Chapter 75 - Puberty

'Succession.'

Galahad shook the blood from his hand.

The information he had extracted from the Demons was fragmentary. All he had learned was that the old man intended to perform something called a succession on Damian. Whenever he asked for more, their heads exploded.

'An ominous word.'

It was not an unfamiliar one.

'Sounds like what that bastard used to do. Was his name S'han?'

S'han had been an agent with quite a good reputation. He had a kindly face, and there were even rumors that he was raising orphans.

That was why Galahad had investigated him. In this place, most people who cared for orphans had ulterior motives.

Surprisingly, the man's house was clean. There was no sign of orphans anywhere.

Galahad had searched the house thoroughly and eventually found an enormous magic circle in the basement. It was red, with small corpses lying on top of it. Corpses dried to a crisp.

The man had been stronger than the intelligence suggested. Not strong enough to be a match for Galahad, of course.

The facts of the case had been quite straightforward.

He gathered orphans and secretly taught them magic. Not much—just enough to read the necessary symbols and move mana.

And then...

'He absorbed their mana.'

He had absorbed the children's mana. That was why he was stronger than the records indicated. He called it succession.

What a joke. It was not even being passed down from above, yet he called it succession.

Galahad had retired him.

The charge was unauthorized magic instruction. That carried a harsher punishment than kidnapping and murdering orphans.

'So magic originated with the Demons...'

Galahad tapped his fingers as he searched his memory.

The magic circle had been intriguing enough that he still remembered it. It had been remarkably crude. Looking back now, that seemed to be because it was an imitation of a Demon creation.

'If a Demon were doing it...'

Galahad reconstructed the magic circle in his memory.

'He intends to absorb his blood.'

He could not be certain of the details, but it seemed to use Proxel's authority.

But Damian was half Proxel and half prostitute. The succession could hardly be complete.

In that case...

"Bleurgh..."

"Miss Gwen, are you all right? Try drinking this. It's good for your stomach."

CLATTER.

The commotion broke Galahad's train of thought.

"Commander, these bastards keep coming."

Gilberton spoke as he shook off his hands. Behind him lay a decapitated Demon corpse.

"How strange."

"Sir?"

"Their power isn't noticeably decreasing when we kill them. By my calculations, it ought to diminish proportionally..."

"Could you be wrong, Commander?"

"I'm afraid there is no possibility of that."

Gilberton swallowed at Galahad's firm reply. It was remarkable how he could be so certain.

"Even when we kill the Demons, their power doesn't diminish. If anything, it seems to be growing more concentrated. Why?"

Looking around, Galahad suddenly realized there was something odd about the stains on the wall.

At first glance, they looked like ordinary ash, but the stains were unusually dark. As though someone had deliberately smeared them there.

"Ah, so that's it."

"What's it?"

"This mansion is Proxel too. Rather clever of them."

"The mansion is Proxel? What does that mean?"

"Sir Gilberton, you are never ashamed to learn. A very commendable attitude."

Gilberton briefly mulled over Galahad's words. Was that a compliment?

"Look at the walls. There are stains everywhere. They look like ordinary stains, but... Have a taste."

Gilberton removed his leather glove and scraped the wall with a finger. A little of the dusty stain came away on it.

"Ptoo! Damn it! That tastes fucking awful!"

"Correct. These walls are made from Demon corpses. Presumably Demons of House Proxel."

"You're saying they made this out of their own ancestors' corpses? Crazy Demon bastards..."

"Clever, isn't it? It seems that even if we kill Demons here, the mansion absorbs them. An authority relating to territory, perhaps. I've never seen anything like this."

"... What?"

Galahad swept back his disheveled hair.

The mansion itself was Proxel.

'He let us leave so readily. He was confident.'

Even Demons burned to ash seemed to be absorbed by the mansion.

That was not a good sign.

One oddity remained.

'Why isn't the old man stepping in himself?'

No matter how the mansion absorbed them, the process could not be perfectly efficient.

Yet the old man still had not intervened.

'Is he reluctant to use his power?'

Was he afraid of Galahad? He had not seemed to be.

Proxel was a major organization in the city. Why would the old man who led such an organization hesitate to act?

