Chapter 421: Flesh Cook

Ta-da-da-da… Ka-ang!

As soon as Oliver made his slash, the rotting blood on the ground rippled, and the Flesh Cook closed the distance to reach Oliver in an instant.

He secured his distance and swung his knife, to which Oliver responded by brandishing the Dagger he was holding for defense.

A sharp clash between steel sent a faint shockwave radiating outward.

“That distinctive checkered blade… It’s forged with authentic Northland Steel.”

While they were locked in a blade standoff, the Flesh Cook scrutinized Oliver’s Dagger and spoke.

And he wasn’t wrong.

This Dagger was a gift from Wallace, one of the leaders of the Kel Independent Free Army.

After defeating Bathory at Mountain Face, Oliver healed him, even sharing drinks and cigarettes. In return, Wallace gave him this Dagger.

Wallace mentioned that carrying this Dagger into the Kel community could either secure aid or allow Oliver to meet him again.

In essence, it’s a type of identification.

The Flesh Cook continued examining Oliver’s Dagger and kept talking.

“Good knife! Northland steel is some of the best, especially when traditionally forged. Great for channeling magic or dark power. It’s not something you can easily buy, though. How did you get it? Was it a gift?!”

“Yes.”

“Lucky for you, I’ll keep it safe along with the Quarterstaff!”

Using his declaration as a signal, the Flesh Cook put force into his arm and shoved Oliver away before swinging his knife ferociously.

Oliver was pushed back but quickly regained his balance with the help of his Robe and matched the Flesh Cook’s strikes with his Dagger.

Their blades created dozens of black lines in the air, crashing into each other so fast they were almost impossible for the naked eye to follow.

It looked like a sword storm.

Its power was not something to be taken lightly. Approaching it would be incredibly difficult.

As neither side gained an edge, the Flesh Cook suddenly pulled out a cleaver that resembled an axe from his waist.

Kwa-ang!

With one hand, the Flesh Cook skillfully wielded the French Knife while the other brought down the cleaver with all his might.

As if splitting firewood.

Indeed, the Flesh Cook’s cleaver split everything in its path—ground, buildings—everything, except Oliver.

He was the only one it couldn’t cut.

Seeing Oliver unharmed, the Flesh Cook asked.

“I didn’t expect you to handle blades so well… Where did you learn it?”

Just before the Flesh Cook struck, Oliver parried the French Knife and at the last moment deflected the cleaver’s slash.

His skill rivaled, or perhaps surpassed, that of the Flesh Cook.

Oliver answered honestly.

“I never learned.”

“Oh… really?”

“Yes. I practiced with the Quarterstaff briefly, but I’ve never learned to use a sword… It seemed too sharp and unsettling.”

“You’re saying you’re too good, so there’s no need to learn? That’s arrogant. But then, why do you use blades against me?”

“Because when facing the Flesh Cook, I don’t feel unsettled.”

He genuinely meant it.

After all, even if the Flesh Cook had once been human, the vast energy and body he wielded now far surpassed any human Oliver had ever seen.

Honestly, if he took even one hit, Oliver knew he was in danger.

Because of this, he had to wonder.

Why hadn’t the Flesh Cook overwhelmed him with sheer force yet?

Was he holding back? It didn’t quite seem that way.

It was as if he desired the apple but was wary it might be poisoned.

Just as Oliver was about to ask, the Flesh Cook spoke first.

“Oh, so the guy who beat the son of an angel thinks highly of me, huh? I’m honored.”

In his words, Oliver detected both truth and falsehood—more precisely, truth mixed with contempt and anger.

Then he continued.

“So, shall I reciprocate and see what you’re made of…? [Corpse Infection]!”

As the Flesh Cook chanted, enormous emotion surged from within him and spread everywhere.

The emotion combined with the rotting giant’s blood and flesh around them, causing a chemical reaction that soon birthed a disease.

“Do you know what dark magic I just used?!”

The Flesh Cook asked as he suddenly closed in on Oliver once more.

He swung the cleaver in a wide arc, and Oliver, infusing emotion into his Dagger to extend its blade, used a wrist snap technique to deflect the attack obliquely.

The deflected slash flew past him and sliced through a building, splitting it horizontally, not vertically.

