"Aaaah!!"
"Uh...aaaah!!"
A few locals reading on the third floor of the library screamed like madmen. They sat on the floor, scrambling backward, shrinking away as they stared in terror at the hellish scene around them.
And at the blood-soaked man in a trench coat, walking straight toward them with an axe in hand.
"Please! Have mercy on us, sir!"
A woman cried out, begging him.
Thud!
Gilan stopped in front of them. He planted the blade of his logging axe vertically on the ground with a dull thump, making them jump. Their eyes fluttered, and tears welled up.
"Got a cigarette?" He held out his hand to a man.
"Y-yes, sir."
The man froze for a moment, then hurriedly took out a pack and handed it to Gilan. He shakily pulled out a matchbox, struck a match, and personally lit Gilan's cigarette.
Gilan's bloodstained fingers held the cigarette. He took a deep drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Thanks," he said flatly.
Then he turned around with the axe in hand and swaggered downstairs.
The few locals watched him disappear from view before finally letting out a long breath, relieved to have survived.
After leaving the library, Gilan walked down the street, covered in blood and carrying his axe.
The locals who saw him turned pale and hurriedly got out of his way.
Gilan paid them no mind. He smoked as his attention settled on the colorful number in the corner of his vision, visible only to him. It had become "13."
Hmm... According to Mr. Oystercatcher, my strength should be at Emblem level now, right?
After fighting the Cultists, he had gotten a rough idea of his own ability. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I made a decent haul, too. Then I'll head straight to Black Lake and see what secrets it's hiding!
He was very interested in the missing alchemist.
As he thought this, Gilan suddenly drew the short-barreled revolver at his waist and stopped a passing carriage.
"S-sir?!" The driver's eyes widened, and he hurriedly raised both hands.
"Take me to Forest National Park."
Gilan climbed into the carriage and spoke softly.
"Of course, sir! No problem!" The driver didn't dare refuse and readily agreed. He flicked the reins, turned the horse around, and headed straight for the northern edge of town.
Gilan was in a hurry and had no time to worry about much else.
He knew the Lake God Cult had infiltrated the entire town and that they would soon come after him. He had to reach Black Lake before the Cultists could intercept him.
With the gun at his back, the driver put his all into it, whipping the horse onward until he was drenched in sweat. This time, it took less than ten minutes to get Gilan to his destination.
"Keep the change." Gilan climbed out of the carriage, grabbed a handful of loose bills from his trench coat pocket, and shoved them into the driver's hand.
They were some local currency called Dormarks, which he had found in the cabinet behind the old man at the library's front desk before leaving.
Since he couldn't take it with him anyway, Gilan casually gave it to the driver.
Ignoring the driver's stunned expression, he strode toward the park entrance.
Clang!
He kicked open the wrought-iron gate and walked inside without pausing.
As he passed the exhibition hall, Gilan glanced at the Mammoth Specimen in its glass case. That instinctive fear surged up from deep within him once again.
Gilan's heart tightened. He quickly looked away.
Then, ignoring the frightened looks from the exhibition hall staff, he pushed through the glass doors and walked straight into Pine Forest.
Drawing on his experience from the last screening, Gilan followed his hazy memories and headed deeper along the dirt path.
The trees towered around him, blotting out the sky. Unknown birds cooed, and every so often he heard rustling from the underbrush.
He moved through the forest like an insignificant fallen leaf.
A moment later.
He reached the place where the film had ended last time, but there was no ambush by the Cultists.
Was it because of Public Security Bureau officer Pierre?
Gilan looked around, guessing to himself.
Last time, the members of the Assembly had hired a Public Security Bureau officer to accompany them. But the Bureau was made up of Lake God Cult members, so they had probably given advance warning and arranged an ambush.
This time, Gilan was alone and moving fast. He had likely caught them off guard.
That worked in his favor.
Gilan carried on with his logging axe.
But after he had gone a hundred meters or so, a familiar, burly figure wandered out from among the trees and entered his field of vision—
A brown prison uniform, fleshy wings on its back, and a muscular body two meters tall!
"Just in time!" Gilan narrowed his eyes.
He didn't dodge or retreat. Instead, he walked straight toward the monster with his logging axe in hand.
A vicious look crossed Gilan's face. At the end of the last film, the monster had punched him, and he'd never forgotten it.
He had promised himself that if they met again, he'd kill it. And he was going to keep that promise!
He picked up speed, then broke into a run and charged.
The Prisoner Monster stopped and whipped its head around.
Its face, twisted into a mangled mess, fixed on the approaching creature. Then it flapped its fleshy wings and lunged at Gilan like a flying beast!
The two closed to within a few meters in a mere two seconds. The Prisoner Monster swung a punch.
The gust of wind lifted Gilan's hair. He could even make out the clump of fused skin tissue on the back of the monster's hand, the mark of a severe burn.
Gilan grinned, gripped his axe with both hands, and swung diagonally!
Crack!!
The logging axe slammed into the monster's fist. A tremendous force jolted through the handle, numbing Gilan's hands and driving him back several steps.
But Gilan wasn't angry. He was thrilled.
Last time, the monster had sent him flying with a single punch, and he hadn't been able to fight back at all. But this time, he could just barely hold his own in a direct contest of strength. Meanwhile, the monster's massive, hard fist had been split open by the axe like a cracked nut.
But the Prisoner Monster seemed to feel no pain and had no blood. It paid no heed to its mangled hand, its bones exposed, and raised its other hand to slap him.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind swept toward him.
But Gilan's body was nimble and resilient. He leaned back, pushed off with his feet, and twisted sideways to evade the slap, taking the opportunity to slip beneath the monster's ribs.
As he charged in, the logging axe gripped in both hands swept through the air in a crescent and slammed into the monster's belly!
Squelch!!
The sharp blade tore through the prison uniform and sank more than halfway into the monster's stomach!
Gilan's expression was cold. His knuckles whitened around the handle as he wrenched the axe free and struck again, hitting the same spot!
"Chop!!" he shouted in a low voice.
This time, he hacked right through the Prisoner Monster's waist. Its swollen body split open like a leather sack, and foul-smelling, rotten intestines spilled out.
"Ugh!!" The Prisoner Monster let out an unintelligible growl. It brought its hands together as if to embrace Gilan.
But Gilan knew that if it got its arms around him, he wouldn't come out of it well.
At the last possible moment, he kicked the monster in the knee, making it stagger. Using the force of the kick, he leapt up and brought his axe down hard on its twisted head!
"Die!!"
Gilan roared, putting all his strength into it.
The axe came down like lightning from the sky, striking the Prisoner Monster's bald head—
Crack!!
The palm-sized axe buried itself in the monster's forehead, nearly splitting its head in two.
But at the same time, the wooden handle snapped with a sharp crack under the tremendous force, and Gilan lost control of his momentum and pitched forward onto the ground.
He paid no mind to the dirt and rotting leaves smeared across his face, and got back to his feet.
The Prisoner Monster, which had been standing rigidly upright, toppled backward with a dull thud.
The broken axe remained lodged in its forehead, as if it had become part of it.
"Phew..." Gilan slowly let out a breath, grinning. "A Demon that's immune to bullets? So it can still be hacked to death with an axe!"
He took a few steps forward and bent down to brush a hand over the monster.
The corpse rapidly rotted away, until it crumbled into dust and scattered.
The colorful number in Gilan's vision jumped from "13" to "23."
Only 10 Mystery Points? He was deeply dissatisfied.