'Because of this ruler?'

There were all sorts of rumors about the ruler, the Demon said to govern the city.

One was more famous than any other.

Anyone who drew the ruler's attention vanished, whether Demon or human.

Rumors were prone to exaggeration, but caution was warranted.

Galahad glanced aside. Adrianna was watching him.

She was suppressing her power as much as possible at his request. If she acted, she might draw the ruler's attention.

'Someone even the old man fears.'

Galahad put a cigarette between his lips.

He revised his assessment of the ruler's threat upward.

If the old man was wary enough to sacrifice his own flesh, it was best to avoid the ruler's intervention.

Just dealing with Proxel here was taxing enough. He had to be as careful as possible.

'I'd better keep Adrianna in reserve.'

Galahad recalculated.

He had two clues.

First, the old man's objective was to perform a succession on Damian.

Second, the mansion itself was Proxel.

He combined the two clues, and eventually a plan came to mind.

"We'll have to trust Damian this time."

Saying it left a stale taste in his mouth. Unfortunately, Galahad was not the sort to trust others and leave things in their hands.

'The principle behind the succession should be similar.'

Galahad looked at Gwen. She was still retching.

"What? Trust the brat?"

"Indeed. Still, we can't just stand around. We'll have to help him a little..."

"How?"

"By killing the Demons. The problem is that their power passes to the mansion even when we kill them. Cutting that connection... will take some time."

"Why do it that way?"

"Didn't I just explain, Sir Gilberton?"

"No, that's not what I mean..."

Gilberton sounded dissatisfied. Galahad frowned.

"I know you are unashamed to learn, but a little shame is sometimes necessary."

Gilberton shook his head at the rebuke.

"No, if the mansion is the problem..."

Galahad frowned as Gilberton persisted. What he said next, however, drew a small sound of admiration.

"Why don't we just smash the mansion?"

It was a thoroughly brutish suggestion, just like Gilberton.

'Smash the mansion.'

A truly crude approach, but...

'Certainly effective.'

Galahad nodded.

"Sir Gilberton, you are a broken clock."

"What? I'm a knight."

"So you are. How did I miss that? Now, let's smash the mansion."

"If I'd known we'd be doing this, I'd have brought a hammer."

Galahad grinned at Gilberton's grumbling.

"Oh, I have a hammer right here!"

Tom produced a hefty hammer. As everyone turned to look, he smiled awkwardly, as if offering an excuse.

"One of them was using it. I thought it might come in handy, so I took it."

"I was joking. My sword will do."

Gilberton shook his head with an awkward expression. Tom waved the hammer.

"So, we smash everything?"

Gilberton asked, bringing his aura surging forth.

Galahad nodded.

* * *

"It's noisy downstairs."

"Apparently there are intruders."

"Those Vance bastards?"

"No, humans, they say."

"Bullshit."

"I'm just telling you what I heard."

Bern, one of the gourmets, frowned at the curt response.

Had humans really attacked? How had they gotten in?

Even if they had...

"They walked into the Proxel mansion of their own accord? Are they insane?"

Bern muttered in disbelief.

House Proxel was a peculiar bunch. They used bizarre powers. All Demons did, but House Proxel was more unusual still.

They became especially powerful inside the mansion. The story of a high-ranking Demon who had entered the Proxel mansion and vanished was famous.

And these people had walked right in...

"Lunatics."

"Exactly. Still, they must be pretty good, right? Considering how long the noise has lasted."

Lakran gave a long yawn as she spoke. As she said, deafening crashes continued to erupt below.

They were holding out rather well. Bern nodded.

Then the crashes stopped. Silence returned for the first time in a while.

"Looks like it's over. How long was that?"

Bern hurriedly checked the hourglass.

"I win, don't I?"

Bern shook the mana clock. It was yellow, indicating it had been shaken twice.

"What a bunch of useless bastards."

"Haha, don't take it out on them."

Bern chuckled as Lakran's face twisted into a scowl.

"A bet's a bet, right?"

"Tch. They said those people could fight."

Lakran replied sourly and unfastened her pauldron. Bern swallowed at the pale skin it revealed.

