Chapter 530: Red Hood (1)
Red Hood.
He was known as a dark sorcerer affiliated with the Black Hand and also a werewolf.
“A werewolf?”
“Yes, a werewolf, a creature that supposedly no longer exists in this world. Hard to believe, but it’s true… I saw it with my own eyes. The dark sorcerer I fought before I met you, Mr. Dave, was him.”
Oliver nodded.
When he was left alone in the forest by Ewan, Oliver activated the Dark Sorcerer's Sight to assess his surroundings and spotted Lucien. He approached to seek help.
During that time, Oliver also saw the beast that had hunted down and slaughtered Lucien and his comrades.
Most likely, that creature was Red Hood—a fascinating being that looked almost human at a glance, yet at its core, was undeniably a beast.
Oliver asked, “Could you share more detailed information? I don’t know much.”
As usual, Oliver requested information. Being interested mostly in things that piqued his curiosity, he was knowledgeable in some areas, yet lacking in others.
For example, of all the numerous dark sorcerers in the Black Hand, he only knew about four key members.
To Oliver’s surprise, Lucien responded unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry. We don’t know much about him either.”
“Oh… I see.”
“Yes, Red Hood’s area of activity is in the central continent, so we’ve had no contact with him. And as he’s regarded as something of a legend, today was actually the first time we’ve confirmed his existence.”
“A legend…? Could you be more specific?”
“A monster that imitates human form to prey on people… You know, the type of story created to keep strangers from following unfamiliar figures.”
“So, Mr. Red Hood can actually change his appearance, then?”
Oliver quickly discerned Red Hood’s ability.
From his experience in the New World, he had learned that even legends often contained a certain degree of truth if one probed deep enough.
Impressed by Oliver’s unexpected insight, Lucien nodded with a mix of admiration and confusion. Was Oliver exceptionally sharp, or just strangely dense?
“Yes… he can change his appearance. While I’m not entirely sure, it seems his red cloak has that capability. It’s incredibly sophisticated.”
“That’s why he’s called Red Hood… If you don’t mind, could you tell me more? Even the smallest detail would help.”
Intrigued, Oliver’s request was gladly accepted by Lucien. They were virtually on the same side now, so sharing all possible information to achieve the best outcome seemed wise.
Of course, it was a trust underpinned by Oliver’s credibility.
Resolving himself, Lucien began to recount the circumstances that led to him pursuing Red Hood, the process by which he lost his subordinates during the chase, and the final confrontation with Red Hood.
Oliver listened attentively to Lucien’s account, while the other Milieu bosses observed Oliver.
Since they had already heard about Red Hood once, it was more beneficial to study Oliver’s reactions—how he received new information, the conclusions he drew, and so forth, all of which revealed insight into his intellect, perceptiveness, and tendencies.
As time passed, Lucien’s story ended, and after pondering for a moment, Oliver finally spoke.
“Sounds like he’s similar to the Flesh Chef.”
Oliver voiced an opinion that echoed the thoughts of others.
After all, Red Hood’s dark magic leaned toward the disease-manipulation type, and even his fighting style was remarkably similar.
Using a disease-enhancement technique to amplify his natural strength and overwhelm opponents with sheer physical power, yet ready to cause aggravating harm with disease-weakening spells if necessary.
Usually, a dark sorcerer could only master either enhancement or weakening techniques, but considering his expertise in both, one could infer his skill level.
A truly troublesome opponent.
This meant he could employ both devastating force and deadly poison simultaneously.
Having once faced the Flesh Chef, who used both disease-enhancement and weakening techniques, Oliver understood that risk better than anyone.
After all, he had been left with this persistent hunger because of that encounter.
“The issue is, he’s also quite cunning.”
Lucien, having been wounded once by Red Hood, offered Oliver additional advice and outlined the reasons for it.
“Despite his formidable strength, he’s cautious in his actions. Even though the central continent’s governance isn’t well-developed, it’s hard to trace his presence. It’s a feat only possible for someone intelligent.”
Oliver understood the point.
Red Hood had the strength to single-handedly take down a Milieu unit, yet instead of being overconfident, he moved with caution, so much so that he remained undetected.
That was a clear sign of intelligence. Traces of one’s actions are notoriously hard to hide, even with careful planning.
“Moreover, he not only managed to locate the whereabouts of the key before us but rather than fleeing right away, he ambushed us, ensuring no possibility of pursuit. His judgment and combat experience are both top-notch.”
Lucien spoke with a bitter tone.
He had always considered himself quite clever.
That’s how he had discovered the existence of the key and pursued Red Hood.
