Chapter 52

“Hehehe… Cough, cough! Thank goodness, it’s you.”

“……”

“But, you’ll stay with me until I die, right?”

*

052

Your Dream (Part 2)

*

Her hand instinctively fumbles around her waist. But Polaris, her most reliable companion in battles against heretics, was no longer by her side. Her hand grasps at nothing but empty air.

She had been careless. As an Inquisition Judge, she thought she could go anywhere without a weapon and still be safe. The sacred weapons, borrowed from the Religious Order, were cumbersome to obtain. It wasn’t really a big mistake.

“You… you’re not Louis.”

=What are you talking about? Don’t you recognize me now?=

“Don’t call me that!”

If only she weren’t facing a heretic, one on the verge of transcending humanity.

Her voice rises. Is it anger, or fear?

The situation was different from the reformatory. Back then, she had comrades, weapons, and most importantly, the divine power that filled the entire space. Even if it were a fully transformed heretic, their power and magic would be reduced to less than a tenth inside the reformatory.

In other words, a heretic with no restrictions, capable of unleashing their full power, was a monster even an Inquisition Judge couldn’t face alone.

=What are you talking about? My name is Louis, isn’t it?=

If Inquisition Judges were truly invincible, why would they always bring the Holy War Army with them? Anne’s body begins to tremble slightly. The space is endlessly damp and unpleasant.

Where she is now is no different from a heretic’s nest. There are no comrades around, only the sound of insects gnawing, irritating her nerves.

But all those emotions combined couldn’t compare to what she felt facing the being in front of her. A flood of emotions overwhelming even Anne—affection, guilt, anger, hatred, love, disgust, acceptance, rejection…

“Ugh.”

Too many conflicting emotions for one being. Her body rebels, and she gags again. The cold-hearted girl who didn’t even blink when she saw plague-ridden corpses being cremated as a child.

No, that wasn’t her true nature. Anne was actually quite tender and sensitive.

She hadn’t endured or tolerated; she had simply turned away. From all the cruelty she had witnessed and committed. The hero everyone expected was nothing but an illusion from the start.

In the face of cruelty she could no longer turn away from, there was only a girl crouched down, eyes closed, ears covered.

=Louis Laube.=

Light seeps through her closed eyelids, and a piercing sound breaks through her blocked ears.

Anne’s body moves almost reflexively. Her body, which had crossed countless bloodstains and battlefields, reacts on its own, disregarding her will. As Anne’s body springs up like a bullet—

In that moment of realization, *crunch*.

A clean, guillotine-like strike lands squarely on Louis’s chest.

There were many excuses. No, they weren’t excuses. Louis had become a perfect heretic, and moments ago, he had tried to attack Anne when she was defenseless. It was only natural for her to defend herself.

But the sensation of ribs breaking under her foot.

‘I… I hurt Louis.’

Her mind goes blank.

In the slow-motion flow of time, Louis floats up unrealistically. Without wings, his brief flight ends as he crashes into the opposite wall.

Anne is a specialist in killing. In that brief moment, she could estimate the damage. Broken ribs piercing the heart—no, even before that, a normal person would die from a superhuman kick alone.

“Louis! No! Louis!”

Without realizing it, Anne screams and rushes toward Louis. Toward him, slumped like a corpse.

And as she approaches, Louis’s hand suddenly rises.

‘Huh?’

Her rationality returns. She steps back. Her mind is a mess, her chest feels like it’s bursting. In front of the face she loves so much, Anne slowly kneels.

Part of Louis’s body was no longer human. A giant black insect leg, sharp as a spear, pierces through Anne’s side. The blood-soaked, glistening exoskeleton is still pitch black.

If Anne hadn’t twisted her body at the last moment, her heart would have been pierced.

=What a pity.=

Her body is dragged. As Anne struggles, chunks of flesh are torn from the pierced area. Staggering back, Anne clutches her side, where her insides threaten to spill out, and glares at Louis—or what was once Louis.

Molting.

She was wrong. They were wrong. The Laube lurking within Louis’s body had been dormant for an unimaginably long time.

It had already reached maturity, far beyond the molting stage. It was incomprehensible how any trace of Louis’s humanity remained. The exoskeleton cracks and peels away, revealing the true form beneath.

The Louis she valued more than anything in the world is torn apart like trash. His skin loses vitality, muscles melt away, and scattered blood droplets transform into flying insects upon hitting the ground.

=Much better now.=

Rising from the pool of flesh is an endlessly grotesque and alien black insect.

Even though Anne is small, the height difference is more than three heads. With eight legs and four wings, it walks on two legs. The six elongated forelegs—or arms—are the most hideous and monstrous sight in the world.

Smooth black chitinous armor covers its entire body. Venom drips from its mandibles, and spider-like spinnerets and mantis-like scythes, comparable to sacred weapons, cross each other.

The head, placed highest, oddly resembles a human. If not for the six compound eyes glowing red, scanning the area.

“You… ugh… gasp…”

=Don’t push yourself, my love. Seeing you in pain tears my heart apart.=

She had fallen for a ridiculously simple trick. No matter how strong an Inquisition Judge is, such wounds are fatal. Anne struggles to breathe, unable to move easily.

Losing her composure, uncharacteristic of an Inquisition Judge, Anne loses her options. In her current state, she can neither flee nor fight. The sound of mandibles clashing, *click click*, heralds the coming feast.

=Already shedding so much useless blood… what a waste.=

The heretic desires her. Anne, the Inquisition Judge, the one who absorbed the Holy Body.

