Chapter 130
Chapter 130: Social Ties and Cult Schemes (5)
No answer comes to the question about how many are left, but I wasn’t expecting one in the first place.
I was just ‘watching.’
A portion of the parasite’s consciousness, yet to be fully retrieved, reflects my thoughts. Tonight, I’ve been running around unusually diligently to deal with this bastard, but the parasite still has enough ‘spare parts’ to render my overexertion meaningless.
As the husk the parasite has covered itself with exhales its final breath, a fragment of the presence that had been lodged in my mind gets reclaimed. I hurried my steps.
Even the parasite has a brain. It surely knows that acting alone puts it at a disadvantage. In the popular space war RTS game from a while back, didn’t you get annihilated immediately if you moved just one unit by itself?
The fact that multiple units should be deployed to handle a single enemy is a universally known truth, from massing air units in games to the brightly colored spandex-wearing heroes on TV.
But, contrary to theory, the parasite couldn’t easily gather its forces. The bodies it could call its ‘units’ weren’t spawning instantly from a single building, like in a game. Instead, they were spread across a wide area near Algoth City, and it was in the process of bringing them together.
In RTS terms, it was like hastily gathering scattered scout units. There’s always a moment when one of those units is ‘alone’ before joining the group.
There are still many bodies yet to join the parasite’s main force. How much more can it endure before it bleeds out?
***
“Damn bastard!”
The parasite screamed. Its voice rang out in a frenzy as it spotted Orthes, clutching that plank-like sword of his.
“You are one. I am many. Even in these moments as you incapacitate this body, my legion gathers.”
“Indeed. You still have hundreds of reserve bodies left, after all.”
That nonchalant revelation. The parasite wasn’t fazed. It knew well that its opponent was a monster among monsters, who had been active for easily several centuries longer than itself.
Perhaps only the ancient dragons of old could compare to the experiences Orthes had. While cautiously widening the distance, the parasite commanded nearby bodies to close in and form an encirclement as it posed a question.
“Why are you going to such lengths to hinder me?”
The question was partly a tactic to stall for time, but it was also somewhat sincere. On the surface, Orthes seemed to have the overwhelming advantage in this battle of attrition. His body far outperformed the parasite’s in terms of individual power.
But from the parasite’s perspective, this was merely a difference in their tendencies. It had found a more stable solution by diversifying its investments, while Orthes was a gambler, betting everything on a single body.
The parasite still had plenty of backup bodies, while Orthes likely only had the one he was using.
If, by any chance, Orthes got killed by a lucky strike, it would take a long time for him to find a body with matching wavelengths and tame its spirit. It was no small risk to simply ignore.
Perhaps the question was indeed difficult to answer, because even Orthes, who had thus far shoved his terrifying sword into the parasite’s neck—and sometimes its heart or cervical spine—paused for a moment, keeping his mouth shut.
“Why are you trying to ascend?” Orthes asked.
“What a ridiculous question. Does a cocoon need a reason to become a butterfly? Does one need an excuse beyond instinct to desire to become a better, more complete being?”
The parasite deliberately gave a long-winded explanation. If Orthes had been created by the same hands that had made it, he would surely understand that burning desire—the instinct etched into their species.
‘Wait a second.’
That question was actually an answer to the parasite’s earlier query of ‘why are you going to such lengths to bother me?’
In other words, it meant, ‘I can’t help myself—my very nature compels me to crush you.’
The expression on the face of the body the parasite was controlling warped bizarrely. It had momentarily forgotten to maintain an appropriate expression, overwhelmed by sheer absurdity.
The parasite slowly retraced the steps of its current situation. It already knew that there were others of its kind. It had sensed their presence here and there throughout history, especially those who had attempted ascension.
Among its kin, it seemed there was one given the instinct to ‘exterminate’ its own kind.
Could this be a mutation caused by time, something even the fearsome creator couldn’t control? Or was this, too, part of the creator’s plan?
‘If that thing was specifically prepared by the creator…’
The intention was clear.
To cull the herd. A creature designed to kill off the bugs that missed their chance to ascend.
