Chapter 115 The Good, The Bad and The Metal
Chapter 115 The Good, The Bad and The Metal
The battlefield drowned in chaos—warriors clashed, spells flashed, steel rang. At the center, the monstrous griffon rampaged, trailing blood and gore.
Some of Moto’s wolf riders broke, panic shattering their resolve. Among them were the two men who had once served Leon.
Moto clicked his tongue in disgust, barking after them. “Cowards!”
The griffon struck again—talons sweeping wide. One of Moto’s men was snatched up, crushed like paper, then hurled aside with a sickening crack.
Mr. K steadied his stance, rapier raised. For the first time, a flicker of urgency crossed his face. His gaze darted toward Goka and Ligero, still locked in battle with Iryoku’s group. He cursed under his breath. “Tch—damn it.”
The griffon lunged again, faster this time, raw energy coursing through its body. Mr. K met it head-on, blade flashing. Sparks burst as he deflected the strike and carved a fresh wound into the beast, enraging it further.
Moto snarled, slamming his gauntlets together. “Go after them! I’ll kill this monster!” His horned wolf bounded to his side, its horn glowing as it gathered power. His underbosses flanked him, bodies sheathed in Leben, ready for the fight.
Mr. K gave no reply. He blurred into motion, sprinting at lightning speed toward the fleeing carriage. As he passed Goka, he barked an order: “All of you—help Moto!”
She growled in frustration but obeyed, turning back to join the fray. One by one, Ligero and the other demi-humans followed suit, converging on the griffon to overwhelm it.
From the roof of the carriage, Iryoku spotted the nobleman closing in. His eyes widened. “Shit—that bastard!” He hurled his harpoon, but Mr. K slipped past with barely a twitch. The blade buried itself uselessly in the dirt.
Yumi and Reika unleashed their spells at once—“Lightning Storm!” “Piercing Arrow!”—their voices breaking with desperation. But Mr. K lifted his rapier with uncanny speed, the blade glowing.
CRASH!
A thunderous explosion tore across the canyon cliffs as their magic was deflected in a blinding flare. Mr. K didn’t slow. He kept dashing at full speed, utterly unfazed.
The girls froze, pale with awe and fear.
A heartbeat later, he landed atop the carriage.
Iryoku rushed him, daggers flashing—then stopped short, pulling back his strike. A reckless idea was already forming.
Mr. K circled him, eyes cold. “Stop. Drop your weapons. Now.”
Iryoku smirked, sharp and defiant. “Make me. I dare you.” Then, louder—for the girls: “Don’t attack him!”
Without hesitation, Mr. K slashed. His rapier moved like lightning, each stroke precise and deadly. But Iryoku never countered. He twisted and slipped aside, dodging by the barest margins. Strike after strike missed its mark, his focus honed to a razor’s edge.
For all his speed, Mr. K couldn’t land a single blow. And Iryoku never once struck back.
Panting, Iryoku grinned. “I’ve got you.”
Both men stood locked in stalemate.
“For your special technique to work,” Iryoku said, voice edged with triumph, “you need me to attack you first… don’t you?”
Mr. K’s expression didn’t change. In a blur, he lunged again, rapier whipping with terrifying speed, wreathed in energy. At the same time, his free hand produced another weapon—drawn as if from nowhere.
A chill shot through Iryoku. It was a big, rune-etched pistol, black and brown, twisted like some pirate’s revolver corrupted by magic.
The barrel flared—point blank.
With reckless abandon, Iryoku lunged forward, slipping past both attacks and seizing Mr. K’s torso and legs. The pistol’s shot went wide, detonating in a blinding flash.
Both men toppled from the moving carriage. In midair they struck—slashing, punching, grappling—even as they crashed hard into the dirt below.
The fight raged on, escalating into brutal close combat. They rolled, trading holds and counters. Iryoku tried to lock a grapple, but Mr. K broke free with vicious kicks. Their weapons scattered into the dust.
At last, Iryoku pinned him, harpoon whipping toward Mr. K’s eye—but the swordsman twisted just enough, the strike shattering stone instead. They rolled again, locked in a vicious struggle.
The carriage screeched to a halt as the girls leapt down, sprinting toward them.
Then—
Something small clattered nearby. A glowing orb of light. It pulsed once—then burst, flooding the canyon with blinding brilliance. Both men shielded their eyes. The girls cried out, stumbling back.
Before the light faded, another object slammed into the earth. Black, veined with glowing red, shaped like a grotesque, pulsing heart.
The ground shuddered.
The orb split open. Both Iryoku and Mr. K felt a chill slice down their spines as the heart-like mass erupted, spewing a wave of crimson. In an instant, a pulsing red sphere expanded around them like a living bubble.
They struck at its walls with fists and kicks, but their movements slowed—then froze. Something was controlling them. Iryoku strained to summon his harpoon, but the white rope coiled around his arm stayed dull and lifeless, refusing to glow.
Paralyzed, his eyes darted through the crimson haze. He saw the girls rushing toward him, screaming his name, tears streaking their faces. He tried to shout back, but his body was frozen like stone. A shadow reached for him—and terror spiked.