"Just one bite."

"I know."

Bern drew the fork and knife at his waist. Lakran bared her neck. It was a common wager among gourmets.

Just then, the wall trembled slightly. Bern and Lakran turned toward it at once.

Lakran grabbed her sword hilt. Bern hurriedly drew his own blade.

The wall burst apart violently, flying fragments filling their vision.

Through them came a shout.

"Knight—Gilberton!"

An ugly knight leaped out. The aura on his sword shone a brilliant blue.

Bern thrust out his sword. Lakran moved to support him with practiced ease.

At that instant, he felt a cold pain in his shoulder.

'When?'

A razor-sharp piece of ice was embedded in Bern's shoulder. It was sharp enough to have pierced his armor.

It was too thin to be threatening in itself. The problem was its placement: an exquisitely chosen spot, precisely where the muscles joined.

Bern's sword slowed for an instant. It was barely a moment, but on the brink of death, a moment was long enough to decide victory or defeat.

"You coward—!"

The ugly knight's sword struck the opening with precision.

Bern's head rose into the air.

His view shot upward and spun. He saw Lakran crossing blades with a knight in a ridiculous helmet.

The opponent had no aura, yet Lakran's sword was being driven back. Blood spurted from her exposed neck. That same sharp ice.

Once again, it had struck an exquisitely chosen spot. Lakran's movements stopped for a moment, and her head rose into the air.

The ridiculous helmet dipped in a small bow, as if observing proper courtesy.

His liberated view kept spinning.

Beyond the ugly knight, he saw a man. A man with a cigarette between his lips, flicking his fingers without expression.

Their eyes met, and the man waved.

'A Demon...?'

His view began to fall, then turned, revealing what lay behind him.

The ugly knight swung his sword at a wall. Brilliant blue aura sliced clean through the entire wall. What an utterly brutish aura.

A well-dressed Demon stood behind the split wall, mouth hanging open.

"We've killed six, so six remain."

"Wasn't it eight?"

"Mm. Just swing your sword, Sir Gilberton."

That bizarre conversation was the last thing Bern heard.

* * *

BOOOOM!

'What in the—'

The old man looked down, his face contorted. His earlier composure was gone.

BOOOOM!

It was because of the incessant crashes.

He had urged them to give up, but he had allowed for the possibility that they would resist. They were humans, after all.

Still, this was the Proxel mansion. No matter how they struggled, he could not possibly lose.

And yet...

'They're destroying the mansion too.'

They were attacking the mansion itself.

Demolishing that enormous mansion from the bottom up—he could scarcely believe it.

But it was effective.

'They figured it out?'

Even if they had, to think of destroying the mansion itself...

'Aren't they afraid of the ruler?'

Ignorant human bastards. Disgust crossed the old man's face.

It was crude, but effective. Even now, his power was diminishing with every passing moment.

He exhaled, forcing down his rising urgency.

The mansion did not matter.

He would be returning to the main house. He would wring the neck of the bastard who had dared drive him out and reclaim it.

This mansion no longer mattered.

The old man looked down.

Blood filled the space up to his waist. Damian was beneath the surface, staring upward with his mouth hanging open, as vacant as ever.

GRRRRROWL!

'After all I fed him, he's hungry already?'

The old man was dumbfounded. Damian had eaten every scrap of food in the castle, then everything they had brought in afterward.

Yet he was hungry again.

'I haven't completely erased his human side.'

Things had strayed considerably from the plan.

But...

BOOOOOM!

The situation was deteriorating. Even now, his power was rapidly draining away.

Damian was only a half-breed to begin with. All that remained was mere hunger.

Compared with the old man's grand ambition, it was base and feeble.

"We begin."

The old man slit his wrist over Damian. Blood sprayed violently from the wound.

Damian opened and closed his mouth, drinking it down. Soon it overflowed from his lips. His perpetually unfocused eyes grew intense.

The old man unleashed his authority. The minds of the Proxels within the mansion linked together.

'... Why are there so few?'

For a moment, the old man was taken aback by how much less power there was than expected.

Their diminished numbers were not the issue. If they died inside the mansion, it absorbed them and passed them to him as house head.