A truly astonishing power.

However, instead of retreating, Oliver stepped forward and countered with his Dagger.

But it was blocked by the Flesh Cook’s French Knife.

“…Corpse Infection. It’s also known as corpse-plague.”

Oliver answered.

He remembered reading about it in Joseph’s study.

It was a dark magic more commonly seen on battlefields than in cities, a spell that used corpses as a catalyst to create diseases.

Although technically not highly complex, it was still quite dangerous.

Dark magic’s power was determined by both the practitioner’s skill and the quality of the materials. If the number or quality of the corpses was high, the spell could reach a power level far beyond the norm.

Just like now.

“Cough.”

Oliver coughed, examining the rotten blood staining his pants, shoes, and body.

Even though his Emotion Robe and internal magic were circulating to block and expel the disease-weakening dark magic, the corpse-plague, due to its giant source, continued to invade Oliver’s body.

This happened shortly after neutralizing the previous dark magic.

‘I couldn’t even neutralize it all.’

Oliver thought as he noticed his throbbing eyes, stinging skin, trembling hands, and stiff joints.

The symptoms of eye shingles, red spots, violent neuralgia, and joint petrification were persisting, but honestly, these weren’t his main concern.

The real problem was the worsening condition.

Growl…

“Ah, sounds like it’s starting to take effect.”

The Flesh Cook, hearing Oliver’s stomach growl, casually crossed the cleaver and the French Knife in his hands and commented.

The X-shaped slash came at Oliver, and he countered by thrusting his Quarterstaff enveloped in his Robe.

But the lack of firepower and growing hunger weakened him, so he was thrown back.

The impact wrested the Quarterstaff from Oliver’s hands, sending it flying into the air, while he collapsed onto the pool of rotten blood.

Tasting the ever-growing and undeniable hunger, Oliver asked a question.

“When you said ‘taking effect’… Is it dark magic called hunger-plague?”

“That’s right.”

“From that dark magic earlier?”

Oliver, recalling the creatures in larval form who self-destructed in connection to this, asked. The Flesh Cook answered again.

“Exactly. You have sharp eyes.”

“Hmm… May I ask why I can’t neutralize this one? I’ve neutralized the others, but I just can’t shake this one… It’s not even supposed to be that tricky of a dark magic spell.”

Indeed, it shouldn’t be.

The dark magic officially called Starvation is fundamental in the disease-weakening category.

Naturally, the resources and skill needed to cast it were low, and likewise, so was its danger.

In extreme cases, simply eating food could cancel out the spell.

But, the one Oliver was dealing with was on a different level.

It wasn’t instantly fatal, but—

“—It gradually intensifies your hunger, doesn’t it? And won’t go away?”

Hearing that, Oliver slowly nodded.

Since earlier, he’d tried to neutralize and shake off the hunger, but it refused to disappear.

“Of course it won’t. I made it with my own emotions.”

Oliver immediately understood what he meant.

Dark magic could wield even greater power when using the practitioner’s own emotions, especially if those emotions were intense.

Oliver clutched his rumbling stomach, desperate for food, while observing the Flesh Cook.

Broad shoulders, muscles visible beneath his shirt, long legs, and a robust physique.

He didn’t look like someone who had starved, but Oliver knew through Puppet that this wasn’t the case.

It was quite the opposite. The Flesh Cook was well-acquainted with hunger.

Born to a poor lumberjack, he spent much of his early life plagued by hunger.

‘And eventually, he was abandoned in the forest…’

Oliver, gazing at the Flesh Cook, expressed his thanks.

“Thank you for your kind explanation.”

“No problem! Knowing my power actually worked is rewarding, so it’s only proper I show kindness. It gives me confidence.”

“…Hmm?”

“Besides, who cares what I say when you’re going to die soon? Can’t you feel it? Even if you stand still, you’ll starve to death soon.”

“…Yes.”

“So, what’s your plan now?”

As soon as the Flesh Cook asked the question, Oliver touched the pool of rotten blood, imbuing it with his emotions and magic, casting a blood spell.

Even though it was rotten, blood was still blood.

