Chapter 122: The Grateful Dead (2/2)

For some reason, Cecil remembered characters that only existed in the bedtime stories his father had read him.

Characters of absolute evil that possessed great power.

Even the protagonists of those stories could never kill those demons, and were only ever able to exile them or follow rituals inherited over years to seal them once again.

“No. I refuse!”

It was after half a beat that he attempted to return the hot potion as if jolted.

“Fear not. You should know that we won’t force you into this choice, what with our enduring partnership.” The other person didn’t receive it, and instead continued slowly with an alluring tone. “You keep the potion and think about it.”

With those words, his body was dark dust that faded into the air of the room, leaving a silver mirror on the lounger.

The flames in the hearth turned orange-red once again as well.

Cecil stared at the bottle in his hand. There was a troubled look on his face as he walked up to the hearth, as if considering whether he should throw the potion into the fire and let it burn.

That was when someone knocked on his door.

“Who is it?!” Cecil asked loudly as he pocketed the potion in reflex.

“It’s me, young master. The captain of your personal guard.” The person outside answered.

Cecil had opened the door, but he only felt an unreasonable irritation despite the captain’s apologetic smile. “What is it?”

“We’ve found two intruders into the castle, sir.”

“Found?” Cecil frowned, sensing the catch. “Not caught?”

“Yes, we have them cornered in the small concert hall, and the other guards are attempting arrest. We shall have them soon.” The captain answered earnestly.

“The small concert hall, huh.”

Cecil strode ahead, with the captain following him.

But even before he entered, they heard a voice yelling loudly. “I shall not give up on my infiltration even if I’m caught! Witness me, Silva, for this is how I infiltrate! The Grateful Dead!”

When they finally entered the concert hall, they found a pudgy man laughing manically while bleeding profusely from every part of his body. Despite that, he chased down and cut down Cecil’s personal guards, even as they scattered towards every direction, trying to escape.

And at the fat man’s side was another skinny man, who was tearing up emotionally for some reason and screaming ‘Brother Terrosche!’ even as he helped stabbed the guards whom the fat man managed to cut.

They naturally weren’t aware that ‘Grateful Dead’ was one of the early core skills in the Berserker route for Swordmasters. To put it simply, it was to keep bleeding proactively—and the lower the user HP, the stronger effect the personal buff. That being said, the bleeding increases the longer the skill was in action until even the healers couldn’t help save the user, which made it a suicidal skill if not played with control.

The sheer slight left Cecil’s mouth twitching as he asked the captain a soul-searching question, “Didn’t you tell me they are intruders? They are killing almost every single one of my personal guard! And here you are, just looking—are you turning against me too!? Stop them right now, or that fat one is going to take on ten men alone!”

After being scolded an earful, the captain quickly went to help—he had fine skill, and would have been chief knight in other smaller noble families. That was how he did not fall to Terrosche despite the Player’s berserk mode, and wore him down despite being drenched in the fat man’s blood.

Naturally, Silva could hardly keep fighting alone, and was naturally cut down by the wild slashes of the guards who encircled and attacked him—but not after he killed two of them while yelling ‘Welp, broke even’.

Cecil’s face went white from rage at the miserable sight before him.

And yet, he never knew that a mage had snuck into his room to steal some letters and documents, while most of the guards in his keep had moved here to fight the two intruders…