The Whisper of the God of Love (Part 9)

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ewan stared at the man who was, for the first time, standing upright before him, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

Before coming here, he had already run through countless nightmarish scenarios, preparing himself for the worst possible outcome. That was why he hadn’t hesitated, why he had charged toward Elka at top speed, hoping for a quick, clean, and decisive victory.

He had been so close. So damn close.

But the way things had unfolded had still managed to exceed his wildest, most pessimistic, and frankly, most insane expectations.

He had never imagined that this man, who had already been absorbed into Elka’s grotesque, pulsating mass of flesh, could just… detach himself and stand in his way. He hadn’t just become another screaming face on the monster.

And most importantly, he was, it seemed, incredibly, terrifyingly strong.

That’s right. From that one, single, almost casual move, Ewan could tell. Unlike his own hastily-learned, three-trick-pony fighting style, the man before him was a true warrior, a powerhouse forged in the unforgiving crucible of real combat.

And that was the kind of person Ewan feared most right now.

“Dude,” Ewan began, rubbing his hands together and flashing a tentative, friendly, and utterly desperate smile. “Could you please step aside for a moment? I have a small, private matter to discuss with your lovely wife. Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “it’s just a wholesome chat about world peace and the meaning of life. It won’t affect your marital bliss in the slightest. So, could you please let me have a moment alone with her?”

“…” The man remained utterly, terrifyingly silent. Ewan couldn’t even tell if his vacant, dead eyes were looking at him. But he stood there, an immovable, muscular wall, with absolutely no intention of letting him pass.

“Heehee. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little movements, Mr. Ewan?”

Elka, who was still locked in a fierce, world-ending battle with Anne, suddenly shot him a mocking, condescending glance. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but my intuition tells me I can’t just let you do as you please. So, why don’t you have a nice little playdate with my dear husband?”

“By the way,” she added, her voice dripping with a sweet, venomous poison, “my husband is a genuine B-rank adventurer. And one of the top ones, at that.”

“B-rank.”

Ewan’s heart sank like a stone into the depths of a cold, dark, and very deep lake.

According to the official rankings, a B-rank adventurer was at least a third-rank warrior, and likely even stronger. Anyone who could climb the adventurer ranks step by step was no joke.

And yet, here he was, a freshly-minted, barely-out-of-the-box second-ranker, about to fight a veteran third-ranker. This kind of “punching way, way, way above your weight class” challenge… wasn’t that a special, exclusive service reserved for the protagonist?

Protagonist?! Where is the damn protagonist?! Somebody save me!

“As if she would come…” Ewan laughed at himself, the sound hollow and bitter. By his calculations, the real protagonist, Ariel, was probably still undergoing some intense, happy, and protagonist-exclusive training under the guidance of the old granny’s soul in her magic ring, all in preparation for her grand, dazzling debut at the academy.

He couldn’t rely on anyone but himself.

From the moment he had made this choice, there was no turning back.

And besides…

“I refuse to believe… that you’re still in your prime after all that!”

Ewan let out a low, guttural growl and suddenly exploded into action, lunging at the man like a hunting cheetah.

A preemptive strike was his only chance!

The two short swords in his hands, moving at wicked, unpredictable, and desperate angles, slashed toward the man’s vital points. Ewan knew the gap in their strength was immense, so from the very beginning, he was putting everything he had into this one, all-or-nothing surprise attack.

“Die, you bastard!”

His blades were a blur of silver light, his roar like thunder.

And at that moment, the man finally reacted.

His gaze shifted slightly, as if locking onto Ewan’s position.

Faced with the two blades aimed at his vitals, his expression remained completely, unnervingly blank.

He simply… sank his stance.

And then, Ewan’s vision seemed to stutter. It was like watching a video that had suddenly dropped a frame, two completely different images stitched together in a jarring, unnatural, and deeply unfair sequence.

One moment, the man was standing there, motionless.

The next, he was right in front of Ewan.

So close.

So close that the two blades he had thrust out with all his might missed completely, his wrists slamming harmlessly, and very painfully, against the man’s solid, rock-hard shoulders.

