Chapter 613: Contaminated Zone (6)
Rrrrrrrrumble!!!
The Contaminated Zone’s underground.
Using the power of the spirit bound by his magic, Salas warped the entire underground. The floor and ceiling reversed, and walls crumbled, resulting in a phenomenon akin to tectonic upheaval. In this chaos, a deafening roar pierced the air as a massive wave of debris surged through, obliterating everything in its path.
To be swept away by this disaster meant certain doom, even for a superhuman.
Yet, Oliver escaped this catastrophe, molding his Black Suit into a surfboard-like shape and riding the wave of debris. This response was possible thanks to his composure under pressure, the superhuman physique gained from consuming the flesh of the Flesh Chef, and his wealth of experience as a Fixer.
If there had been spectators, they would have applauded.
However, Oliver, the man in question, felt neither joy nor satisfaction.
For this was only the beginning.
‘The footing here is unstable.’
Despite having avoided a massive disaster, Oliver didn’t feel relieved and instead assessed his surroundings with a cool head.
There was no time for celebration, as the ground beneath continued to shake, presenting an endless danger.
That also meant it was the perfect moment to strike.
Boom!!
As if echoing his thought, a massive stone pillar shot up in front of Oliver.
A collision at this speed would mean his entire body would be crushed.
Just before impact, Oliver leaped into the air, targeted the pillar, and latched onto it, changing the Black Suit around his legs into hooks to anchor himself.
“Nimble, aren’t you?”
Standing tall amidst the surging wave of debris, Salas remarked as he moved his hand. In sync with his gesture, another stone pillar emerged from the wall, targeting Oliver, who lightly jumped up and landed on the newly risen pillar.
Boooom!!
As the pillars collided, an immense shockwave scattered countless fragments through the air.
Normally, these fragments would have fallen straight down, but Salas wielded the magic imbued within the debris to launch an attack on Oliver.
Numerous stone shards hurtled toward him, leaving no room to breathe.
Yet, Oliver calmly responded.
“Minions.”
At Oliver’s call, over a dozen Minions emerged from his arms, intercepting the oncoming shards and shielding him. In that interval, Oliver hurled a Black Javelin directly at Salas, who stood serenely within the raging wave of debris.
Though it struck, Salas didn’t bleed or collapse but shattered like a piece of pottery.
“It’s called a clay soldier.”
The voice came from behind Oliver.
The Minions reacted instantly, preparing to fire Hate Bullets at Salas, but he was faster. He charged the stone fragments in his hand with magic, hurling them and swiftly destroying the Minions. Then he pulled a stone sword from the pillar and swung it at Oliver.
Oliver dodged the sword and countered with a strike from his quarterstaff, only to discover…
Crack!
Once again, it was merely a duplicate, hollow like a piece of ceramic.
Oliver addressed the clone of Salas.
“I don’t quite understand.”
“You mean why I joined hands with Puppet?”
“Yes,” Oliver replied, pulling his quarterstaff free from the torso of the clay duplicate.
The duplicate, its side entirely shattered, crumbled like a sandcastle, and then dozens of massive stone pillars shot up from all directions in the underground space filled with the turbulent debris.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Each time a pillar rose, the ground shook, creating a grotesque landscape of pillars scattered across the underground.
But before Oliver could fully grasp this, countless clay duplicates resembling Salas emerged from every pillar and charged toward him.
Swinging swords made of earth and stone, the clay duplicates of Salas spoke one by one.
“You’re more rigid than I expected.”
“As a black magician yourself, you find it strange that I’d join hands with Puppet?”
“A bit discriminatory, isn’t it?”
“At the very least, I thought a magician like yourself wouldn’t engage in something like that.”
“What do you mean by that?”
While exchanging offense and defense across the pillars amid the shaking underground, Oliver and Salas continued their conversation.
“You once told me that fighting reveals a person’s disposition and character. I assume the way one accumulates magical power is similar.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t even know your name, but I feel I understand what kind of magician you are. Blessed with natural talent, you eschew shortcuts, training diligently and perhaps even rigidly for a very long time.”
“Hm.”
“The way you fight is the same. Although you possess overwhelming magical power, you gain the upper hand through skillful tactics rather than sheer force, and you keenly assess my capabilities. It’s a thoroughly conventional approach.”
Swinging his quarterstaff and firing Hate Bullets, Oliver systematically smashed the approaching clay duplicates.
“That’s why I don’t understand. For someone who has trained by their own convictions over such a long period, it doesn’t make sense that you’d suddenly collaborate with Puppet.”
At that moment, the clay duplicates, who had only engaged in close combat until now, began to employ a wide array of magic, escalating their assault.