The problem was how little power there was. The destruction of the mansion had clearly affected it.

Urgency rose within him once more.

"We are Proxel."

The old man addressed the vacant-eyed Damian.

His voice was imposing, as though dozens of voices were speaking over one another. It carried power that no Proxel could defy.

Damian's eyes went half-unfocused.

"We are Proxel."

The old man declared it again. Damian's head shook violently.

Ash-gray aura rose along Damian's hand.

The old man's eyes widened almost to bursting at the sight.

It was unmistakably ash-gray. And it was aura.

'Could it actually have been true?'

Gray aura.

It was a legend left behind by an upper-echelon Demon said to have had a hundred eyes gouged out.

'No wonder the main house took such a particular interest...'

It was an unexpected windfall. At the same time, unease assailed him.

What if Damian's blood was richer than his?

'Impossible.'

For Damian to have purer blood than the old man, that one would have had to act. The idea of that one coupling with a human was absurd.

Besides, even if that were true, the boy was still only a half-breed.

The old man reached out and gripped Damian's forehead.

Then he declared,

"We are Proxel."

Damian's mouth moved slowly. Blood ran from his opening and closing lips.

Having spat out the blood, Damian replied,

"But I'm Damian."

The old man's face went pale in an instant.

He should have lost consciousness by now.

Something had gone wrong.

Then Damian's mouth moved again.

"I'm hungry."

GRRROWL!

* * *

"How is this thing still standing?"

"An ingenious feat of engineering, I suppose."

Galahad chuckled at Gilberton's question.

They had demolished the mansion's entire first and second floors, yet it had not collapsed. Only a room on the third floor remained, supported by the bare framework of the stairs in a ridiculous arrangement.

'My mana won't go in.'

Galahad's mana could not pass through the door.

It seemed to whisper that if he was curious, he should come inside and look.

He grasped the doorknob.

"Gwen, stay close to me."

"What? Yes!"

Gwen immediately pressed up behind him. Her finger slipped into his back with practiced ease.

When he opened the door, a familiar smell tickled his nose.

Blood. An incredibly overpowering stench of blood.

Everything inside was red. Sticky red traces covered every surface. Thoroughly dried skulls lay scattered here and there.

The old man was nowhere to be seen.

Only Damian remained.

Galahad narrowed his eyes and studied him.

Damian stood with his hands behind his back.

That was not a good sign.

Damian turned his gaze toward Galahad.

When their eyes met, a chill ran through Galahad. He was feeling fear? He hurriedly circulated his mana.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The Egg of agony pounded violently, revealing a ravenous appetite. An urge more intense than anything he had ever felt assailed him.

Then Damian spoke.

"You uncivilized wretches have finally made a mess of things."

His voice was steeped in age. Several of those words were rather difficult for Damian.

'What a pity.'

Galahad's eyes narrowed. He had thought he had shaken things up enough, but the old man seemed to have greater reserves than expected.

This was not an unforeseen outcome. He had prepared a contingency.

It was simply a little disappointing.

Just then...

"Damian! What a nasty thing to say!"

Gwen scolded him sharply.

Scolding him at a time like this?

Damian's body swayed slightly. His eyes cleared for an instant. It lasted only a moment, but Galahad did not miss it.

'Now that I didn't expect.'

His eyes narrowed.

"Damian, what did you say your mother did?"

At the question, Damian's lips moved.

"She's a prostitute."

"You uncivilized wretch—"

The next words came in an aged voice.

Having grasped the situation, Galahad nodded.

"Now, our next mission is to cure Damian's puberty."

Galahad turned toward the unit and put a cigarette between his lips.

"Puberty?"

"Yes. Every child goes through puberty. It's a crucial turning point and an opportunity for growth."

Gilberton shot a hand into the air.

"Go ahead, Sir Gilberton."

"How do you cure puberty?"

"Well..."

Galahad cast a glance at Damian.

Damian aimed his sword at him. His stance was impressive.

Above all, ash-gray aura roiled thickly around the blade.

"By giving him growing pains."

The corners of Galahad's mouth rose of their own accord.