Mr. K turned as well. Across the canyon, his people were still battling the griffon. When they saw him trapped, panic twisted their faces. They charged toward him.
With a thunderous crack, chains of black magic erupted across the canyon. They coiled around the bloody sphere of flesh, binding it tight. Then, with unnatural speed, the prison was wrenched away—dragged across the canyon like a streak of blood.
The girls reached Iryoku’s harpoon, still buried in the ground. Alessandra dove first, seizing the blade and rope. It stretched taut as Iryoku was pulled within the fleshy prison.
“Ahhh!” she grunted, muscles straining.
Yumi, Reika, and Agnes grabbed hold, their bodies glowing with Leben as they poured every ounce of strength into dragging him back.
“Nonono!” Yumi cried.
“Iryoku!” Reika screamed.
“Don’t!” Agnes shouted, tears streaming.
Alessandra planted her feet, the earth cratering beneath her weight. “Give him back!” she roared, eyes shimmering. “Not again! Don’t take him from us!”
The rope stretched thinner and thinner, trembling under impossible strain. The sphere drifted hundreds of meters away, floating over the canyon. Their only thought was pulling him back.
Then, with a sharp whip, the rope recoiled—snapping free from Iryoku’s arm. The girls tumbled backward in shock, the full length of the line coiling into their grasp.
They looked across the canyon in horror. The fleshy sphere slammed into the dust. Blood seeped from Iryoku’s arm where the rope had torn loose, leaving the skin raw. The gap in the prison sealed shut, swallowing him completely once more.
He was gone.
And there—rallying around the sphere, barely visible across the canyon—stood a massive warband. Their insignia was unmistakable. A towering flag rose high.
The Death Tree Army.
Their formation stretched like a living wound across the canyon—lines of armored warriors, rows of twisted carriages, and raised platforms where naked women danced in mechanical rhythm. Their shoulders and thighs were strapped in jagged armor, but the rest of their flesh was exposed, glistening in the twilight.
Drums thundered. A hulking executioner, his torso scarred and swollen with muscle, struck with bone mallets—each blow a pulse of doom.
Then a tall man stepped forward. Bare-chested, long blond hair gleaming, his face both striking and unhinged. He leaned close to the crimson sphere, smiling at his captives.
“I got you,” he murmured, eyes locked on Iryoku, frozen within the pulsing prison of flesh. The orb throbbed like a beating heart. His gaze flicked briefly to Mr. K. “And who are you? …Ah. Doesn’t matter.”
Still grinning, he barked orders as he withdrew. Behind him loomed a black throne mounted atop a massive carriage, dragged forward by chained demi-humans—bear-men, elephant-folk, and others—forced to crawl like beasts of burden, whips tearing their backs raw.
As he approached, three naked women scurried forward and dropped to their knees, forming human steps for him to climb. He ascended without hesitation, planting his feet on their trembling backs as though they were no more than stones in the mud.
The three hurried to join three more already waiting at his side. They fed him fruit, draped themselves across his lap, and lavished him with mindless devotion. One lowered her head without pause, taking his manhood in her mouth—servicing him with the cold efficiency of routine, as though it were nothing unusual.
The man leaned back lazily, stretching as if the entire canyon existed for his amusement. With a flick of his hand, he spoke in casual arrogance:
“Let’s return home. And send word to Father—I have a gift for him"
The throne-carriage groaned to life. Behind it, more platforms rolled forward. Upon them, beautiful women danced in spiked attire—naked bodies bound in jagged steel, their curves twisting unnaturally with every movement. Some shook their flesh in hypnotic rhythm, while others strummed black-stringed instruments that shrieked and wailed, filling the canyon with an unholy dirge.
One figure drew the eye—a woman more lavish than the rest, her long black hair flowing like ink over her shoulders. Her breasts, hips, and pussy exposed, framed by the tattered remnants of a nightdress hanging from her shoulders. Her body swayed with the dancers, yet her movements carried a mechanical, uncanny precision, as if she were no longer entirely human. She opened her mouth and unleashed a loud, piercing melody that cut through the chaos, blending with the screams of the instruments to form a ritualistic, almost hypnotic dirge that made the air itself tremble.
An executioner roared: “Move! Take the prisoners into the carriage!”
The chained demi-humans strained as they dragged the grotesque sphere of flesh toward the black carriage. Whips cracked, and the warband began its march.
Inside, Iryoku and Mr. K could do nothing. Frozen within the fleshy cocoon, they watched in silence as they vanished into the horizon.
On the canyon’s far side, the girls screamed his name. Yumi, face streaked with tears, nocked an arrow blazing with searing light.
“Piercing Arrow!”
The shot arced high—but a storm of counterspells and arrows shredded it midair. Enemy mages answered with merciless precision, cutting down every attempt at pursuit.
The warband retreated swiftly, their formation unbreakable, until they disappeared into the twilight.
Yumi dropped to her knees, clutching another arrow she could no longer release. Alessandra staggered to the canyon’s edge, her face soaked with tears. Reika and Agnes stood frozen, sobs caught in their throats.
The canyon echoed with grief.
And then—shattering it all—the screeches and growls of the griffon returned.