To Oliver’s surprise, the clay soldiers commanded by Salas wielded not only magic from the Gaia Sub-School but also spells from Agni, Skadi, Mjolnir, Enlil, and Pure Mana disciplines, allowing them to unleash an onslaught vastly superior to earlier attacks.
Magical light sparked in the air as massive pillars of fire, lightning bolts, icebergs, and tornadoes erupted, fusing and clashing to generate tremendous shockwaves that shattered the surrounding pillars Oliver used as his foothold.
Fortunately, just before the attack, Oliver had scattered several wooden sticks inscribed with spatial manipulation spells across the pillars, activating the spells in time.
By folding space and targeting specific spots, he evaded the attack, escaping the offensive seemingly through teleportation.
Because of this, the clay duplicates failed to inflict any harm on Oliver, ultimately being swept away by their own spells and plummeting into the depths below, where they shattered in the sea of debris with a thunderous crash.
As Oliver was about to take a momentary breath, Salas’s voice echoed from above...
He had created new clay duplicates, preparing yet another assault.
“Let me give you an example.”
Dozens of clay duplicates aimed magic at Oliver, unleashing a barrage as they descended upon him.
It was a magical bombardment.
Oliver selected another of the scattered wooden sticks, folded space, and dodged in an instant. Then, he added his own magic to the attack spells used by the clay duplicates.
By blending his magic into theirs, a colossal explosion erupted, annihilating several of the clay duplicates.
Yet Salas continued speaking through the surviving clay duplicates.
“What would you do if you knew you’d die tomorrow?”
“Well, I haven’t really thought about it.”
Meanwhile, more clay duplicates closed in, forming a systematic formation to surround Oliver, combining magic attacks and close combat to push him back.
They resembled a legion of magicians. Their power was intimidating, but the coordination was even more challenging to deal with.
“I would probably study and train in magic, as I’ve always done.”
“Even if I die, my research and accomplishments will remain for future generations.”
“It might be a bit disappointing, but there’s a kind of significance in that, don’t you think?”
The magic-wielding clay duplicates unleashed a series of high-powered spells while simultaneously using precise magic to prevent Oliver from evading, while sword-wielding duplicates closed the gap, seeking an opening.
The assault left no room to maneuver.
In each instance, Oliver used the spatial spells he’d scattered on the wooden sticks to fold space and evade as though teleporting.
But with each evasion, one of the pillars he relied on for footing would collapse, gradually leaving him fewer places to escape to.
Through the voices of the clay duplicates, Salas continued.
“But what if the world itself were to be destroyed?”
“What if it’s not just my death, but all my accumulated efforts reduced to nothingness?”
“I’m not sure.”
Just as Oliver activated a spatial spell on a wooden stick to escape before being fully surrounded, one of the clay duplicates swung a sword in midair.
Swoosh!
It severed the space between Oliver and the stick.
Though highly useful, space-folding magic with a spell as its medium was also easily disrupted.
Just as Oliver was about to activate the spell, the slightest interference rendered it void.
With his escape attempt thwarted, the surrounding clay duplicates closed in, brandishing stone swords and radiating fierce magical power.
“If it were me, I would struggle with all my might. Even if the world were collapsing, I’d try to protect the achievements of my life.”
Although the duplicates’ faces betrayed no emotion, Oliver sensed that Salas’s words were genuine.
Because Salas was someone who viewed his efforts and achievements as a moral good.
“So, would you step back? There’s still much I need to unearth.”
“Kind words,” Oliver replied to Salas, who, despite having cornered him, refrained from attacking and offered a suggestion.
“As I said before, I hold a certain admiration and respect for those who have achieved great things. And, frankly, I am intrigued by you. Besides, I didn’t come here to harm anyone.”
“It seems you’ve already harmed plenty,” Oliver replied. “The black magicians hiding out in the Contaminated Zone’s underground, for instance.”
“Oh, them? Or the refugees up above?” Salas shrugged. “Collateral damage is inevitable when something important is at stake. I thought you understood that.”
Oliver did understand. That was why he intended to drive out the hiding refugees.
“I apologize if it sounded like criticism,” he replied. “I’m no different, after all. I just meant that, for similar reasons, I can’t back down either. This is also a job for me.”
“A job?”
“Yes, the refugees above are terrified because of you. They’ve agreed to help me in exchange for addressing that threat.”
“A job worth getting their help?”
“Yes, I’m here to clean up the Contaminated Zone. To peacefully evacuate them, I need their cooperation.”
“Then I understand you even less. Why not just kill a few? They’d leave on their own. Why go to such lengths?”
“It’s just how I prefer to do things.”
