There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 192: A Graceful Lady, An Old Connection, An American, A Longstanding Grudge (5)

Scarlett bit her lip as she watched Yeomyeong grow distant.

Crazy bastard. If he wants to die, he should do it alone.

She raised her gun and headed straight for the control room.

Thankfully, that damn "auntie" had only just placed her hand on the train's brake lever.

Clack—

There was nothing left to say. Scarlett immediately aimed her gun at the woman. The cold barrel was pressed squarely to the back of her head.

“Take your hand off the brake.”

The woman turned her head and looked at Scarlett. She didn’t look scared. Her expression was more incredulous than frightened.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Hey, lady. People who can survive should survive. I don’t owe your dumbass husband a double suicide.”

“Dumb... what? I save your life, and this is the crap you spew?”

Maybe the insult to her husband set her off—fury flashed across the diner lady’s face.

Scarlett felt a flicker of guilt but pushed on.

“So what, you wanna stop the train and get killed by a Titan? If you’re planning a couple’s suicide, do it with your husband. Don’t drag me into it.”

“...A couple’s suicide? It won’t make a difference. Once those chunks of flesh catch us, we’re all dead anyway.”

“We’re going to separate the engine car from the rest. If we just buy a little time, HQ will send backup... Odds are better than whatever suicidal shit your ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) husband’s planning.”

“That’s what you think. What if this isn’t even the Mind Field?”

The Saint, still wearing the diner lady’s face, stared directly at Scarlett. Scarlett rested her finger on the trigger and said coldly:

“I’m not here to argue with you. Drop the weapon and get out of the control room. Now.”

The Saint glared at her for a moment, then complied—at least, pretended to.

She took her hand off the brake, raised both hands behind her head, and walked toward the door.

Then—

“Without struggle, there can be no peace...”

She lowered her head and quietly recited a prayer.

It was a prayer to Redox, the god of crimson struggle—and one of the rare offensive blessings among the Five Gods’ clergy.

“...I came not to bring peace, but a sword.”

The prayer was so faint, Scarlett only caught the last line.

“A spell?”

The moment she recognized it, a red fist materialized midair and slammed into her body.

But the force of it... was far beyond what the Saint had intended.

BOOM!!

Scarlett didn’t even have time to scream before she was slammed into the control room wall. The impact was so intense, the entire train car shook.

“Huh?”

What the hell? She’d meant to just knock her out!

As the Saint stared in confusion at the red fist, it formed a V sign with its fingers.

“Um... Lord Redox?”

How? The gods aren’t supposed to be able to descend to this world...

The only place where a god could communicate like that was the sanctum where she’d received her blessing—

Just as the Saint’s thoughts were starting to spiral, the red hand pointed impatiently toward the control console.

“Oh.”

Only then did she remember what she was supposed to do. She scrambled back to the console and yanked the brake.

SCREEEEEECH—!

The change was dramatic. The brake lever screamed as it turned, and the screech of locked wheels grinding against steel rails rippled through the whole train.

As the train finally screeched to a halt—and the red hand of Lord Redox vanished—

The Saint picked up the rifle and aimed it at Scarlett.

For a moment, she seriously considered putting a bullet in the woman’s head—but quickly shook off the thought.

Mercy? No. It was because that woman still had useful information left to share.

The necromancer and the fallen star...

She lowered the rifle, unfastened its shoulder strap, and used it to bind Scarlett’s arms and legs.

Maybe she’d tied it around a broken bone—Scarlett, still unconscious, let out a low groan.

She’s going to be in so much pain when she wakes up.

Not that the Saint cared. She dragged Scarlett, still tied up, out of the engine car.

Outside, beneath the gloomy sky—

Yeomyeong and the Titan clashed.

****

Yeomyeong never set foot in the swamp.

He scattered dozens of ice spears into the air and used them as stepping stones, leaping skyward.

[You— who walks— the forked— path—?]

A voice filled with awe echoed in the air. The mummy must have been watching.

[Whose— star— do you— serve—?]

Yeomyeong gave no reply. This was no time for words—it was a time for violence.

The murderous intent of Jugashvili wrapped around his body, and mana for Payang Cut surged through his veins.

His sword began to hum with raging energy.

[Wave—? Poseidon—?]

The incomprehensible babble came just as the Undead Titan swung its massive hand toward him.

In front of the giant arm—composed of countless corpses—Yeomyeong was nothing more than an insect. But even insects have their sting.

His sword shot forward like a hornet’s stinger, piercing through the Titan’s hand.

A moment later, the mana exploded.

Rotting flesh, brittle bone, and the twisted mana binding them were all ripped apart at once.

As blood and gore sprayed into the air, Yeomyeong landed on the monster’s wrist, then sprinted up its arm. His target: the Titan’s head.

In a flash, he reached the shoulder, then leapt high and stomped downward toward its skull.

The perfected form of his aerial step technique—the same one that had ended the Titan at Incheon Port.

KU-OOOOOH!

The Titan’s final death cry filled the air as its skull burst like a rotten tomato.

Far more powerful than back in Incheon.

But the result was the same.

The massive impact shattered the spells that held the Titan together, and its huge body began to collapse.

[Amaz— ing—!]

Despite losing a Titan in a single strike, the voice didn’t sound bothered.

Well, of course—not when there were still twenty more Titans left. No, they were growing in number as he watched.

This whole swamp... it’s a corpse field.

Yeomyeong stood atop a floating ice spike and stared out at the Titans filling the horizon.

He felt no fear. If it came down to a war of attrition, he could handle it.

