Aslan hummed a tune as he made his way toward his target. He had no interest in the events of the first night of the Holy Grail War and hadn't bothered to send out familiars to scout the situation. After all, in Aslan's eyes, the first day of the war was unlikely to bring any significant developments.
He gently pressed the brim of his hat downward, casting a shadow over most of his face. No matter the angle from which one looked, his features were obscured. Aslan nodded to himself.
His destination was the residence of an old parasite. Coincidentally, there would be a gas explosion at the port tonight. So, if a similar explosion occurred in an old house and the residents were tragically killed in the blast… well, that too would be reported as an unfortunate accident. In fact, it might even be considered good news.
After all, with the battles of the Holy Grail War set to escalate during this period, a few extra gas explosions wouldn't seem out of place. These stories would likely catch the public's attention—but would that really change anything? In this Holy Grail War, ordinary people would always remain powerless and unaware, unable to resist the forces that loomed above them.
When the war truly ignited around them, there would be no way to stop it.
In the original timeline, the Black Holy Grail was born within the New Metropolis Hall, and half the city was destroyed as a result. No matter how careful or vigilant the residents were, they had no means of resisting the tide of corruption that spread outward—the evil, black mud of the world.
Which is why, in any world, personal strength is paramount.
As long as one possesses enough power, no matter the circumstances or dangers, they can survive. Just like now—when Aslan saw an abnormally large insect crawling at his feet, he stepped on it without hesitation. A pulse of magic instantly vaporized the remains, leaving not a trace on his shoe.
"What a careless little bug. It ran right under my foot and ended up like this. Don't you agree, old man?"
Aslan addressed the figure standing at the gate of the nearby house. The old man was gaunt, with a disturbingly large head. His eyes were completely black, devoid of sclera. His deeply wrinkled face was twisted into an expression of caution and repressed fury—his brows knitted tightly together.
He wore a black kimono, open at the chest, revealing skin that clung to bone like parchment. Occasionally, insects scuttled across his exposed flesh. A foul, putrid stench clung to him, thick and rancid, like that of a rotting corpse. He stood there more like a cadaver than a living being.
"Who are you, boy?" the old man rasped.
He had already sensed that something was wrong. This unfamiliar junior had suddenly appeared at his doorstep and crushed his familiar without hesitation. There was something in the boy's tone—something implicit. It was clear now: the one standing before him had come to kill him.
Aslan raised his head, watching the old man's expression shift. Then he casually picked up a few stones and tossed them around the yard. Each one landed with a flicker of fairy script. A moment later, a massive barrier took shape—one that pierced the heavens and the earth, isolating the house and its occupant entirely from the outside world.
The old man's face twisted further at the sight of such a powerful magical field erected so effortlessly.
Aslan turned and smiled. "What's with the nerves, old man? The night is still young. Let's take our time."
The old man said nothing. Without another word, he turned and darted back into the house. His retreating form was like a swarm of scattered insects. Simultaneously, a mass of bugs surged forward to block the gate behind him.
It wasn't inaccurate to say that this man was no longer human.
He loathed his decaying soul and rotting body, yet lacked the courage to die without achieving something first. Over time, that desperation had become an obsession. He turned himself into a parasite—literally—a worm that fed off others to extend his life. His entire body had become monstrous. He hated the light and preferred to dwell in darkness.
His transformation into an insect had even altered his behavior. His habits, his aura—everything about him had become as revolting as a crawling bug. From his appearance to his soul, he had embraced that hideous form.
And yet, his unnatural lifespan was indeed extended. What's more, the transformation seemed to have granted him something else: a kind of primal, animalistic instinct. A heightened perception of danger—one that only beasts and bugs might possess.
And in that instinctive perception, the being at his door was not a mere child. The old man felt as if a monster—an unknown, godless predator—had set its gaze upon him. Normally, he would have sneered and fought back with arrogant disdain. But now, faced with this young-looking boy, he found himself unable to summon even a shred of resistance.
What the hell is going on?
Why is my body trembling? Why does my soul feel so terrified?
Could this boy… this child-looking intruder… really possess the power to destroy someone like me? How? He's just a brat! But wait… that script… is that… fairy script?
Unlike the Rune language, Fairy script was all but lost to time. Only fairies themselves could master it. Throughout all of history, only one human was ever said to have used it—an individual named Aslan, from legend.
No… wait. I heard rumors about a genius in the Clock Tower. A prodigy who could read and write in Fairy script.
Could it be… is that him? That brat at my door?
Is the Clock Tower blind?! That boy—no, that thing—isn't a boy at all.
He's a monster in disguise!
Aslan looked at the now-shut door, bugs crawling across its surface, and sighed. He steadied his mood and smiled once more. His tone turned light and teasing.
"So, it's going to be a game of cat and mouse, huh? Well then, allow me to offer a complimentary pest control service. The Great Britain Housekeeping Company is at your service. So…"
"[Flame]."
With the appearance of the fairy script, a wave of searing fire erupted and struck the door. Thanks to the barrier, the sound did not carry outside. The barrier not only blocked noise—it altered the appearance of the scene from the outside as well. No one would see what was really happening here.
No one would come to interrupt.
-End Chapter-
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