[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 270: Null City (7)

Basically, demons are predators.

They always stand in the position of trampling and hunting others.

That’s why humans, when faced with their presence or gaze, usually froze in fear.

“……”

“……”

Fran and Veronica were no different.

This was their first time directly confronting a demon.

Judging by the aura, it was a late stage level-5 demon.

That, at least, was fortunate.

Still, the very fact that a demon was here—a place they never imagined encountering one—made his presence all the more shocking.

“Guests? No, patients, rather.”

The director didn’t even put down his scissors as he slowly turned his body.

Was it the predator’s gaze, or perhaps the cold temperature of the operating room?

The two trembled uncontrollably.

It was like frogs in front of a snake.

“No, no. Everything has its proper order.”

The director, clad in surgical garb, smiled gently as he gave his command.

“Return quietly to your ward. Your surgery time hasn’t come yet.”

With that, he turned back to continue the operation.

It was the behavior of someone absolutely certain the humans before him wouldn’t dare refuse his order.

Chalak. Chalak.

As the sound of scissors continued, Fran whispered.

‘Veronica, what do we do?’

‘……’

What else?

She wanted to run away this very instant.

If they obeyed the director demon’s command, then even if they eventually died, it wouldn’t be here and now.

Her trembling body seemed to whisper that sweet temptation: Let’s just return for now, then consult Killian.

‘Fine.’

She admitted it—she was a coward. This update is available on novel⦿fire.net

She always put on a tough front and spoke aggressively, but she couldn’t stand ghosts.

She hated bugs.

So of course she feared demons.

Even now, her first instinct was to flee.

‘……But.’

Her eyes wouldn’t leave the mage lying on the operating table.

The mage she had only glimpsed briefly before entering Zenith Tower.

To be blunt, he was a stranger, someone with no relation to her.

Once this ordeal was over, she would never see him again.

“Tch.”

Veronica clicked her tongue.

They say you become like the friends you keep.

She must not have been much different.

If Oscar were here—stubbornly righteous to the point of being annoying—he would never have abandoned that mage and fled.

‘Hey, if we walk away now, that guy’s dead.’

‘Good. Saves us an argument.’

Fran smirked and suddenly gripped the whip tied at his waist.

Now that they’d reached an agreement, his role was clear.

Swaeeeeeck!

The whip, fully familiar in his hand now, broke the sound barrier as it lashed toward the director.

“Hm?”

Sensing a strange dissonance, the director turned his head.

SPLAAAT!

“Gaaahhh!”

The scorching pain across his face made him shriek.

He staggered back several steps without meaning to.

“W-what… what is this?”

Rolling his eyes wildly, he looked as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually been attacked.

That vermin would dare defy his words was, in his worldview, impossible.

Grit.

Finally realizing what had happened, his face twisted savagely.

“You insolent—!”

But already, the whip, now moving even faster, was lashing toward his face again.

If it had been another sneak attack, perhaps he would have been hit.

But with both eyes wide open, he wasn’t about to be struck so easily.

He shot his hand out, aiming to grab the whip and yank its owner close.

‘After that, even if you beg for death, I won’t grant it easily.’

A glint of sadistic joy flashed in his furious eyes as he caught the whip.

“……!”

But the whip slipped through his grip like sand, dissolving into pure wind.

It ignored his hand entirely and kept on flying.

And just before it struck his face—

“Breath of Steel.”

The wind was imbued with the hardness of steel.

KWAANG!

The impact was deafening, and the demon’s facial bones caved in.

“Ughh.”

His nose broke, his mouth split, and blood poured across his face.

His vision shook, his sense of balance collapsed, and he staggered.

“Wind Spear.”

Dozens of magic circles combined into a single enormous spear of wind, which shot forward.

CRUNCH!

It pierced through the demon’s tough skin, muscle, and bone, embedding him and the spear deep into the wall.

“……”

“……”

The two stared at the director, skewered against the wall, head slumped.

He seemed dead, but they didn’t relax their guard.

Demons were famously sturdier than orcs and craftier than goblins.

“I’ll finish it!”

“Wait! Something’s off with him—”

Veronica tried to stop him, but Fran, already spinning his body, unleashed a third strike.

The steel-hardened whip lashed out again at the defenseless director.

‘Maybe…’

Hope flashed in Fran’s eyes.

Maybe this was the reward for all his grueling effort.

To kill a demon was an achievement to boast about anywhere.

‘Break apart!’

His will poured into the whip, making it harder than ever.

Swaeeck!

The whip cracked toward the demon.

But just then, the “dead” director’s lips twitched.

