The Seventh Chime

"I bet your gun's empty."

Enjoying the thrill of the hunt, Belloc's lips curled instead at the sight of this posturing brat, who perhaps did not even possess the First Seal and was at most relying on some strange artifact to play tricks. His sharp white teeth flashed.

Even if he did not know why the boy before him could enter the Blood Pool and emerge looking perfectly fine, one thing was certain: in combat, he was exceedingly green. Other than his inexplicably strong instincts, Belloc held every advantage over him.

Which meant he could kill him!

With a slight twist of his wrist, the visibly dimmer glow of [Blade Quenching] once again covered the blade. Belloc's right arm rose without warning, and a tricky diagonal thrust shot out like a striking viper, aimed straight at Horn's temple.

This time, there was absolutely no way—

Huh?

In Belloc's fleeting moment of confusion, the boy gently pulled the trigger of his firearm. Within the supposedly empty magazine, colorless flames gathered.

Hooking his pinky with the casual flair of a cowboy, Horn parted his lips and uttered a bursting syllable.

"Bang."

And so, beneath Belloc's dismissive gaze, an insignificant spark leaped from the muzzle and landed on the incoming blade.

First, a spark.

Then, in an instant—

—Burning!

Unclaimed spirituality was the easiest to ignite, and Horn was even more familiar with Grail spirituality. Whether it was the monstrous woman earlier or Martin, the spirituality on their bodies had been loose, not possessed by themselves. In Horn's eyes, they were like dry pine needles rich with oil, ready to catch at the slightest spark.

But Belloc was different. His command over spirituality was clearly far stronger than those two frauds, and igniting him required painstakingly breaking through the protection around his body. Naturally, Horn did not dare bet that Belloc would obediently stand still and let himself be burned.

To ignite him, he still needed a moment of exhaustion, suitable kindling, and an instant when Belloc believed he had the situation under control and gave up trying to evade.

—A fateful opportunity.

At this moment, Belloc had been drenched by the spirituality-rich "grapes" connected to the Blood Pool. He was soaked from head to toe, and scarlet droplets even dripped from his blade. In Horn's eyes, there was no better torch than him.

Like a turtle and a mung bean catching each other's eye, like a meeting of golden wind and jade dew.

All it took was one opportunity for them to entwine lovingly, passionately, lovingly, lovingly, lovingly—

And then surpass all the countless encounters of the mortal world!

Following the scarlet trails, colorless flames spread wildly, devouring spirituality without end. Without concern, they pushed themselves to the edge of destruction, using hollowness and absence as their foundation to reveal their own dazzling existence.

It was like a chain reaction. When flames were weak, even a cold midnight breeze could snuff them out. But when they blazed as proudly as the sun, even the night sky would be burned through.

And now—

"Gah—"

A scream no human should have been able to make rang out from the bright torch that had once been Belloc. Even when he immediately tore the knife from his hand, the greedy flames continued to cling to him relentlessly, mercilessly burning every bit of fuel they could find.

"Bloodhound," severely wounded and down!

"Haha, it really caught fire."

The same flames rose from Horn's body, gently washing away the remnants of the Blood Pool. They also thoroughly dried his soaked clothes, leaving not a single wrinkle.

It was practically like bathing in a spring breeze.

[Fate Deflection—]

[Edge, victory!]

The flames in his consciousness suddenly brightened. Sparks scattered outward, faintly sketching the outline of a card. Though it had not yet solidified, its initial form had already taken shape.

As fragmented pieces of knowledge from Belloc flowed into his mind like a trickling stream, Horn casually picked up the badly damaged longsword that had fallen to the ground. He brushed away the flames still lazily dancing across it and tightly gripped the hilt, which retained a trace of warmth.

Without a shred of mercy, Horn planted a foot on Belloc's chest as he rolled on the ground, hoping to extinguish the flames that way. Pressing the blade to his neck, the boy asked softly:

"Who else is there besides you?"

