Tadric finally gave the order with a voice that thundered.
"Volunteers! Protect the students! Everyone, brace yourselves!"
Several immediately moved, trying to form a simple barricade. But the loudest voices came from the direction of the honor stand—where the Beysolun town council members had previously sat with arrogance and elegance.
Now, that elegance was nowhere to be found.
"WHAT IS THIS!? BLACK MAGIC! THIS IS BLACK MAGIC!"
"WHOSE RESPONSIBILITY IS THIS!? I WANT ANSWERS NOW!"
"I COULD DIE RIGHT HERE! THERE'S A MURDERER IN FRONT OF US!"
One of them was even jumping up and down on the field, screaming hysterically while waving a small metal rod in the air, as if it could summon gods or call for reinforcements from who knows where.
"IT'S A CURSE! IT'S A CURSE!"
he shouted while running in circles aimlessly, almost crashing into a student trembling on the ground.
Some citizens outside the fence who were watching the event also panicked. Not as loud as the council members, but their fear was clearly more genuine. Some ran, some yelled at their children to be quiet, while others just stood frozen, their faces pale as cloth.
As for the students themselves...?
They were scared, obviously. But more because they genuinely didn't know what to do. Not as noisy as the adults who were supposed to protect them, but were now screaming first.
Edric watched the scene flatly, the corner of his mouth slightly downturned.
"Adults... but with the souls of panicked children. Hah." he muttered to himself, disgusted.
Then, the order came.
"Edric! Take Nirea to the infirmary!"
Tadric handed Nirea's limp body to him. Edric hurriedly caught her, nearly falling over from the sudden weight.
"I-I—!"
Nirea's body was hot and sticky with sweat. Her clothes were slightly damp, and from her body emanated a distinct scent: sour, dusty, and... something indescribable. The scent of a human who had pushed past the limits of exhaustion.
Edric suddenly froze.
His nose caught every detail of that scent. His eyes almost glazed over, a faint smile appearing on his face like someone half-conscious.
However, Nirea's weak voice cut through everything.
"...Why does it have to be this pervert..."
That weak utterance was like a whip. Edric immediately snapped back to reality, his face flushed red. He almost dropped the girl in his own panic, then hurriedly adjusted his carrying position and walked quickly, almost running.
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" he uttered while continuously bowing his head, half-conscious, half-ashamed.
Meanwhile, the creature that was once Jaron still stood. Silent. But its smile grew wider.
And the world began to slowly crack.
---
BRRRRRRAKKKK!!
The ground split. Grayish-white fungal roots ran wild from the killer's feet, spreading like a plague. The air became stifling. Humid. And... silent. Too silent.
Then...
CREAK... CREAK... CREAK...
The sound of breaking bones was heard—but not from one direction, rather from beneath the ground, from within flesh. As if the world was being slowly devoured by something ravenous.
"PROTECT THE STUDENTS!" shouted Tadric, his voice exploding like a war command.
The volunteers immediately moved.
Some formed protective magic barricades, moving the terrified children to the corners of the field. The rest—about five people—ran forward, blocking the killer with everything they had.
SWOOSH! FWOOSH!!
Magic spears were fired. Flaming arrows shot forth. One female volunteer even thrust her sword directly into the ground, creating a shockwave of Etherium.
However...
TSSSSKHHHHK!
The fungal roots deflected everything. They didn't even shatter—they absorbed the magic, transforming into flexible threads dancing in the air. One volunteer choked as his arm was hit by a spore spray, rotting instantly, and he screamed—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"
But before he could collapse, his body was pulled back by his comrade. They were still holding on, even if only to delay.
---
Amidst all this, Reynard still stood. Silent.
His eyes stared straight at the killer, who now floated half a foot above the ground. White mist swirled around them, and the voices from the Etherium began to sound like a heretical chant:
"We grow where you forget... we are born from flesh unwanted..."
Reynard closed his eyes.
The time has come, huh...
SSSHHHHHKKK!!
The wind suddenly stopped. As if all sound was swallowed by silence.
And from Reynard's body, a... beating sound was heard. But not from his heart—rather, from within his mind.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
An aura of bluish-green slowly emerged from the soles of his feet, spreading like ink in water. A magic circle appeared beneath him—not a complex one, but very old. Ancient. As if imprinted from an era forgotten by history.
Reynard opened his eyes.
"Don't see me as a hero."
