Chapter Forty-Three

Ivan leaned against the outer wall, letting out soft hiccups.

Ever since he learned that the hotel owner was gone, he had been going to that tavern every day to get the drinks he wanted.

After all, he was just a homeless man. Homeless men usually don't care where they get their drinks from.

Anyway, all these homeless guys know how to do is kill people. Strangely enough, it seems that ever since Ivan grew up, he has become proficient in using a knife, especially after drinking a little.

The old knife slung at his waist was perhaps the only thing he hadn't sold when he was so poor he was sleeping on the streets, even though it was indeed very valuable, and the guy named Ark had said many times that he was willing to pay a high price for it.

But it didn't sell any of them, because if it changed its weapons, it might not even be able to maintain its current survival.

Actually, with Ivan's skills, becoming a mercenary like Deedris would be quite good. Even Deedris couldn't guarantee she could defeat it without using the weapon made from dragon materials. This guy named Ivan is strong, but he's also very lazy.

He's so lazy that he won't take on any paid jobs until he's spent the last piece of junk in his pocket, and he's always been a big spender, never skimping on anything he uses.

Of all the creatures that came looking for the demon this time, its motives were probably the simplest. There aren't many who come to hunt demons purely for money.

Evan felt a little bored; he didn't have many friends. He was simply keeping his distance from others on a conscious basis.

That way he can avoid getting involved in any trouble.

He walked slowly down the street, intending to check the bulletin board for any available tasks.

Although the place was empty when I went there yesterday, because of the special nature of the city now, ordinary monsters here are simply taken care of by various groups as troublemakers. They die on the spot before they can cause any damage worth paying for.

But he still decided to try his luck, as he was now penniless. The only thing he could find in the tavern was human flesh to eat. Although he wasn't averse to eating human flesh, it always tasted a bit sour, probably because it had been sitting for too long.

Or perhaps he should kill a few monsters and exchange their magic cores for money? He hesitated for a moment. Actually, not everyone can obtain magic cores intact. Without proper preservation methods, the obtained magic cores will become very dirty after contact with the chaotic elements outside. Such cores wouldn't sell for much money at all; the effort and reward were completely disproportionate.

Well, maybe I should take a walk. Who knows, I might run into that guy again? I think he's some kind of demon. I don't know if I can beat him, but I'm just killing time anyway.

Several days have passed since the last conflict, and there has been no further development. Everyone had thought that the previous conflict would bring this incident to a climax, but it ended abruptly, as if it had never happened.

Therefore, the city has now returned to peace. These are all things done behind the scenes; openly, the clergy have begun organizing post-disaster reconstruction. Everywhere, civilians from Vaso are being cleared, and a census has begun to determine the current population.

Ivan continued walking, unaware that he had turned into a deserted area.

He always inexplicably drifts away from crowds; he can't control his legs. Every time he gets close to a crowd, he turns into some random place.

Perhaps it's because he's one of the few children raised by domestic violence; after all, most people here are raised by the church, and many may never have even met their parents. Aside from the nobility, his family is one of the few other families where children are raised by parents.

As a result, he also had a childhood that was not worth remembering.

Ivan suddenly felt a chill, and as if realizing something, he slowly exhaled.

His aura suddenly changed. Just a moment ago, he was a guy who was so drunk that he was practically floating on his feet, but now he was as sharp as a knife.

“I remember you were dead,” Evan said softly, turning his head to look at the ruins. “And you weren’t buried here, were you?”

The ruins slowly began to move, and Twelve rose from them.

He looked even stranger now, his body wrapped in bandages again, his form covered by a dusty gray cloak.

"Why don't you just pretend you didn't see me?"

"Then you'll have to pay some hush money," Evan said with a smile, leaning his body forward.

He formed a strange shape, his whole body becoming a taut spring.

"A flash." Evan muttered softly.

As soon as Twelve heard this, his blade had already slashed horizontally in a strange curve.

Such a rapid draw-and-slash is rare even among demon hunters, and even rarer among mercenaries. After all, while such a cool move looks impressive, it's only effective against humans; even humans are no match for heavily armored units.

But Evan could cut through rocks and metal with his knife, for no other reason than that the knife in his hand was Boming. This groaning knife was incredibly sharp, and the phrase "cutting iron like mud" seemed to have been made specifically for it.

But Evan's sword strike stopped halfway through; he halted and slowly sheathed the sword he had just drawn.

Because the target had changed location, Twelve was already more than ten meters away. At this distance, even if he drew his sword quickly, it wouldn't make a difference.

“Impressive skills,” Ivan muttered. “You’re really good at escaping. Now I want to know how you managed to escape Death’s scythe. It shouldn’t be possible for you to escape death.”

Twelve did not answer, but slowly lowered her head.

Ivan's veins bulged, and the clanging of metal echoed continuously. In a split second before anyone could see, he had already swung his knife.

All five strikes hit their target, but each produced a metallic clang. The five sounds were almost simultaneous, yet even so, Evan sustained a deep wound on his arm.

Because Twelve attacked one more time than him at this moment, and five out of six attacks were blocked, naturally it had a wound on its body.

But Twelve couldn't continue its attack because it was simultaneously hit by a high kick from Evan. The beautiful high kick sent it flying, and the two separated again.

Ivan sobered up completely and realized the danger.

He had never taken a battle so seriously before, but today's battle had threatened his life.

How many times has it been since Ivan felt the thought that he would die if he relaxed? Ivan didn't know; it had been too long, and he seemed to have forgotten.

