind him.

With a crack, his body tilted upward; the fangs in his hand traced a line from the monster’s upper lip to its forehead.

A mournful howl escaped the beast, clearly in agony. Mulan soared through the air, a mist linking his fangs to the creature, rapidly drawn into the fangs as his own depleted strength was restored.

Speed, power, and defense were the monster's advantages, but Mulan had ways to counter each. Hope of victory flickered.

As he realized this, the shadow converging with Mulan grinned in an exaggerated arc.

Using the revolver, Mulan’s movements grew even swifter. The woods shielded him from the monster’s sight, and as the beast paused in pain, bullets and sword flashes rained down, raising blood mist.

Just as Mulan prepared to attack again, countless fleshy buds erupted from the monster's wounds, morphing into tendrils that lashed him, sending him flying.

When he regained his senses, trees and stones hurtled toward him, earth and turf torn up—escape was impossible. Mulan fired forward, using the recoil to propel himself back.

Suddenly, a chilling aura enveloped his back. Mulan realized he'd been deceived.

As he retreated, he managed to turn half his face, glimpsing the monster’s spread tentacles behind him. His thoughts raced faster than his frozen body.

‘You’re not just a simple beast. Perhaps… you were once human, twisted by something else.’

With a flurry of motion, Mulan vanished amid the tentacles, enveloped and dragged to the creature, merging with its body.

In the shadow of the tendrils, a figure in a dark suit and hat opened crimson eyes, grinning widely. The cane in his shadow spun and stabbed backward, mirroring Mulan’s actions.

With a wet rip, his fangs seemed to lengthen immensely, nearly skewering half the creature’s body. Its blood and vitality drained away, its red eyes fading.

“Too bad for you. You wanted my whole body and soul. If you’d killed me outright, things wouldn't be as they are now.”

Mulan struggled free from the flesh, raising his fangs to the space between the monster’s eyes. This thrust would seal the battle. Yet, seeing its pupils turn black, Mulan hesitated.

His heart felt as if struck.

Head...

His eyes widened, pupils dilating.

“No… impossible…”

The monster’s only remaining eye overflowed with murky fluid, its body writhing weakly, gazing at Mulan in sorrow.

“I… must tell you… must… Above the Sanctuary… there is no true god… no light… uh… uh…”

Mulan’s empathy lessons echoed in his mind, the monster’s cries resonating with a strange kinship—a vision of sorrow: the mountain baptism, the devout priest with ideals, never feeling the divine as others had, for some special reason, the god had looked upon him…

Horror, coldness, strangeness—the touch of a dark god, all light turned to shadow…

Faith shattered, agony and despair, corrupted by the dark god, transformed into a monster, fleeing south in utter madness…

Tears broke free from Mulan’s eyes, the shadow’s hue receding from his body. He released his revolver and fangs, kneeling at the monster’s brow, trembling as he touched it.

“Ivan! Ivan? Ivan!”

Suddenly, Mulan grew agitated, seeing the monster’s spirit dissipate before him. He snatched up his fangs, hesitated for a moment, then stabbed them into the creature’s forehead.

With a final mournful cry, all fell silent. The gray mist was drawn into the sword, and Mulan collapsed as if lifeless.

Noises echoed nearby—close yet distant, clear yet indistinct. His eyes half-opened, he hovered in a semi-conscious state; shouts of surprise, joyous cries, worried voices of care—all seemed remote.

But Mulan gradually woke, responding to those who cared for him, eating and drinking, appearing battered but unharmed. Yet his eyes remained silent.

He saw Queen Nishehliel with tears in her eyes, witnessed others’ concern and flattery. He could reply, but everything felt far away; his reason enabled him to cope, his emotions made him flee reality.

After such events, the hunt ended quickly. Mulan drifted through the journey home, unsure when he arrived, yet precisely stepping down from the carriage, forcing himself back to his quarters.

After resting, he felt split—one self living mechanically, the other ceaselessly pondering.

In this absurd world, all power originates from the dark gods;
All holy relics are tainted by their corruption;
Whether sanctuaries or cults, their rituals are essentially the same;
We are all drawing closer to darkness, everyone tugging at its anchor, with no one ever stopping;
This world is doomed to destruction—so-called justice and evil, great power struggles, belief and ideals, my efforts in politics, daily life, and the supernatural—all are but a joke…

For a long time, Mulan avoided classes and the police station, claiming to be recuperating, but truly he had lost his way. Every night, he saw Ivan in his dreams, felt Ivan’s despair when he closed his eyes.

Again and again, he watched friends’ faith collapse, corrupted and mutated by the dark gods, haunted by nightmares, now on the verge of breaking himself.

He knew he was to be knighted by the queen, this time in grand ceremony at the Cathedral of Digo.

But what did it matter, what meaning was there? A place like the cathedral held no appeal for him.

The day of the investiture arrived. Though he’d promised to attend punctually, Mulan did not go. He left home on time, but wandered the streets in a daze.