City of Witches Chapter 179

Today was a good day.

The drunkenness rising all the way to the crown of his head, in an alley slightly jutting out from the bustling downtown, a male student held a cigarette between his lips and snickered.

“How did he manage to bring them? They’re fucking pretty.”

His friend leaning against the stone wall opposite lit his cigarette and boasted.

Both he and his friend were pleasantly drunk, so every sentence ended with the laughter of fishermen who’d caught a prize catch.

“I told you. Tae-hyeon is good at picking up girls.”

“He brought exactly three, and it’s amazing they’re all lookers.”

“Which one do you like the most?”

“Uh, So-yeon, was it? The short-haired one sitting on the far right. She’s the hottest. I heard that girls who look that innocent are freaks in bed?”

A Friday night during summer break.

Having been lounging bored in his studio apartment, he rushed out to a moody pub after receiving a call from his friend.

Thirty minutes spent styling his hair, the clothes he’d bought at a department store and saved for a special occasion.

The effort of enduring the hassle and putting care into his appearance was worth it.

Because the quality of the girls Tae-hyeon had picked up—who stayed inside (and also prevented the other women from fleeing) claiming they didn’t smoke—was quite high.

Since everyone had different preferences, the matching went well, and after testing the waters one by one with drinking games, they didn’t seem to mind skin-ship much either.

“Didn’t I set the mood well?”

“What are you talking about, I was hyping you up from the side. And you’re bragging like you did it all by yourself.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

Lowering their guard with slick talk and natural laughter, then shifting into the position of mischievous male friends.

Spending the second round at a cocktail bar to create a subtle atmosphere, then luring them back to the studio apartment—it was the unbeatable one-pattern strategy.

The fact that he’d mixed with over forty women like this was his greatest source of pride among his friends.

“Let’s head back in soon and pick up the pace. If it gets too late, they might start whining about going home.”

“Okay, just let me finish this.”

While his friend smoked, he fiddled with his phone when suddenly, the urge to pee hit him.

“Hey, fuck, I suddenly need to piss. Where’s the bathroom here?”

“Just do it here, there’s no one around anyway. I’ll keep watch.”

“Let me know if anyone comes.”

He fumbled to undo his pants and stepped into the narrow alley.

When drunk, his mood improved, but his body felt heavy.

Rather than wandering around looking for a bathroom, it seemed better to handle it cleanly here.

The eerie chill he felt the moment he stepped into the alley.

“I haven’t even pissed yet, what’s with this bullshit.”

Aiming roughly at the drain, he emptied his bladder, swollen from beer and soju.

“So, where are we going for the second round?”

Leaning his head against the wall, he called out to his friend standing outside the alley.

No answer.

“Hey, where are we going for the second round?”

They weren’t that far apart, and at this distance, there was no way he couldn’t hear.

He snickered and cracked a joke.

“Did you pass out and fall asleep? If you sleep here, your mouth’ll freeze, man.”

What returned was a desolate silence.

Amid the unbroken stream of urine, he noticed something strange.

It was 1 a.m., practically the peak time for a Friday night.

Even if it was slightly removed from the heart of the downtown area, near bars mixed in with studio apartment neighborhoods, the clamor of noise should have been audible.

Drunk women sitting down and crying, men hovering around them, the sounds of students heavily intoxicated causing a ruckus at street-side pubs—all that should have been heard.

But it was filled with silence, as if he’d entered a library.

Not even the common sounds of cars or delivery motorcycles could be heard.

How unsettling must it have been for him, drunk, to sense something off about such trivial details?

“What the fuck is this bullshit.”

An inexplicable unease crept up thicker than the foul stench of the alley, but he forced a snicker and reassured himself it was nothing.

The sudden goosebumps rising, he believed, were just his alcohol-addled body malfunctioning.

And why wouldn’t he? Wasn’t it all just too ordinary?

Alcohol, night, women, friends.

The fleeting prime of life, burning bright like a shooting star for only a few short years in one’s life.

He was simply savoring it.

“Why aren’t you answering, you bastard.”

This bizarre phenomenon of the bustling night streets fallen into silence.

The moment he turned to leave the alley, thinking he’d return to the drinking party and talk about this for a while.

He froze stupidly.

“……Haha.”

If the friend who’d been smoking and fiddling with a lodging app just moments ago had transformed into a decoration straight out of a haunted house.

Wouldn’t anyone laugh like this?

If he were skewered on a crimson-red skewer that pierced through his sternum and lungs, probably even his heart, floating about 50 cm in the air, dangling limply.

Wouldn’t anyone let out a hollow laugh?

“What the fuck is this now.”

Pupils dilated as if a huge hole had been punched through them.

A red tongue lolling from a half-open mouth.

Bloodstains soaking his clothes bright red, as if rust-colored water had flowed from the pierced chest.

The face that had been laughing and chatting just moments ago was nowhere to be seen; instead, a face frozen stiff in terror felt like nothing more than ridiculous makeup.

There was no way his friend had suddenly mastered levitation.

Something must be holding his friend.

His head tilted back bit by bit as he looked at the presence behind his friend.

Cosplay? An MMORPG game knight? Lord of the Rings? Gundam?

Those were the first words that came to mind when he saw the massive armor standing nearly 2 meters tall.

A full plate armor adorned in red, exaggeratedly decorated with all sorts of ornaments.

Inside the helmet’s dark space, countless red eyeballs flickered, staring in this direction.