The parasite shoved the unpleasant thought away. The creator was frightening, but not omnipotent. That thing had to be a mutation, something unforeseen by the creator.
‘There’s no way I’m outdated…!’
Orthes could see the parasite’s inner thoughts.
‘There it is again, talk of the creator.’
This was one of the reasons Orthes had pursued the parasite, against Carisia’s orders.
Though Orthes would never admit it, the main reason he had taken up the chase was worry. He might claim it was concern for his own future rather than anyone else’s, but it was still worry nonetheless.
And from Orthes’ perspective, the parasite’s ramblings about a ‘creator’ carried a high risk of becoming a future problem.
‘This bastard may have shown a clumsy side after being caught in my bluff, but it’s still a monster that’s lived through countless ages.’
Trying to pry useful information out with just his eyes was difficult because the parasite had so many accumulated memories. It was almost impossible to read through them all one by one. The only way to catch anything relevant was to probe its psyche and hope a related term floated to the surface, like now.
While playing along with the parasite’s stalling tactic, Orthes himself needed to extract as much information as possible.
So, Orthes chose his words carefully, aiming to provoke the parasite as much as possible.
“You say a cocoon doesn’t need a reason to become a butterfly? Fine. Let’s assume it’s natural to reject ugliness and pursue beauty. Then wouldn’t it also be natural instinct to clean up the filth that will forever remain ugly?”
“What?”
“I mean you. From the Mythical Era until now, you still haven’t managed to ascend.”
Orthes picked his words meticulously, ensuring that anyone listening would lose control of their emotions.
“A loser of the past era.”
“…!”
It was as if Orthes had looked directly into its mind and ridiculed it. The parasite was suddenly overwhelmed by both anger and a creeping fear that the ‘unpleasant thought’ might not just be a delusion.
A mechanism put in place to eliminate losers.
But.
‘Even if that thing is indeed the executioner the creator made to deal with failed ascensions…’
It didn’t matter as long as Orthes was killed right here, right now. The one who survives in the end is always the victor.
“And you’re one to talk, without having ascended either. Have you gone mad, throwing everything into a single body?”
“Don’t you see? I am merely bait to lure in failures like you. Just like how a rat runs into a trap when it sees food, scum like you get drawn to me. After cleaning up the remnants of this world, I will ascend to my promised glory.”
‘What the hell? Does he think I’m some kind of artificial lifeform?’
Orthes hesitated for a moment. Now that he thought about it, the body he was currently inhabiting could very well have been touched by the hands of a Mythical Era cult.
The parasite’s assumption that they were of the same ‘species’ was a major logical leap, but if there was a special reason behind it, it could lead to a clue about the secrets of this body.
‘What to do…’
One thing was certain: there was no way Orthes could completely destroy the parasite’s bodies in this moment. He couldn’t think of a way to eradicate all of the parasite’s minds at once, scattered across multiple bodies.
‘Should I try mind-control magic?’
A truly powerful mentalist—one who had lived for centuries and mastered their craft—might be able to kill the parasite in one blow by overpowering its mind.
But the only mage close to Orthes with that kind of ability was Carisia, and she preferred to vaporize her enemies physically rather than torment them mentally.
She wasn’t one for delicate magical brainwashing, but rather an expert in a brutal method—what some called the ‘Red-Tinted Mind-Control Method.’
‘No matter how long this fight drags on, it’s only a stopgap solution.’
While Orthes was contemplating how to deal with the parasite, the parasite itself was also deep in thought.
‘Bait, you say?’
Thinking about it, yes. There was no way such a perfect offering could have come into existence naturally. That body, more fitting for ascension than anything in this era, had clearly been created with intention.
Whoever had done so was obviously…
The parasite slowly opened its mouth.
“When were you born?”
‘Is it seriously asking my age right now?’
Appealing to seniority? Orthes hadn’t expected that. Such things rarely surprised him these days.
But Orthes was far too seasoned a con artist to show any sign of being caught off guard.
“I’m young enough to call your time the ‘past era,’ if that gives you any indication.”
It was a smooth and natural provocation.
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