The man simply braced himself against the impact.

A sharp, numbing pain shot through Ewan’s wrists, and he almost lost his grip on his swords.

“What—”

Ewan’s eyes widened in horror, staring at the man who was now just inches away from him.

The man stared back, and in his dead, vacant eyes, something seemed to flicker for a single, terrifying instant.

—In that one, single, terrifying moment, Ewan couldn’t do a thing.

His attack had been spent, and he was in that vulnerable, helpless state between moves. The numbing pain in his wrists meant he couldn’t even pull his hands back to defend.

His center was wide, disastrously open.

The man reached out a hand and gently, almost tenderly, placed it on Ewan’s abdomen.

His five fingers suddenly clenched into a fist.

BOOM!

The fist hadn’t even moved, but a deafening, concussive roar exploded right next to Ewan’s ear, rattling his very soul.

He instinctively looked down.

He saw his own abdomen cave inward, forming a perfect, concave semicircle, as if he’d been hit by an invisible cannonball.

And then, the pain hit him.

But before he could even begin to process the agony, the world was spinning. The man’s other hand had grabbed his shoulder, and with a powerful, brutal twist of his waist, he had thrown Ewan through the air like a broken, discarded sandbag.

“Young Master!”

Anne, who had been keeping an eye on him, her own eyes instantly turning a furious, blood-red. She completely ignored Elka, and all the metal under her command surged toward Ewan like a protective, metallic tidal wave.

“Heehee. Master, did you really think I would let you succeed?”

Elka let out a cold, triumphant laugh. She no longer paid any attention to Ewan. In her eyes, he didn’t have a single, solitary chance of winning. So, all she had to do was focus on her dear, beloved Master.

And so, the tables were turned.

Anne, in a desperate, protective frenzy, sent her metal creations surging toward Ewan, trying to save him.

And Elka, focusing all her attention on Anne, sent her grotesque limbs writhing forward, hundreds of faces wailing in a terrifying, unified chorus as they crashed against the forest of steel again and again.

…

“Cough, cough.”

Ewan forced himself to sit up, his insides churning, feeling as if his organs had just been put through a meat grinder and then tenderized with a mallet. He coughed several times, but only a foul-smelling, acidic liquid came out.

“Damn it… he’s that strong?” he muttered in disbelief. He had thought that after being a “dog” for so many days, the man couldn’t possibly be at his peak. He had thought he might have a sliver of a chance.

It seemed… he had been thinking too much.

Even if the man wasn’t in top condition, he was still far, far beyond what a half-baked, wannabe warrior like him could handle.

“I need another plan.”

“I can’t face him head-on. I have to use Shadow Step’s mobility.”

“Even if he can interrupt it, that move must have a limited range.”

“If I can just circle around him, use the metal passages Anne created, maybe I can get past him.”

“But that means a quick victory is out of the question. And he’s thrown me so far away.”

The distance between him and Elka had widened again, and his hopes of a quick resolution were completely, utterly shattered. Getting close to her now would be even more difficult.

“Damn it! What’s the point of being ‘different’ if I’m still this weak?!”

Ewan slammed his fist on the ground in a fit of pure, impotent frustration. At his current level, he couldn’t even dream of bringing “salvation” to Elka. If the ground hadn’t been so soft, that fall just now probably would have seriously, and perhaps fatally, injured him.

Unlike now…

Huh?

Wait a minute.

The ground… is soft?

That wasn’t right.

If the man had wanted to throw him, he should have thrown him onto the hard, unforgiving ground, or onto one of the sharp, metallic bridges that were far away from Elka. But neither the ground nor the metal could possibly be described as “soft.”

Unless…

Ewan looked down in a daze at the “ground” beneath him.

It was slick, and covered in a disgusting, slimy, and strangely warm mucus.

And through its transparent, pulsating skin, he could see black, throbbing blood vessels and writhing, convulsing flesh.

Of course it was soft.

He was on one of the monster’s largest limbs, right next to its main, pulsating body.