An inorganic gaze reminiscent of a spider’s eyes.

An emotionless stare, simply looking down at prey, pierced through his entire body mercilessly.

In that moment, he realized.

This was no prank.

Nor was it a situation relaxed enough to force a hollow laugh.

Definitely not a hidden camera, of course.

“He… hel… hel…”

He tried to scream for help, but as if his throat had been soldered shut with lead, only the sound of air escaping like metal scraping came out.

No matter how much he looked around, he couldn’t see anyone who could help.

Run away, just run away somehow.

Holding onto that futile hope, as he tried to bolt away.

He felt a searing pain in his chest.

He didn’t even see it swing.

An ominously red spear was piercing through his chest.The friend who had been skewered at the end of the spear was now rolling on the ground like trash, half of his upper torso torn away.

That was the final memory he held onto at the end.

The Homunculus, having turned the prey it had lured into an instant hunting ground, withdrew its spear.

No trace of the hunt remained.

The corpse, stripped of all connections and existence, had become mere, meaningless ash, mingling with the blood to decorate the asphalt.

The Enemy Knight harbored no mourning or emotion toward it.

From the beginning, 'this thing' was not designed to hold any emotions.

It executes those who covet the inheritance.

To maintain its existence, it kills Witches and steals their magic power.

When that is not feasible, it attacks humans, devouring their 'connections' to convert them into magic power for replenishment.

For hundreds of years, it has merely performed its tasks according to a mechanical algorithm.

If there is any difference, it is only that, with the accumulation of time, it has gained various tricks and efficiencies through trial and error in performing its series of actions.

Having finished its modest meal, the Enemy Knight thought.

It's insufficient.

It's still hungry.

This much is nowhere near enough to repair the damage sustained from consecutive fierce battles.

The pink-haired formidable foe, the strongest among the Witches faced over centuries.

Strength capable of slicing a mountain with a single strike, causing earthquakes in an instant, and withstanding the distortions caused by the Red Branch with its body alone.

No matter how much it evades pursuit and camouflages itself with the Red Branch, she will undoubtedly appear before it.

And all its accumulated experience and the logic circuits it possesses signal inevitable defeat.

But similarly, the Enemy Knight felt no emotion about that.

It merely mechanically reviewed various methods to devise a solution.

First, more magic power is needed, or rather, many more humans.

The magic power remaining in its body is barely half of half, far from the normal level.

If another clash with the Pink Witch occurs, it won't even be able to flee, let alone engage in proper combat.

Hunting other Witches in this state carries high risk.

The only suitable opponents to engage in combat with its still-unrecovered body condition are, at best, Apprentice Witches, not Official Witches.

Then...

The Enemy Knight readily chose the last option that came to mind.

Devour humans, many more humans.

It calculates the amount of magic power needed and the magic power obtainable from killing one human.

Approximately 4,000 people.

That should be enough to recover to a level where it can hunt Witches.

-Squelch

A sound of stepping in a sticky pool of blood was heard.

It resembled the footsteps of some reptile.

The Enemy Knight's gaze turned to look behind, and simultaneously, it recognized.

Under a streetlamp whose lifespan was ending, fading into dusk.

Standing there, stepping on blood that hadn't even fully soaked into the ground, was a Witch.

An elegant Witch wearing a pitch-black dress suitable for mourning.

Raven-black hair and deep green eyes.

An appearance that, fitting for a Witch, would be considered 'beautiful' by conventional standards without any reservation.

However, that beauty had a fatal flaw.

Because if a line were drawn down the center of her face, only one side was hideously distorted.

It resembled a burn scar as if from fire, or a lump of flesh melted by chemicals.

But that wasn't important.

The biggest problem was that this was a powerful Witch it couldn't handle in its current state, and it hadn't even sensed when she had entered this barrier.

The Enemy Knight, unable to hastily think of fleeing, aimed the Red Branch.

Because it knew that finding an opening during a confrontation to escape had a higher probability than clumsily fleeing and being caught from behind.

"Are you hungry?"

Unperturbed by such a display of hostility, the Witch spoke in a gentle voice.

An unfamiliar, peculiar kindness whose intent was impossible to guess caused the Enemy Knight's movements to halt abruptly.

Because this was a case it had never experienced before, hindering its ability to assess the situation.

"You must be very hungry."

The Witch took a step closer to the Enemy Knight.

That distance was within range where a sure, effective strike could be landed just by thrusting the spear.

The opponent was moving with a defenselessness that suggested she hadn't anticipated being attacked at all.

With this level of carelessness, a possibility arises.

The Enemy Knight's movement, which reflexively tried to thrust the spear to pierce the heart, creaked like a heavily rusted machine.

Its body, as if tightly bound, wouldn't move.

It tried to break free using brute strength, magic power, and the Red Branch's ability, but it didn't move at all.

The Witch approached the immobilized Enemy Knight and held out something.

It was a heart, still wriggling vigorously as if freshly plucked.

"Would you like to eat this?"

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This is the 3rd fan art by the villain-specialist fan artist MentalBreakdownArtist, who previously drew Ea and Della.

They say it's Enemy Knight fan art. Terrifying.

Is it just my imagination, or does it look way cooler than how I pictured it in my head...?

They say this is an imagination/concept sketch of armored Siwoo going head-to-head with the Enemy Knight.

My chest swells with awe.

Thank you for the incredibly awesome drawings!

I will enshrine them respectfully in the Gallery!