Chapter 74: A Fight to the Death

Chapter Seventy-Four
A Fight to the Death

The instant their gazes met, Lanevus abruptly bent at the waist and rolled forward.

Clang!

A tarot card depicting an angel and a trumpet stabbed sharply into the sewer wall like a flying knife. Its height happened to be exactly level with where Lanevus’s neck had been a moment earlier.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Lanevus rolled, leapt to the side, and threw himself forward. With extraordinary agility, he avoided three more cards coming one after another, letting them collide violently with the wall, the stone slabs, and the cement, producing echoes like metal being struck.

At the same time, from the corner of his eye, he saw the man wearing the clown mask keeping close behind him, moving not much slower than he was. One hand gripped a thick stack of layered cards; the other dealt and threw them with practiced ease.

The sun with facial features appearing on the card flashed into view. Lanevus braced his left hand against the wall, launched himself into the air, and changed direction dramatically.

At that very moment, he heard a whoosh. A sharp pain suddenly struck his ankle.

He threw two cards? One was delayed by a little and aimed precisely at the direction I would dodge toward? Can he foresee my movements?

Lanevus’s heart chilled. The instant he landed, he endured the pain and rolled again.

Clang!

A tarot card embedded itself into the position where he had just been, still trembling faintly.

Only then did Lanevus glance at the right side of his ankle and see a card deeply lodged there. The stars, water jar, and holy water painted upon it had been stained bright red.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Lanevus had no chance to think or treat the wound. One tarot card after another transformed into sharp flying knives, shooting toward different parts of his body.

Soon, the injuries to his right foot and chest, the lingering effects of the hollow in his chest and abdomen, and the earlier clash at least at the level of demigods made him, whose Sequence 9 was Marauder and who was known for speed and agility, begin to slow.

Snap!

He slapped a card away, but his wrist was cut open with a deep wound, blood flowing without cease.

The Nighthawks and military personnel will catch up very soon. I cannot delay any longer!

At this moment, Lanevus’s mind was extremely clear.

Suddenly, he stopped where he was and no longer dodged, allowing a card whose surface depicted “The Devil” to strike him accurately in the neck.

Almost instantly, the cards stuck in his body were blasted out. Blood-colored tissue wriggled madly around the savage wounds in his neck, right chest, wrist, and ankle, growing one disgusting bud of flesh after another.

Over Lanevus’s skin, dense little bumps protruded in an instant. They glinted with an iron color, seemingly linking into a suit of full-body armor.

Clang!

A tarot card shot over and was directly deflected by those fine, dense bumps.

Lanevus, whose eyes had become blood-red, looked at the clown across from him, who had stopped moving and put away his cards. Half smiling, half mocking, he said, “No matter what, after being toyed with by a deity once, there are always some gains.”

Before he finished speaking, he pushed off with his left foot, leapt across the flowing filthy water, and pounced toward the enemy on the other side.

As though the clown-masked Klein had long expected this, he sidestepped. At the same time, he drew his left hand from his pocket, clenched it tightly into a fist, and drove it like a cannonball toward Lanevus’s temple.

Bang!

Lanevus twisted sideways, swung his elbow, raised his forearm, and countered accurately into his opponent’s fist.

The violent force came crashing in like a mountain torrent. Klein was actually dragged off-balance, his steps staggering.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

One crisp, cracking sound after another exploded beside Klein’s ears. Fists heavier and faster than the last constantly filled his eyes.

He seemed to have forgotten to maintain balance. Following the stumble of his feet, he abruptly threw himself sideways and then, using his left elbow as support, changed direction and rolled.

Snap, snap, snap! Bang, bang, bang!

Lanevus punched and kicked, fast and fierce. Several times, Klein was nearly hit, but he always relied on his exaggerated sense of balance to evade by luck with movements that defied common sense. At times he was on the wall, at times on the ground, as though performing acrobatics.

His behavior was extremely steady, not the least bit impatient, as if he had made up his mind to delay the fight as long as possible, waiting for the Nighthawks and military personnel to catch up.

But the instant Lanevus showed any sign of trying to escape, he would entangle him again with absolute determination, giving him no chance.

Snap!

Lanevus forced Klein, with one punch, to rebound off the wall like a man flying through the air, while he himself turned without hesitation, fleeing down another passage.

Klein touched down on the tips of his toes. His body was about to shoot forward like a cannonball, straight toward Lanevus’s back.

In that instant, a scene suddenly appeared in his mind:

Lanevus, as though boneless, would forcibly twist his upper body back and punch him.

This was the intuition and premonition that belonged to a Clown.

Without delay, without hesitation, Klein voluntarily reduced the following force.

With a clap, he still rushed forward, but far more weakly than expected.

Crack!

Amid a tooth-aching sound of friction, Lanevus’s legs did not move, but his upper body abruptly twisted back. His face pointed straight behind him while the tips of his toes faced forward.