"I am not that anymore."
CRACK!
An Etherium orb cracked in the air, shattering like glass. Its energy enveloped Reynard's body, and his hair trembled slightly from the flow of magic.
"But if you think you can enter my mind…"
He snapped his fingers.
"Go ahead. I'll show you what I've planted there."
BRAAAAKKKK!!!
The sky above them split like a torn cloth curtain. The world began to shift—not physically, but perceptually. The volunteers fighting nearby were even affected; sounds became distant, movements slowed, as if time was being dragged into someone's memory.
Reynard and the killer were now in a field of memory.
A space between dimensions.
Between logic and nightmare.
---
And from behind that memory, a voice emerged, not a human voice.
But a voice living from decay, from scars, from pain that never healed.
"We know you. You... who erased their pain."
The killer's body swelled, pulsing like a heart. From beneath its robe, fungal tentacles emerged, writhing, piercing the walls of Reynard's artificial reality.
And suddenly…
ZUUUUUT!!
One of them stabbed Reynard's shoulder—but there was no blood. Only a splash of light, like a leaking memory.
Amidst the chaos of the battle shaking the air—cracked ground, crisscrossing magical lights, and fungal spores floating like hellish snow—a soundless question hung in the atmosphere.
"What is the purpose of all this?"
Not merely murder. Not merely spore dispersal.
There was a pattern.
There was a message.
There was... an audience yet to appear?
The killer's steps were not like those of a hungry hunter, but rather an actor performing a play on a stage of death.
Its movements were symmetrical, almost artistic. As if this chaos was a symphony it had rehearsed countless times behind the dimensional curtain.
And behind it all, a coldness emerged that didn't come from the wind...
But from the possibility that none of this was a coincidence.
---
Meanwhile on the other side of the city, far from the rumbling battlefield, in the quiet main hall of Beysolun's Town Hall—Eldain Corvus sat leaning back in his plush chair.
The large window behind him allowed soft Etherium light to dance on the stone walls. The sounds of screams and magical explosions from afar were only faint echoes—like the sound of wind from a stage play he didn't wish to watch directly.
His hand moved slowly, signing document after document with a calmness that almost mocked the chaos outside.
On the corner of the table, a teacup was left cooling.
His eyes didn't look at the window, nor were they anxious.
He knew.
And he waited.
As if everything happening… was merely the next chapter of a scenario he had written himself.
---
Jaron's body, now nothing more than a fungal-ridden flesh puppet, charged from the front, leaping like a beast that had lost its way. The Mycelic Executioner moved one finger from a distance, and the boy's corpse responded as if it were merely a puppet with invisible strings.
BRAK!!
Jaron slammed into the ground, then leaped again, his eyes empty, his body twitching, his movements impossible for normal human muscles to control. With each step, fungal residue was left behind, crawling and growing like wounds in the earth.
A volunteer was almost caught—fortunately, a magical shield exploded in front of him, blocking that insane leap. Two others immediately retreated, forming a protective formation for the students.
"Stop him! It's a child's corpse, but he's being used as a weapon!" shouted one volunteer.
Reynard didn't answer. He shot forward, his body cutting through the air. Each step created a soft impact, as if the ground adjusted itself not to hinder his stride.
ZRRRRAAAKK—!!
Reynard's straight kick slammed into the chest of Jaron's corpse. The sound of cracking bones was heard, and the body was flung hard—flying through the air before hitting a wooden pole at the edge of the field.
But it rose again.
Not because of life. But because of something behind it… something disgusting.
The Mycelic Executioner stepped forward from behind the fungal mist. Its steps were light, but the air around it felt putrid, like a dead forest breathing.
Fungi crawled from its arms to the ground, then infiltrated Jaron's still-standing, limping body. And in an instant—
"CRAAAK!"
The boy's body exploded from within, scattering fragments of bone, flesh, and living fungi in all directions.
Screams. Horror. Volunteers shielding students. Some were hit by debris, screaming while tearing at their own clothes, afraid of infection.
The Mycelic Executioner said nothing. It merely raised one hand—and dozens of small fungi began to grow around the field, forming a pattern, creating some kind of ritual circle.
Reynard stood in the middle of it, breathing heavily. His eyes swept the surroundings.
Not a coincidence. This place, this time—it all felt like part of a larger plan. But for what purpose?
No one knew. And that was the most dangerous part.
---------