[Blood Maiden]

Responding to Oliver’s call, the pool of blood gathered around the Flesh Cook, forming a giant coffin with a woman’s face.

A giant blood coffin that could swallow a person whole.

As Oliver clenched his fist tightly, the blood coffin opened, and it engulfed the Flesh Cook in one swift motion.

The Flesh Cook, perhaps confident in his abilities, didn’t resist, but Oliver didn’t care and manipulated the coffin to produce spikes both inside and out.

Spikes made entirely of blood.

Kwa-gwa-gwang!

A loud sound echoed as the spikes pierced through with precision.

If one looked at the enormous and countless spikes, it wouldn’t seem possible for anything inside to survive, but Oliver, who was directly controlling the blood magic, knew the attack hadn’t fully succeeded.

There was no sensation of impact.

As if to prove that, something started bulging from within the blood coffin, and as it reached its limit, it burst out with a tearing sound.

Chwa-aang!

It was a blade made of pure rage.

The Flesh Cook infused his oscillating emotions with malevolence (evil will), releasing a blade of emotion, which spread outwards, breaking the blood coffin into pieces.

Surely, the blood coffin should have been as tough as steel of the same thickness… An astonishing display of power.

But what was even more shocking was that the Flesh Cook emerged unscathed, other than his clothes being ripped.

Despite dozens of spikes the size of pillars thrust into him, his body did not have even a scratch.

“Now it’s my turn.”

The Flesh Cook controlled the blades of emotion that spread outwards, leaving deep slashes on the buildings and ground, aiming at Oliver.

Giant black blades coming from all directions.

Oliver tried to dodge, but in that instant, the Flesh Cook infused his emotions into the cleaver and the French Knife.

He was aiming to exploit any gap as soon as Oliver tried to dodge.

‘Will this work?’

Oliver pondered while focusing on controlling his emotions, splitting his Robe into several tendrils, matching the flying slashes’ speed, and absorbing them all.

Thanks to that, Oliver could not only see but also feel the Flesh Cook’s rage through his skin.

The accumulated frustration and betrayal spanning hundreds of years.

In that state, Oliver channeled the absorbed slashes into his Dagger and sent them flying back at the Flesh Cook with all his might.

The Flesh Cook didn’t retreat but grinned savagely and met Oliver’s attack with his own slashes, causing a collision.

K-wa-aaang!

Amazingly, the slash Oliver sent pierced through the Flesh Cook’s slash and closed in on him.

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising.

After all, Oliver not only used the Flesh Cook’s emotions but also his own extracted emotions.

As the dust settled, Oliver could see the power of the slash he’d unleashed.

It left a deep cut in the ground where blood pooled, and the Flesh Cook’s cleaver was shattered into pieces.

But the Flesh Cook remained standing, unharmed, just like when he escaped the blood coffin.

“Is this the en—”

-[Blood Wedge]

Oliver enchanted the discarded Quarterstaff with blood magic and hurled it towards the Flesh Cook.

The Quarterstaff, having gathered as much surrounding blood as possible, flew towards the Flesh Cook like a massive wedge.

It seemed unstoppable, ready to split anything in its path.

However, despite the lack of a cleaver, the Flesh Cook didn’t evade. In fact, he seemed even more confident, focusing strength into one of his arms.

Muscles swelled in his arm, and scales and claws emerged.

Resembling more of a reptile than a human.

With that transformed arm, he simply swung, shattering Oliver’s blood magic into pieces.

With sheer overpowering physical strength.

As if he half-expected it, Oliver retrieved the Quarterstaff while the Flesh Cook, still brimming with confidence, asked.

“Got anything else?”

“Haa… I’m getting really hungry.”

With hunger worsening and fatigue clouding his mind, Oliver struggled to stay focused.

He desperately wanted something to eat.

***

“Damn it.”

Near the center of Ravely, now resembling a battlefield.

There stood Professor and Master Kevin of the Tower of Magic, muttering under his breath. With all his heart.

Because the situation was, literally and figuratively, hopeless.

“What…”

“…did I agree to?”

A raggedy wizard clad in rags,

A huge druid with a bear pelt over his head,

And a hunched dark wizard responded with broken phrases.

Listening to them was grating, but even more disturbing was the fact they were, in truth, one person.