But something else gnawed at him. If this place was really someone’s mental projection, as he suspected...

Then what kind of being had a mind like this?

...A god of the undead, maybe?

As that thought crossed his mind, one of the Titans suddenly tore off its own arm.

Was it... trying to self-destruct?

No—it wasn’t that.

The thing clenched its crushed meat and bone in a grotesque grip, then wound its shoulder back—

And hurled it.

Chunks of mangled flesh, accelerated by impossible force and laced with twisted mana, came raining down toward Yeomyeong.

He darted across the ice spikes, barely dodging the barrage—but that was only the beginning.

[Try— dodging— this—!]

Over ten Titans tore off chunks of their own bodies, gripped the meat in their hands, and took throwing stances.

They can be used like that?!

Yeomyeong clenched his teeth and sprinted through the air.

And as if that had been the signal—the Titans all released.

The sky darkened under a hailstorm of flesh.

There was no room to dodge.

Yeomyeong raised his sword to slice through the flying meat. He had to—

[Corpse— Detonation—]

Right before his blade struck, the flesh exploded.

!!!!!

The explosion was loud enough to shake the heavens—but Yeomyeong couldn’t hear it.

His eardrums had ruptured the instant the blast hit.

All he could hear was a shrill eeeeee ringing through his skull, and all he could see was a wall of flying flesh filling his vision.

And even as he fell, the explosions didn’t stop.

Thunderous detonations echoed across the swamp, loud enough to be heard by everyone back on the train. The blasts kept coming, right up until Yeomyeong was swallowed by the bog.

[O star— reveal— thy true form—!]

The voice chimed, almost cheerfully. As if victory had already been secured.

And frankly, it wasn’t a bad assumption. To anyone watching, Yeomyeong looked dead.

But the very next moment, something happened that not even the voice had expected.

KA-BOOM!!

The head of one of the Titans—still poised in its throwing stance—suddenly exploded.

It wasn’t just one. Another Titan’s head burst, and then another.

[What—?]

And just like that, the heads of the towering giants across the horizon began to pop like overripe fruit.

The swamp trembled with the sound of collapsing corpses and concussive blasts.

Only then did the voice seem to realize what was happening.

Someone else had used corpse detonation—and done it with such precision that it blew apart the Titans themselves.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—!

Titan after Titan fell, engulfed in a chain of corpse explosions.

It was faster than the rate at which new Titans could emerge from the swamp. In just a few minutes, only one remained standing.

[How—?]

The voice turned toward the swamp where Yeomyeong had fallen.

There, half-buried waist-deep in rotting muck and gore, was Yeomyeong.

He looked like something that had crawled out of a slaughterhouse. His torso was torn open, chest and stomach split wide to reveal glistening innards. His face was soaked in blood.

How he was even alive was a mystery.

But what truly unnerved the voice wasn’t his state—it was what he was holding.

A staff.

A grotesque staff made of bone and muscle, with a squirming, hateful eye embedded in its head—the very one the mummy had been wielding earlier in the train.

[When— did— he— take— that—?]

Yeomyeong couldn’t answer. His lungs had been completely obliterated from channeling the twisted mana.

He’d simply tapped into the corrupted energy swirling around him—but even that had shredded his veins and organs to ribbons.

If not for Jugashvili’s regeneration, he would’ve died dozens of times over.

The healing process brought waves of agony with it, but Yeomyeong still spat blood and kept up the bravado.

A moment later, having barely reformed his lungs and airway, he looked up at the last remaining Titan and smirked.

“Thanks for the staff, asshole.”

The voice, clearly rattled now, forgot to even summon more Titans.

[What— kind— of star— are— you—? Wave— and death— together—? No— such— star— exists—]

Yeomyeong braced his unsteady legs, wiped the blood from his eyes, and replied:

“Star, star—what the hell are you talking about?”

[You— don’t— know—? Why—? You— are— a star—]

The voice sounded bewildered.

[Could it be— you’ve— never— realized— it—?]

Whatever it kept rambling, Yeomyeong ignored it and focused on regenerating.

Just a little longer and he’d be mobile again—

But then, the final Titan’s face began to shift.

It was like someone molding a human sculpture out of clay—only the clay was corpse meat.

Despite that horrific medium, the result was disturbingly lifelike.

Piercing eyes. Crooked nose. Thin, sneering lips.

In no time at all, the Titan had a fully formed human face staring down at Yeomyeong.

[Martial arts, magic, necromancy—there’s no way the U.S. created a star as unstable as you. So who’s the idiot that made you?]

Was that face the true body? Its speech pattern had smoothed out, more composed now—though the voice itself still dripped with malice.

Yeomyeong yanked his legs free from the swamp and said:

“Made me? Beats me. I was born all on my own.”

A sharp jab.

But the thing didn’t seem to get the sarcasm. It just stared at him with grim sincerity.

The massive eyes—crafted from corpses—seemed to peer not just into Yeomyeong’s body, but into the depths of his soul.

Then, without warning, it shook its head.

[It’s true. You have no parents.]

“...”

The sudden, obscene observation made Yeomyeong clench his sword tighter.

And the voice kept going.

[You may not have parents, but someone must’ve called down your star. Who was it? Who created such a reckless monster—?]

Then it suddenly recoiled.

...What now?

Titan and Yeomyeong stared at each other in mutual confusion.

A heavy silence. Locked eyes.

The silence stretched—and just as Yeomyeong finished regenerating—

The Titan spoke again, its voice trembling now.

[What are you? How is your soul over four thousand years old?]