The Butcher screamed—
a sound as if something inside him was being torn apart.
He gripped his massive sword and swung it with overwhelming force.
A violent shockwave erupted, kicking up dust and forcing both Eliah and Aenjel to retreat.
"This feels different from the previous soldiers…" Eliah said, his expression filled with uncertainty.
"And earlier, I heard you call it a Butcher."
"Leave that for later," Aenjel replied through clenched teeth.
"What stands before us now is an extremely difficult task. This creature is on an entirely different tier than ordinary monsters."
Eliah turned toward Aenjel, questions filling his face—but when he shifted his gaze back toward the Butcher, it was gone.
It was behind him.
Its breathing sliced through the air like knives.
"Behind you, Eliah!" Aenjel shouted.
Eliah spun around just as the Butcher's blade came crashing down, aiming to split him in two.
He raised his sword and braced it against the right side of his torso just as the blow landed.
The collision sent him flying—his body slamming into the wall until he hung there like a broken painting.
The Butcher immediately redirected its assault toward Aenjel.
Prepared, Aenjel met it head-on.
Steel clashed, sparks erupted, and both leapt away to opposite sides.
Aenjel dodged the next strike and unleashed a cutting wave toward the creature's abdomen—but the Butcher sliced it apart with its sword, lunged forward, grabbed Aenjel's wings, smashed him into the ground, lifted him again… and repeated the assault.
Blood spilled from Aenjel's mouth.
Then Eliah appeared—his body a pool of blood and injuries.
He drove his sword straight into the Butcher's chest and followed with a kick that sent the monster stumbling backward.
The Butcher stared at the black blood pouring from the hole in its chest.
It dipped a finger into the blood… and smeared it across its own face.
Eliah extended his hand to help Aenjel stand.
Aenjel clutched his abdomen, speaking through pain.
"I didn't expect a monster like this to appear so early… I should've secured some vials."
Eliah looked at him in shock.
"Vials?"
"Yes," Aenjel replied.
"There are three types. They only appear in palaces and cathedrals. There's likely one here."
"And what do they do?" Eliah asked.
"Can they really help us face the strongest monsters?"
"Not just monsters," Aenjel said grimly.
"Even the Nightlord himself. But it seems I misjudged this place."
Aenjel drew a second sword—shorter than the first.
He sharpened both blades until a white glow shimmered along their edges.
"We fight smart, Eliah," he said coldly.
"Death is not an option here."
Aenjel lunged like a serpent.
The Butcher evaded the strike, counterattacked, and clashed blades with him again.
Eliah remained still, carefully observing the creature's movements.
There has to be a pattern… a weakness. Otherwise, killing this Butcher is impossible.
He tightened his grip on his sword and spoke with mocking confidence.
"Death isn't an option?
Who said I'm going to die?"
Eliah leapt onto the wall, ran along it, and aimed his blade for the Butcher's neck—
—but the creature leaned back, blocking the strike with the hilt of its sword.
Both warriors unleashed heavy blows from all directions.
Aenjel lowered his stance and drove a brutal punch into the Butcher's abdomen, forcing it back—but the creature stabbed its sword into the ground and unleashed a deafening scream.
Both Eliah and Aenjel clutched their ears, trying to block the murderous sound.
Silence followed.
Then the Butcher's eyes ignited crimson.
In an instant, it appeared directly before Aenjel.
Too fast.
A single blow sent Aenjel crashing into the ground and slamming into the wall.
The Butcher turned toward Eliah and swung its sword to decapitate him—but Eliah leapt high, struck its face—
only for the Butcher to grab his leg, crush him into the earth, and hurl him near the gate.
"Ghh…"
Both of them were gravely wounded.
Eliah leaned against the wall, wiping tears from his eyes—his vision barely holding onto the monster's shape.
He caught a glimpse of Aenjel.
His once-pure white wings were now stained crimson.
Eliah slowly raised his head and looked upward.
Clouds swirled across the ceiling, heavy—on the verge of rain.
"Damn it… how do we stop this lunatic? We don't have enough power to bring it down…"
Eliah began coughing.
Each cough spat flecks of blood.
He clutched his chest in pain—his wounds barely regenerating.
"There must be a weakness," he muttered.
"Every monster has something that breaks it."
Through his exhausted eyes, he watched the Butcher wipe the blood from its chest.
It wouldn't stop bleeding.
Its stance had slowed.
Its movements were heavier than before.
A wide grin spread across Eliah's face.
He pushed himself upright, using his sword like a cane.
"Everything—
I mean everything—has a weakness."
The Butcher noticed Eliah standing.
It spread its arms like a cross… then charged like a comet.
Eliah sidestepped and moved close to Aenjel, whispering:
"Inflict deep wounds. It slows it down."
Eliah resumed the fight.
Aenjel struggled to focus through his injuries.
Breaking free from the wall, he summoned his sacred blade once more, watching Eliah withstand the Butcher.
Did he find its weakness? Or is this instinct?