But he felt excited; he wanted to cheer instinctively. His entire body tensed. He brandished his longsword, assuming a fighting stance. A black aura emanated from the blade.

The thin whistling sound was just enough to confuse others about the sound of the wind.

In the blink of an eye, this time Ivan launched the attack, taking advantage of the fact that the black aura on the blade had not yet dissipated.

A common technique involves sharpening the blade with a monster's core; this will cause the magic to briefly remain on the blade for approximately three seconds.

What can you do in three seconds? Enough to draw eighteen cuts!

Ivan appeared as blurry as a phantom, and in an instant, even the things that could still stand upright in the ruins were all cut down.

He didn't even bother to visually identify Twelve's position; this guy's speed was already on par with his own. In situations like this, positioning relies entirely on intuition, but it's this intuition honed on the battlefield that can pinpoint someone's location far more accurately than the eyes.

Ivan had actually learned it; in fact, he had seen someone else use such a combat technique once, and he remembered it. This guy was actually a genius, but his background prevented him from having access to higher-level techniques.

But even though he had only seen a very simple way of parrying a sword, he developed several variations of it during his practice, transforming it into a strange and difficult-to-defend move.

Nobody wanted to learn, because nobody could swing the knife as fast as he could. Evan was also curious about the reason; why was something that could be done simply by following the air's gaps considered difficult by others?

When the two stood on the ruins again, Twelve had a new knife wound on his body, in his lower abdomen, where half of his stomach had been cut open.

Logically speaking, such injuries were severe enough to have killed him under normal circumstances. However, when Ivan turned his head to check, he found that Twelve was still standing there. He slowly turned around as well, and the two looked at each other again.

“You’ve turned into a monster.” Ivan took a deep breath; he was also a little tired and needed to breathe heavily to relax his muscles.

This kind of swordsmanship is not designed for prolonged combat. Short bursts of high-intensity exercise will cause the muscles throughout the body to become oxygen-deprived. Twenty seconds have passed since the start of the fight, and Ivan can already feel the soreness in all his muscles.

His breathing technique would allow it to improve its condition more quickly through a lot of breathing, but hopefully Twelve would give it that brief period of time.

“Even if you turn into a monster, there’s nothing we can do. You’re very strong,” Twelve said softly, turning to look at Evan and sighing slightly.

His wounds had healed, a healing speed that Ghost Duke greatly envied.

He had actually been stabbed several times, but because the stabs were too sharp and the wounds too thin, they healed very quickly and didn't even linger on his body.

This is troublesome.

Evan frowned; the current situation was proving difficult for him.

His attack methods are actually quite simple, and Twelve's ability happens to be the one that gives him the biggest headache. Normally, he wouldn't want to face someone like this; running away would be the best option.

But now he suddenly had a strange feeling that he was going to die here, and that it would be useless to escape.

This feeling is truly unbearable; there's no hope in sight. It's like being a butterfly trapped in a box.

What bothered him most was that he still couldn't figure out what Twelve's weapon was. His hands looked empty, but he knew that he had just fought with a weapon.

The vibration transmitted from the knife allowed it to determine that it was metal, but it couldn't yet determine what kind of metal it was.

This guy attacked too fast, he didn't even have a chance to identify his weapon.

“Actually, if you had pretended not to see me back then, we wouldn’t have had to fight to the death,” Twelve suddenly said. “But now that you’ve already made your move, if I let you go back, I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“Of course, I can’t keep a secret. Give me some money to buy alcohol and I’ll tell everyone about you.” Evan said, gripping the knife in his hand. “Then let’s put a period to today’s work.”

He took a deep breath, this time inhaling a large amount of oxygen, which was then supplied to all the muscles in his body through his lungs.

This extreme fighting style can only allow it to fight three rounds in a short period of time. If it fails to kill the guy in the third round, then its journey will officially come to an end.

In fact, even now, only a handful of people can withstand three rounds of his attacks. It's been several years since anyone has been able to fight him to this point. Most would succumb to the middle, continuous onslaught.

The initiative had once again fallen into Twelve's hands. This bandaged monster knew that Ivan's fatal blow was still the sword-drawing slash. The attack, amplified by the magic core supply, had looked impressive with its flashing blade, but it lacked lethality.

On the contrary, he vividly remembered the first attack that he dodged, because even now he subconsciously sensed danger. Otherwise, he wouldn't have chosen to dodge.

Ivan flipped the back of his blade and held it in front of his chest to block Twelve's attack. This time, he finally saw Twelve's weapon clearly.

Those were black thorns sticking out of the palm of my hand; they looked disgusting, like bones growing out of my hand. It was nauseating.

He suddenly realized that he had deliberately shown this to himself. Because if he paid attention to it, he would definitely be distracted.

When he came to his senses, he could only use his other hand to protect his cheek, but even so, the knee strike, which came from an odd angle, hit his palm and pierced his facial bone with tremendous force. Ivan could hear the sound of his bones breaking; it was the pain caused by the simultaneous strain on his facial and hand bones.

But Twelve saw him smiling, because just as he turned to launch a second attack, Ivan had already sheathed his sword.

All other sounds faded away at this moment; only the sound of the wind remained.

The second slash erupted the instant the sword was sheathed, while the facial bones were still crumbling from the terrifying force, before Twelve could even dodge. It was a strike purely based on muscle memory, aimed at his waist in a direction Twelve could not possibly avoid, and then slicing through his entire body along his chest.

Blood splattered out, scattering like red flowers in the darkness.