Simply put, they were Puppet.

“Thanks for trusting me so easily.”

“Not many trust my words.”

“That makes things quicker.”

The man—no, the person controlling three Zombie Puppets simultaneously, Puppet, spoke.

Though it was hard to believe and even harder to accept, Kevin chose to acknowledge reality with cold logic.

“Nobody else could control those Zombie Puppets except Puppet.”

Kevin spoke informally. He saw no reason to be polite to an adversary.

Especially in this dire situation where the Gates of Hell could potentially be opened… Truly a dilemma.

“What I want is simple.”

“Do not proceed any further into the city’s center.”

“If you comply, no one else will be harmed. No one.”

To prove his point, countless corpses lay scattered around the Zombie Puppets.

One of the raggedy wizards was perched atop a small mountain of corpses, the druid was surrounded by torn bodies, while the dark wizard had neatly arranged and processed corpses being devoured by a Greedy Bag.

There were close to two hundred bodies.

Among them were not only mages from Loculi University, police, and military forces but also the Flesh Cook’s subordinates and even civilians.

He had eliminated everything attempting to enter District 1.

Kevin kept a cool head while gauging the strength of his allies.

Beside Kevin, Terence, armed with military-grade weaponry, and Yareli, whom Oliver had sent for reinforcements, stood along with about ten other mages from Loculi University who had formed a team.

All were combat-ready, a formidable force.

After all, with this group, they had crushed several battalions of the Flesh Cook’s subordinates and killed numerous otherworldly creatures.

Kevin had single-handedly taken down three giants with the help of a salamander.

A force that could stand toe-to-toe with any adversary.

Yet, Kevin couldn’t advance.

His instincts told him the three Zombie Puppets before him were far more dangerous than they were.

An unusual combo of a mage, druid, and dark wizard, but beyond that, each possessed formidable power.

Kevin organized his thoughts.

The Flesh Cook was trying to use the chaos in the city to open the Gates of Hell, Oliver had gone alone to stop him, and Puppet was surrounding the area, preventing outside interference.

The situation was bleak.

“Let me ask just one question. Are you blocking us to open the Gates of Hell?”

Puppet replied.

“No, I’m not particularly interested in Hell or anything like that.”

“I just want to watch the show.”

“And I’ll kill any meddler trying to interfere. What are you going to do?”

Kevin pondered and exchanged silent glances with Terence, communicating wordlessly about the best course of action.

Having fought together on the same battlefield, they could understand each other without speaking.

“If we don’t enter, you won’t care what we do?”

Yareli was surprised by the unforeseen response.

Puppet answered calmly.

“As I said before… As long as you don’t interfere, I won’t do anything.”

“Can we trust that?”

“What I’m doing right now.”

Puppet spoke confidently, and that convinced Kevin.

“We’re going back… Terence, send an emergency signal through the communication device. Call everyone to the university. After explaining the situation, we’ll evacuate outside the City.”

Kevin walked back the way he came and spoke firmly.

Yareli, who had been silently listening under Kevin’s command, finally spoke up.

“Aren’t you going to help Xenon?”

“No, now is the time to help. If Puppet gets involved, it wouldn’t be helping at all.”

Yareli couldn’t reply after hearing Kevin.

Although she was a little agitated, she knew that she was generally calm, and that Kevin’s decision was correct.

The only way to help Xenon now was to retreat so that the Finger couldn’t interfere anymore.

“Then, we should do what we can. Get as many people as possible out of the potential disaster… Is there anything wrong with my opinion?”

Neither Yareli nor the wizards from Loculi University could say a word.

Because in the current situation, this was the best they could do.

They also had the eyes and experience to know that facing Puppet wouldn’t be easy.

No, it was dangerous. There could be more Zombie Puppets than the one they just saw.

Trying to get involved now would just add fuel to the fire.

“So, it’s best to inform Loculi University and escort the rescued and those who can still be rescued out of the City.”

“But… Xenon…”

Yareli muttered in distress. She seemed to have a great debt in her heart from being helped by Oliver.

Still just a student.

As Terence comforted her, Kevin spoke firmly.

“Sorry, but from here on out, it’s up to Xenon. There’s nothing we can do.”