Either way… there's no other choice.
Aenjel released three small blade-waves toward the Butcher.
The creature noticed them and dodged—creating an opening.
Eliah seized it.
He dashed forward and carved a deep gash into the right side of the Butcher's abdomen.
The monster screamed in agony and struck Eliah with brutal force, sending him flying.
The Butcher wiped the blood across its face again—but it wouldn't stop.
Now, blood poured from two wounds.
Aenjel took advantage.
He charged and struck near its neck—but the blow was blocked.
The Butcher swung wildly—but its movements were slower, clearer.
Aenjel read the motion and plunged his blade into its abdomen, ripping it free in one swift motion.
The Butcher began to collapse.
Blood streamed uncontrollably.
Its body wavered, unbalanced.
Aenjel glanced at Eliah, awe clear in his expression.
"Adaptation for survival…"
"It surpasses even spell itself."
Eliah rushed forward.
"No time to admire—
the Butcher is about to fall!"
Eliah slid across the ground, aiming to sever its legs—
—but the creature reacted cleverly, stabbing its sword into the ground and lifting itself upward.
Eliah tried to evade, but a deep gash tore across his cheek.
He pressed a hand to his face.
The blood was hot.
Dark red.
"You're annoying," he growled.
"Why won't you just die?"
Aenjel shifted his stance and leapt high, releasing a white spear-shaped wave.
The Butcher noticed too late.
The spear pierced straight through its chest, pinning it to the wall.
The creature's head trembled violently.
Its scream shook the entire space—
—and then stopped.
Its body collapsed.
In the same instant—
Aenjel cleaved the Butcher in half.
Eliah severed its head.
The corpse exploded, dissolving into black remnants of shadow.
A sharp whisper echoed in both of their ears:
[Executioner The Butcher]
The ground trembled once more.
Eliah glanced around, speaking with bitter sarcasm:
"What—are you playing hide and seek…?"
Drip… drip…
The sound descended slowly through the space—until it finally splashed against the ground.
Both of them emerged into a vast courtyard, filled with clusters of trees and headless statues.
Ahead stood a towering palace, shrouded in thick fog, lightning striking it relentlessly from every direction.
Aenjel extended his hand forward, opening his palm as raindrops touched his skin.
"It's true—we escaped the prison," he said calmly.
"But a far greater obstacle awaits us."
He turned to Eliah with a faint smile.
"I don't know whether it was coincidence or not… but I still don't understand how you discovered that Butcher's weakness."
Eliah stood beside him, his expression cold.
"Not everything is solved through brute force," he replied.
"And no one exists without a weakness."
As he stepped forward, he noticed a shadow ahead.
Slowly, he raised his head.
A skeleton stood before them—wearing a long, black leather coat, tightly closed at the front, reeking of death.
In its right hand, it held a scythe.
In its left—a black vial, surrounded by whispers, as though etched with ritualistic symbols.
Eliah stepped back instinctively, staring at the crimson glow seeping from the hollow eye socket of the skull.
"Is it a new enemy… or a soul reaper?" Eliah asked, gripping his sword tightly, shock evident on his face.
Aenjel placed a hand on his shoulder, gesturing toward the skeleton's left hand—the one holding the black vial.
"Vial appearances are random," Aenjel explained.
"And sometimes, they're offered by unknown entities like this one. It rewards you—yet terrifies you at the same time."
"A reward, huh?" Eliah said in disbelief.
"Is this some achievement for escaping that prison?"
"No," Aenjel replied.
"As I told you before, the system doesn't reward only killing. It simply happened to appear when we crawled out from the depths of that Butcher."
Aenjel stepped forward and took one of the black vials.
The crimson glow in the skeleton's left eye socket immediately faded.
"Take the other one—before it disappears," Aenjel said.
"It will help you greatly in facing this hell."
Eliah looked from the skeleton… to the vial.
Fear and hesitation welled within him.
But in this world, every form of aid carried a price.
And every opportunity had to be seized.
He reached out and slowly pulled the black vial from the skeleton's hand.
The glow vanished from its right eye socket.
A wide grin spread across its skull.
Then it dissipated into the air like mist, releasing a whisper-like sound.
"Keep it for now," Aenjel said.
"We'll drink them at the right moment. For now—we must return to the Academy."
Eliah froze.
"The Academy?!" he exclaimed.
"Then what was the point of coming here if you plan to return to the Academy?"
"Everything is calculated by them," Aenjel replied coldly.
"Eliah, the Night Gates are no simple matter. There are monsters capable of killing us merely by being present. We must be cautious with every step."
He glanced toward the doorway leading outside.
"The dungeon was a major obstacle. Breaking the curse allows us to move freely within the palace—but bringing a group would destroy the plan and risk failure… or death."
As he spoke, soldiers began emerging from beneath the ground—some crawling out from the palace walls, others from the barrier surrounding the garden.
A cold smile curved across Aenjel's lips.
"And it seems these pigs won't make our escape easy…"