Within that terrifying scene, Lanevus drove a fist forward, smashing toward Klein’s head with such violent force that the air seemed to explode.

Boom!

His fist struck empty space, still twenty or thirty centimeters from Klein’s face.

The force of the wind stirred Klein’s hair, but he did not seize this opportunity to attack. Instead, in a low, hoarse voice, he recited a word in ancient Hermes:

“Crimson!”

A charm?

Lanevus’s brow twitched. He immediately threw himself sideways, trying to avoid it.

But at that moment, Klein did not throw out a charm. He merely kept his left fist clenched tightly and followed Lanevus’s movements.

He likewise threw himself sideways, likewise rolled after him, the distance between the two widening only slightly.

He deceived me?

The thought had just flashed through Lanevus’s mind when his eyes clearly reflected the clown’s high upturned mouth, and the dark-red flame that had, at some unknown time, ignited inside his left fist.

This…

Lanevus’s gaze froze.

A faint crackling sound entered his ears. A deep, tranquil sensation instantly spread, enveloping both Klein and him.

What does he want to do? He wants both people… to be affected at the same time… so that afterward… the Nighthawks and military personnel… can catch up…

Lanevus’s eyelids sank heavily. The exhaustion and weakness he had forcibly suppressed before took the opportunity to resist madly.

He fought desperately to keep himself awake, hoping to rely on his body’s current special state to endure the strongest stage of the sleep effect.

Klein, however, offered not the slightest resistance. He swiftly entered slumber.

But when he unnaturally fell asleep, he would instinctively awaken.

This was his unique defense against spirit channeling and dream invasion.

It was the reliance by which he had once escaped Madam Sharon by a stroke of luck.

During the previous battle, after realizing that the flying cards were no longer effective, he had immediately taken out a Slumber Charm and held it tightly in his palm, waiting for the chance to use it, waiting for the chance to affect himself and the enemy at the same time.

In only an instant, the unusually rational him inside the dream forcibly broke free. His eyes clearly reflected the swaying Lanevus before him.

Hoo!

Klein’s entire being suddenly became extraordinarily calm, as though the person in front of him were nothing but a target.

He abruptly inhaled, twisted his waist and back, pulled through his shoulder, and stabbed his fist forward—stabbed with all his strength.

Bang! Crack!

His fist struck Lanevus’s throat heavily, producing the sound of bones shattering and the effect of flesh and blood splashing.

Lanevus retreated two steps, pressing against the wall.

The intense pain finally allowed him to shake free from the influence of slumber. However, all the fine iron-colored bumps covering his body had faded.

After Klein landed that punch, his left hand had already reached into his pocket and drawn out two cards.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The two tarot cards each stabbed into one of Lanevus’s eyes. Bloody fluid instantly flowed downward.

Lanevus actually endured that pain without letting out a shrill scream. He abruptly threw himself forward, making one final, violent struggle.

Klein did not press the attack. As though he had long expected this, he turned his body sideways and took a step back.

Immediately afterward, seizing the chance when Lanevus pounced at empty space, he closed in behind him in two steps and brought both arms around his enemy’s neck.

Crack!

Klein exerted force with both arms and turned violently, snapping Lanevus’s neck.

After doing all of that, he retreated two steps and looked at him.

Lanevus’s card-pierced eyes stared forward weakly. His body slowly softened and fell. At the same time, he asked intermittently, full of confusion:

“Why…”

“Did you… kill… me…?”

Wearing the clown mask, Klein looked at the enemy before him and answered with considerable indifference:

“No reason.”

“No…”

Lanevus’s eyes widened. Unable to accept it, he collapsed onto the sewer floor, and his breath finally dispersed.

At that moment, Klein, who seemed extremely calm, abruptly stepped forward. His right leg tensed, and he kicked out with every bit of strength in his body, kicking Lanevus in the head.

Bang!

The neck, already bloody and shattered, could no longer withstand the pressure. Lanevus’s head flew away like a ball, smashing heavily into the wall and painting it with red and white.

Klein looked at the scene and suddenly bent over.

“Hahaha. Hahaha.”

“Hahahahahaha.”

He laughed madly in a low voice. The clown mask on his face was so very happy.

Its upturned mouth, its crimson nose, its white-painted face—it was so very happy.

“Haha. Haha… hahaha…”

Klein laughed until he could barely breathe, laughed until it sounded uglier than crying.

Only after several seconds did he finally calm down. He slowly straightened and squeezed his left eye toward the darkest part of the sewer. Then, curving the corners of his mouth upward, he silently murmured:

“Captain…”

“Look. We saved Loen again…”

Drop after drop of liquid slid down soundlessly and landed on his collar.

At that moment, he felt that his Clown potion had been thoroughly digested.