Even though he had ultimately been outmaneuvered by Red Hood and nearly died in an ambush.
Red Hood might have been a monster that ate people, but he was certainly no fool. Instead, he was as shrewd as the stories suggested, cunning enough to deceive people before devouring them.
He didn’t just rely on his raw strength; he gathered information, made the best possible choices, and responded swiftly to unexpected situations.
This wasn’t a mere powerhouse, but a far more challenging type of foe.
Though Oliver remained expressionless.
“I understand what you’re saying… So, in any case, he’s the one who has the key, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
Oliver neither relaxed nor displayed any visible caution. Just as Lucien was about to shake his head, Milleux’s lone female member, Valery, raised her hand.
“It’s not certain, but I have a bit of interesting information.”
“Interesting…? May I ask what it is?”
Valery smiled.
“One of the warehouses occupied by the Flesh Chef’s remnants was attacked by a hairy beast. That warehouse contained rare specimens collected by the Flesh Chef, and I know about it because I had my eye on it.”
“You’re suggesting that Mr. Red Hood was the one who attacked?”
“If we’re talking about a hairy monster, it can only be him. Incidentally, there were massive claw marks in places that match his wounds.”
It seemed genuine. Most likely, it was true.
“But the interesting part is something else. Are you curious?”
“Yes.”
“A hidden observer reported that the hairy monster devoured everything in the warehouse—both the Flesh Chef’s remnants and the items stored there.”
Valery mimed an open mouth with her fingers. Red Hood had allegedly eaten both the Flesh Chef’s followers and their rare specimens.
It was quite a fascinating story. They might even acquire a demonic tome from it.
“Then, it seems I’d better hurry to meet him.”
...
“Graaaaagh… Kyahahahaha!”
In a dense forest, somewhere between the central and outer regions, a massive, hairy creature, approximately three meters tall—though it felt closer to four meters in size—roared with its enormous maw wide open.
And it wasn’t just a roar; mixed with dark magic, the bellow distorted the air, sending a broad, faint black wave pulsing forward.
The area it covered was so vast that there was no room for escape, and the mercenary group Broken Sword, positioned directly in its path, was struck head-on.
“...Ugh?!”
“Guh…”
“Urrgh…”
Broken Sword—a group born from the remnants of soldiers who had lost their small nation in the central continent due to the Piper’s destruction. Though their homeland was gone, they had a long history as mercenaries, marked by significant strength and courage.
That history had earned them employment by the Duke of the Milo Principality in the southern city-states of the continent, hired to secure the Flesh Chef’s inheritance.
However, even Broken Sword, despite their strength, couldn’t remain unaffected after facing a roar infused with refined fear, as it began to unnerve them.
To be fair, luck was not on their side. Under usual circumstances, they might have resisted with their characteristic mental fortitude, but they had already suffered from forced entry into the forest’s heart with insufficient preparation, driven by their employer’s impatience. And now, an ambush?
It was no wonder they were shaken.
Yet, just because something was understandable didn’t mean it erased the damage.
Broken Sword faced not only physical harm but also the even more deadly toxin of fear.
Naturally, that fear dulled their judgment and reaction time. Seizing the opportunity, dozens of Red Hood’s subordinate dark sorcerers, who had been lying in wait throughout the forest, cast disease-enhancement black magic into their bodies.
[Lay the Foundations]
[No Pain]
[Steel Bone]
[Muscle Up]
[Thick Leather]
[Burning Life]
[Beast Teeth]
[Sharp Nails]
The dark sorcerers first strengthened their bodies to withstand multiple disease-type black magic spells, eliminated any pain that might interfere with battle, and then reinforced their bones, muscles, and skin. They used their life force as fuel, transforming their teeth and nails into beast-like claws.
Crack… Snap… Pop!
Considering that a typical disease-type dark sorcerer could only handle two or three spells at most—or four or five at the extreme—their abilities were truly extraordinary.
Enhanced to their utmost physical limits, the dark sorcerers dropped to all fours, sprinting at full speed toward the Broken Sword mercenaries from every direction.
They charged like military-grade motorcycles.
But Broken Sword was not without skill.
At the head of the mercenary group, their captain and senior officers activated magic, stabilizing their shaken soldiers’ minds with a flash of magic-infused light. This allowed them to brace for the charging, hairy attackers.
Massive mercenaries holding shields formed a wall with one hand gripping axes, while gunners positioned between the shields aimed their firearms.
It was like a fortress made of men.
As the gunners positioned between the shields prepared to fire, Red Hood launched his black magic half a beat quicker.