The divine blessing is poison to Laube, but those blessed by the divine are a different story. Denying and blaspheming her god is what Laube enjoys most, and it’s also the quickest way to gain power.

How lucky. To obtain such prey so easily. The eyes, each rotating at different angles, gleam with joy.

Bending slightly, four legs grip the ground. The wings on its back spread wide, vibrating, emitting a piercing sound.

*Crash!*

But the heretic fails to achieve its goal. Anne grabs the half-shattered table in front of her and hurls it at the charging heretic. Even Louis Laube has to pause momentarily against the sheer mass.

But only for a moment. The venom-dripping mandibles and scythe-like arms shred the table in an instant. A single sheet of paper, miraculously intact, flutters up in the rough wind.

Everything happens in an instant. In that brief moment, Anne adjusts her stance. One arm still clutches her wound, but her clenched fist radiates fierce determination.

“Louis…”

Really?

Her fighting spirit rises, but it’s incomplete. Her blazing eyes flicker precariously, as if they might go out at any moment. Her priestly robes are soaked red up to her chest. The only reason she hasn’t collapsed yet is that she’s an Inquisition Judge.

The arm swings. Anne lifts the remaining half of the table with one hand to block. *Crash!* The sound of wood splintering. Her mind, already numb from battle, quickly formulates the next strategy.

All heretics possess immense power, but they are overly self-assured and clumsy. This is a common trait of Laube, regardless of their origin—arrogance and carelessness.

Taking advantage of the brief moment when her vision is obscured, Anne moves silently. Even with insufficient mass, overwhelming force can crush anything. Her small frame becomes an advantage in close combat.

The six eyes spin wildly, failing to catch her movements in the dust. The wide-open gaps from the wild swings.

*Tap.* A light step vaults her over the two-meter-tall heretic. The opponent can’t react. If she strikes Louis Laube now, if she strikes…

‘Ah.’

She realizes.

Still, I…

‘Louis.’

How could I…

At the last moment, her tightly clenched fist loosens. Without an immediate assault, launching herself into the air would only result in a disastrous move.

A black whip flies through the dust. Unlike me, you don’t hesitate.

‘Ah.’

Unable to even scream, her breath comes in ragged gasps. Her body bends at a right angle as she crashes into the wall again. Blood and chunks of flesh burst from the gaps in her fingers clutching her side.

Anne can no longer get up. Superhuman. The word, sounding like praise, accurately pierces the truth. She is human.

And humans, naturally, cannot move with their insides spilling out and their spine broken. The rough hand forcibly flips her over.

Unlike the fallen Anne, Louis Laube stands tall, looking down at her. The height difference is so vast that to Anne, his eyes resemble six ominous stars fixed in the night sky.

Foretelling only destruction.

=How annoying.=

The voice, endlessly blasphemous and terrifying, carries a distinctly human emotion—irritation and confusion. As if venting, Louis Laube strikes Anne several times with his arm.

Her small body bounces and crashes like a ball. Her mind flickers between light and dark. Anne can no longer even moan.

Seeing her unresponsive, the truly merciless reaper approaches, scythe in hand. The red eyes, once venting anger, now gleam with boredom.

Then, as if struck by a funny thought, the stars curve again.

=Ah, did you say there was a child?=

‘No.’

No voice comes out. Her body doesn’t move. Louis Laube swings the scythe-like arm he had never used against Anne, aiming precisely at her lower abdomen.

At the last moment, Anne instinctively closes her eyes. They say your life flashes before your eyes at the moment of death.

The scenes flowing behind her closed eyelids aren’t pleasant. Most are unwelcome, not worth revisiting. But occasionally, like pebbles picked up by a summer river, there are shining memories.

Who would believe it? That she had lived her life chasing those brief flashes. But now, it’s over. Death, which cuts everything off—

Death.

Doesn’t reach her.

Anne slowly opens her eyes. The scythe stops just before touching her. Is it mocking her prey until the very end? If so, why do those eyes burn with even fiercer anger?

No matter how much Louis Laube struggles, the scythe won’t move. More precisely, it can swing anywhere else, but not toward Anne. As if her god is protecting her.

At this moment, her god is not Ailim.

=Ha… hahaha. Maybe this is better.=

Realizing he can’t kill Anne, Louis Laube leans closer to her. His mandibles seem ready to sever her slender neck, the dripping venom poised to dissolve her.

But nothing can touch Anne. Instead, Louis Laube whispers a curse in her ear.

=If you don’t wish to die, then live.=

=Live, struggle to survive, and see clearly the consequences of your choices.=

=The foremost hound of your god. Your teeth will tear nothing, and your claws will protect nothing.=

The grim prophecy echoes repeatedly. Finally, Louis Laube leaves Anne, her life spared but her body broken.

Even an Inquisition Judge can’t move with such severe injuries. Her body, battered repeatedly, is bruised everywhere. The internal damage is worse. Organs crushed by the extreme shock begin to fail one by one. Life fades.

But Anne can’t even cry out for help. Only her tenacious, near-immortal but not truly immortal life force keeps her from finding peace, forcing her to endure the pain as she dies.

Her strong mind won’t even allow her to faint. How much time has passed? Lying in a broken corner like discarded dust, she swallows silent moans.

*Flutter.*

As if by magic, a perfectly intact letter lands gently beside her in the chaos.

Anne rolls her eyes, reading the contents with her fading vision. The familiar handwriting, the warmth. The letter is untouched, as if by a miracle.

‘Ah… ah… ah…’

Tears stream from the eyes of the skinned girl, unable to do anything.

The miracle she truly wished for was different, but all she’s granted are such trivial ones.