“…Twist.”

Space itself warped.

Like a filter distorting the eye, the scene bent and shifted.

The result was simple—

KWAANG!

Fran felt a violent recoil in his hand.

Then, from behind, came a thunderous crash.

Turning, he saw Veronica slammed into the wall at terrifying speed, like she’d been hit by a charging ogre.

“…Veronica?”

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Her limp body twitched faintly, unconscious.

Judging from the crater in the wall, if she hadn’t reflexively tried to shield herself, she’d be dead.

Fran’s eyes shook as he looked down at the whip still trembling in his hand.

‘No way…’

A chill ran down his spine.

“Pity. A little disappointing, though.”

The demon casually reset his broken nose with a crack and landed lightly on the floor.

“I could have watched you despair after killing your own comrade.”

“……”

The dreadful thought was true.

Veronica had been struck because of Fran’s own whip.

This demon could manipulate space—clumsily, but enough.

‘I should’ve anticipated that kind of application.’

But he hadn’t.

He’d been blinded by the thrill of possibly slaying a demon.

Fran bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

‘Now what do I do?’

All he had was his whip and the power of Wind Lord.

Oscar had drilled into him that his “one-hit kill” style, while simple, had destructive power rivaling anyone—even stronger foes.

But now, that very attack had nearly killed his friend.

‘If I can’t use Wind Lord or Breath of Steel… I’m just nothing.’

Without those, Fran Sirius was only a mediocre mage, nothing special at all.

‘Maybe Veronica foresaw this, and that’s why she tried to stop me.’

Regret burned in him.

“Interesting, very interesting.”

The director reveled in Fran’s changing expressions.

‘His fighting spirit is gone.’

It was only natural.

Vermin were always too sentimental.

Pathetically weak, yet they gave such meaning to the existence of “comrades.”

“In the end, death makes all of you the same corpses.”

He felt nothing about that.

All he desired was to perfect his warped mastery of space.

For that, he would gladly pursue endless experiments here, no matter the deaths.

“If you won’t move, then I shall.”

In an instant, he closed the gap and reached for Fran.

“Grk!”

Fran transformed his body entirely into wind to escape.

At that, for the first time, the demon’s eyes glimmered with genuine intrigue.

“Turning your whole body into wind? What a fascinating patient!”

Researching that would surely advance his spatial control.

Mad glee spread across his face.

“Come now, let me operate on you!”

Fran backed away again and again, his eyes flicking to the unconscious Veronica.

He clenched his teeth.

‘If he twists space again while I attack, she’ll really die.’

That fear shackled his movements.

Step by step, he retreated until—thunk!—his back hit the operating room wall.

“Heh. Nowhere left to run.”

“……”

Fran gripped his whip tighter.

“If you swing, your attack will kill your comrade.”

“……”

Oddly enough, those words gave Fran comfort.

‘So he’s wary of my attacks.’

He must have realized after being struck twice that the whip’s power was dangerous.

That meant Fran’s blows were, indeed, a real threat.

“……Hoo.”

Fran exhaled deeply.

No one was coming to help.

If he kept running, both Veronica and he would die.

‘I have no choice but to gamble everything.’

His body trembled.

He had always struggled with self-worth, only temporarily reassured by Oscar’s encouragement.

But leaning on others for validation meant it could vanish in an instant.

“……”

Fran glared at the demon.

By Oscar’s account, this enemy was not yet a true master of space magic.

Calming down, Fran began to see what he had missed.

‘He’s only used space magic once—in that “Twist.”’

Why not when Veronica’s devastating Wind Spear hit?

Why not when his whip landed twice before?

The common thread was clear, each successful hit had been too fast for him to react.

Therefore, Twist must require significant preparation time.

‘Even now, he’s provoking me, trying to bait my attack.’

Fran squeezed the whip tighter.

‘If I’m right, I’ll win. If I’m wrong, I die.’

Resolving himself, he swung.

“Hmph, so you finally chose to attack?”

The demon’s eyes gleamed.

As the whip came within reach, he shouted.

“Twist!”

The space distorted—

And Fran let go of the whip.

“……!”

Whips rely on centrifugal force.

Without a firm grip, they lose momentum and fly off course.

The whip was swallowed into the warped space, emerging above Fran’s head.

“Knew it.”

He whispered.

The demon hadn’t targeted Veronica again; instead, the distortion redirected toward him.

The whip fell limply—and Fran snatched it back.

“Breath of Steel.”

Once more, it hardened to steel.

“S-stop—!”

The panicked demon raised a hand, but—

KWAANG!

The savage strike tore through his neck.

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]