[Barrage of Fury]
A fire-type black magic, this furious bombardment was developed from bullets infused with hate.
The werewolf wrapped in a red cloak expertly extracted emotions from numerous vials on his chestplate, shaping them into a massive ball of energy before hurling it skyward.
Once it reached a high altitude, a hidden array within the energy ball activated, detonating it. A volley of dark bullets rained down on the mercenaries below.
This display required not only mastery of disease-type black magic but also advanced skill in fire-type black magic.
The dark bullets gleamed in the air, seeming almost haphazardly scattered. However, they struck precisely at the weak points of the formation, inflicting significant damage on the mercenaries, who struggled to recover.
Achieving such an effect required not only raw power but also strategic acumen, sensory awareness, and ritual-casting skills.
A huge gap opened in the mercenary formation, and Red Hood’s dark sorcerer subordinates swarmed in through it, biting and tearing at their opponents.
“Hand over the meat!”
Like beasts in human form, the dark sorcerers clawed and bit into the mercenaries.
Their claws, empowered by magic, could slice through steel as easily as paper, but the mercenaries fought back, firing their guns and swinging their weapons in resistance.
Nevertheless, the dark sorcerers, driven by a frenzied desire to strike even one more blow, abandoned all defense, attacking like rabid dogs.
It seemed like they were engaging in suicidal attacks, but that was not the case.
While the dark sorcerers did indeed sustain severe injuries, they recovered instantly by devouring the flesh of fallen mercenaries.
Their reckless attacks were fueled by this regenerative power.
Brutal and straightforward, but the effect was undeniable—not only did they cause actual physical harm, but they also rekindled the fear that had barely been suppressed by magic, leading to emotional turbulence throughout the battlefield.
“Steady yourselves!”
Captain Zoltan of Broken Sword, holding a hundred miniature sabres reduced by shrink magic, scattered them in every direction.
The sabres, barely larger than a fingertip and appearing almost like toys, spread out as Zoltan infused them with his magic. Then, the shrink magic was lifted, and the blades returned to their original sizes.
Shing!
Slash!
Thud…
Clang!!
When the sabres regained their full size, their sharpened edges glinted with magic as they sliced, hacked, and pierced the surrounding dark sorcerers.
Some managed to dodge or block the blades, but they were few. Most could not evade the multitude of sabres, and they were either cut or impaled.
And this was no indiscriminate attack, either.
Zoltan had meticulously controlled his magic to identify the positions of both allies and enemies, resulting in a widespread yet precisely targeted offensive. It was an attack that blended the best traits of bombardment and precision sniping.
The magical blades glowed as they danced around, spilling the blood of their foes in all directions.
A single display that reversed the tide of battle—something only achievable by a superhuman.
With the advantage of his skill and superior numbers, Zoltan sought to press forward and finish off his enemies when, suddenly, a horrid scream filled the air.
“Gyaaagh!”
One of their own mercenaries had collapsed, his face partially melted and dissolving.
It was a result of the dark sorcerers’ contaminated blood.
Gruesomely, the dark sorcerers fought with diseases embedded within their bodies, designed to cause harm to their enemies regardless of victory or defeat.
And as more and more mercenaries were splattered with the dark sorcerers’ blood, injuries began cropping up everywhere. Zoltan hurried to pierce the dark sorcerers’ hearts to prevent further damage.
Letting them run rampant would only increase their casualties. Given the extent of their current injuries, they couldn’t afford further losses.
The sabres spun and whirled through the air, aiming for the hearts of the dark sorcerers. But just as they were about to land, a distant explosion sounded, shaking the ground. Looking up, Zoltan saw a huge plume of dust rising from the forest.
Red Hood, who had previously provided only support with roars and fire-type black magic, now pushed off the ground, leaping toward them.
This sudden aggressive approach took Zoltan off guard for a moment, and Red Hood seized the opportunity, extending a massive, clawed hand as he shouted:
“Extraction.”
In the chaos of battle, where fear, madness from fighting, and disease-driven dread abounded, all the emotions of the battlefield gathered in Red Hood’s outstretched hand. He absorbed those feelings without hesitation, channeling them into one of his arms.
The muscles and veins on his arm swelled grotesquely, his claws stretching abnormally long.
Sensing the danger, Zoltan gathered the hundred sabres and aimed them all at Red Hood.
And so, five enormous black claws collided midair with a hundred silver blades.
Craaaaaash!!
The air trembled with a sound like shattering glass, and the battlefield was lit up by countless gleaming fragments scattered like stardust.
Among the fragments of magic-infused blades, victors and losers emerged.
The victor roared:
“Consume them. Every last one.”