“Pff. That’s amusing, to be honest. These people live illegally, with nothing to their name, at rock bottom, and yet you feel such sympathy?”
“I guess it’s all relative,” Oliver replied. “I don’t necessarily think I’m better than they are.”
“Really?”
“I may know and do more than them, but that’s only because I was fortunate enough to have opportunities, fortunate enough to seize them, and fortunate enough to have the talent to match them. Had things been different, I might have ended up here as a refugee myself.”
“A thought I find hard to accept,” Salas said. “If that were true, I’d be just another lucky man myself.”
“You understand perfectly,” Oliver said with a nod. “You, too, are someone who was lucky.”
“…”
“I’m not disparaging your efforts, but if it hadn’t been for favorable circumstances, innate talent, or the people around you, wouldn’t you be a different person than you are now?”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Can you truthfully deny it?” Oliver’s question carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored, though it seemed posed lightly. Shifting topics, Salas continued, “What’s your point?”
“Would you consider leaving? Then I’ll also step aside.”
“Let’s see… You don’t know where I am, but I have you surrounded. Your footing is tenuous, and beneath you is the raging tide of debris. And yet, you think you can force me to yield?”
“Yes.”
At that, Oliver activated his spell.
As soon as the spell took effect, the pillars he stood on, along with the surrounding ones, crumbled, and a massive tree began to grow, taking root and spreading across the turbulent sea of debris.
It was fueled by the wooden sticks Oliver had previously scattered and inscribed with space-manipulation magic, allowing it to grow and take over the space, knocking both Oliver and Salas’s clay duplicates off balance and sending them plunging downward.
“Do you think that will stop the wave of debris?” Salas questioned through the mouth of a clay duplicate.
Below, where the tree was spreading, branches grew rapidly from the many sticks Oliver had scattered, creating a web-like structure.
He had intended for these sticks to be used as a means of escape, but they now served to claim control over the space if necessary.
Since the wave was powered by a spirit, the trees drawn into the debris began absorbing its energy, speeding up their growth considerably.
The spreading branches and roots soon blanketed the surroundings, slowing the turbulent flow of debris.
Even so, the raging wave of debris was still too fierce to stop entirely.
“As rumored, you certainly wield Druidic power, but this won’t last long,” Salas remarked. He was right. Oliver’s skill in combining black magic with druidic spells to absorb the spirit’s power was impressive, yet it had clear limitations when facing the spirit directly. It was more of a hindrance than a decisive move.
“It’s enough for my purposes,” Oliver replied.
Salas didn’t immediately understand, but soon it became clear.
As they continued to fall, Oliver used the growing branches to summon a large quantity of corpses from within the still-intact underground. Thanks to Eve, he could easily locate them.
Branches wriggled to life, bringing forth decayed bodies, bodies stitched together haphazardly, and even those that had been mashed together like dough.
Some were the results of Puppet’s past experiments, some the remains left by the Contaminated Zone’s original residents, and some were what the black magicians had used before Salas had arrived.
Amidst the fall, Oliver scattered life force and emotions toward the amassed corpses.
[Revive]
[Obedience]
As new life filled them, the hundreds of corpses came under Oliver’s control. Watching this, Salas spoke.
“What are you planning?”
It was a fair question. The numerous corpses offered considerable strength, but they were of limited use in this situation. Without full control over the space, those rotting, damaged bodies couldn’t be much of a threat.
However, for Oliver, they were sufficient. To prove his point, he created an artificial soul by combining emotion, magic, and life force.
Then, he replicated the human-sacrifice ritual of the White Swan Prince.
[Lamentation (慟哭)]
Oliver didn’t fully understand the theory or mechanics of this magic, but he acted on instinct. As the ritual activated, the artificial soul in Oliver’s hand disintegrated, and the hundreds of corpses brought their hands together and began to wail in unison, like the bound red statues summoned by the White Swan Church’s Prince.
Guided by the enchanted branches, the corpses clapped their hands together and emitted an eerie sound that was part scream, part chant.
The sound resonated through the space, disrupting and nullifying every spell within it.
That included the magic chain binding the spirit.
The spirit, tormented by the Lamentation and freed from Salas’s control, found its liberty, causing the wave of debris to come to a halt.
With the safety of a steady foothold now established, there was more to gain than just this.
The liberated spirit pulled Salas from his hiding place in the ceiling above.
As if struck by an earthquake, the ceiling shuddered violently. Then, with an explosive force, Salas emerged and attacked the spirit, injuring it and absorbing some of its power.
So, Oliver hadn’t been mistaken: a part of the spirit was indeed embedded in Salas’s body...