"Tell me, and I'll give you a quick death."

Beside the Blood Pool in the spacious lower warehouse of the Hound Bar.

With his foot on Belloc's pain-curled body, Horn lightly drew the blade across his cheek. He watched blood slowly seep out, then dry beneath the illusory flames into black marks.

Even Thugs, who specialized in physical confrontation and armed combat, had skin no tougher than ordinary people without additional reinforcement from their skills. They could hardly refuse a blade's passionate touch.

During the burning just now, Horn could feel knowledge flowing into his mind in thin streams. Like a devoted teacher, it patiently instructed him, teaching every muscle through soreness, numbness, and stabbing pain.

Teaching him how to grip a knife, how to exert force, how to display courage and resolve, how to inflict pain and leave scars.

—How to wield [Edge].

[Defeat a powerful enemy!]

[You changed a destiny that was once inevitable. History has deflected in a vastly different direction because of your influence—even if only by the slightest degree.]

[Reward calculated: Thug's Training]

[You gained a large amount of "Edge" experience.]

The light screen flickered. Based on Belloc's understanding and insights, fused with Horn's own experiences, an [Edge] skill was condensing, awaiting further incubation. The sensation of suddenly being stuffed full of knowledge made Horn scratch his head.

What was this? Killing monsters for experience books?

But now was not the time to investigate the workings of the Flame of Destiny.

There were more important things to do.

The raised blade slowly drew over the wound again. The flesh barely clinging together on Belloc's face trembled beneath that sharp caress and split to either side. Bright-red desire flowed out, scorching black and drying beneath the flames, solidifying into dull fear.

No longer what it once was.

Just like Belloc now.

Most of his spirituality had been consumed by the raging flames that had been ignited through borrowed momentum and far exceeded Horn's limits. As things stood, Belloc's physical strength alone had weakened to no different from that of an ordinary man.

Worse still, the horrifying burns across his body had robbed him of most of his strength. He could not even straighten himself up and could only lie on the ground, twitching in agony.

—He was practically a homeless dog.

Untimely sorrow fell like raindrops, landing in Belloc's heart.

Since founding the Hound Gang, this was the first time he had felt the chill of a blade with his cheek rather than his fingers. At last, he remembered the racing heartbeat of terror and understood why lambs awaiting slaughter lowered their heads and closed their eyes before death.

Now, he was down too, and he was about to die.

Just like everyone who had ever died beneath his blade.

Doing his utmost to control the twitching muscles in his face, Belloc barely forced out a smile uglier than crying. His shriveled lips moved as his hoarse voice trembled:

"Heh, can we reconcile?"

"Lancaster, York, whoever it is, you all need people to do dirty work, right? I'm useful. I know the locations of many Blood Cup Cult rituals. I, I, I..."

Belloc did not want to die.

Not at all.

To redeem his precious life, he had to prove his value—his sustainable value.

Before Horn's patience ran out.

The blade pressing against his face lifted slightly. Seeing the curiosity in the black-haired boy's eyes, Belloc knew he had won the bet.

He could live!

"Talk."

Brief and direct, Horn slightly raised his chin, signaling him to stop dawdling and say whatever he knew.

Knowing almost nothing about the supernatural, Horn naturally did not mind letting a dead man talk a little more.

Under his earlier spiritual vision, the scarlet spots on Belloc's body had been no fewer than those on the monsters he had encountered before. They were densely piled around his heart and stomach. In terms of density, only that woman from earlier could compare.

One look told him the man had eaten plenty.

Precisely because he had accumulated so much spirituality that did not belong to him, the Flame of Destiny had burned especially fiercely when Belloc caught fire earlier, overturning the situation in one stroke.

Now, Belloc was the one who needed to worry about how to stay alive.

He viciously bit his tongue, using the pain to focus his scattering thoughts. Belloc's features twisted.

—Move, you dead brain!