Chapter Thirty-Four: Die Once More

Mulan cared little for anything else at that moment. Galloping through the gates, he saw the creatures before him—beings that hardly resembled humans. Without hesitation, he fired his revolver. The suppressed radiance of his weapon burst forth, striking the targets with powerful force. Four shots, four hits—all to the head. Whether these were zombies or some other monstrosity, the lessons from films and games had taught Mulan that headshots were always effective—if not the sole weak point, then certainly one of them.

Yet the bullets' power exceeded his expectations; ordinarily, a bullet would merely leave a hole, but the rounds from his revolver seemed to dissolve the black mist swirling around the creatures’ heads, shattering much of their skulls.

"Irwin, do something useful!" Mulan dismounted swiftly, reloading as he called out. Irwin, more tense than Mulan and facing his first true exorcism, did not panic—though he found Mulan’s words hard to tolerate.

"I’ll show you the true might of the Holy Light!" Irwin followed suit, opening a crate and retrieving two bottles of holy water. He uncorked them and began pouring, reciting a chant with a peculiar melody as he did so.

"In the name of God, I command the Holy Light to descend upon this realm and purify the darkness before me!"

The holy water never touched the ground, instead dispersing around Irwin. He drew forth its power, and the water began to glow, flowing rapidly at his feet, its luminescence intensifying. It was as if a suppressed energy was growing more active, more fierce.

"Boom—"

Like a sudden explosion, a muted roar erupted as the holy water detonated, becoming a cloud of light that swept through the hall. Fragments, food, goblets, the nearby tables and linens—all were scattered or shoved aside by the blast. Even Mulan had to shield his head, taking the brunt of the shockwave; fortunately, he emerged unscathed.

Was this really holy water? The sound was small, but the effect was immense—it was practically a bomb!

"Irwin, is that the proper use of holy water?" Mulan turned, shaking his head; his hat had been blown away.

Irwin, now calmer after dismounting, took out two more bottles, uncorking them with his teeth. "It’s one way, I suppose. Where’s your sword? I’ll coat it with holy water."

Mulan, having reloaded, drew the silver blade concealed in his staff and held it out. Irwin poured the holy water onto his hands, not spilling a drop, then gently stroked the blade, which took on a shimmering, flowing layer—a coating of light.

Mulan took back his gleaming sword, testing its edge; the holy water did not splash. The hall, purified by the holy water, was much cleaner, as if after a rainstorm; the overlap between the inner and outer worlds peeled away, restoring normalcy. Yet the oppressive darkness soon began to encroach once more, spreading rapidly through the hall.

Both Mulan and Irwin knew the hall was safe for now, but standing here solved nothing. As they prepared to act, Mulan noticed someone beneath a tablecloth.

"Who’s there?"

"It’s me—it’s us, Mr. Jonest!" "It’s us, sobbing..."

Hathaway and Lily, recognizing Mulan’s voice, finally dared to speak. They emerged from under the table, voices trembling with relief and tears. Mulan rushed to help, dragging the old count out, taking the chance to ask crucial questions.

"Is it just you? How many survivors are left?"

"Where did the transformation begin?"

Mulan and Irwin each posed a question. Lily wept quietly, while Hathaway, tears in her eyes, quickly answered.

"There are still quite a few alive—we scattered. The first to change was Sir Bess, the one who dueled you. He devoured our family’s doctor, and then the whole estate turned. Some nobles suddenly became monsters. We were terrified. Mr. Jonest, Father Irwin, are we saved?"

"Not yet, but I’ll bless you to steady your spirits."

Mulan gently pushed Lily’s arms away, speaking sternly. "Miss Blanklyn, stop crying—if you keep sobbing, you might die here. Control your mind, restrain your fear."

Whether comforted or frightened, Lily did stop crying. Irwin uncorked three bottles of holy water and handed one to Mulan.

"Don’t move. Mulan, pour the holy water on them; after the blessing, they can leave the inner world."

Irwin meant to pour water on the two girls and let Mulan bless the count, but both girls crowded toward Mulan. Irwin, lips twitching, handed him another bottle and knelt to pour holy water on the old count himself.

The holy water felt warm as it washed over them; Hathaway and Lily immediately felt much better. Irwin softly intoned the blessing.

"In God’s name, I bless these innocent lives and souls. May the Holy Light shine upon them forever, may they be spared pain, illness, and evil..."

Irwin was still blessing them when Mulan noticed eerie figures at the edge of the hall—mostly nobles and servants, some barely human, their limbs twisted into claws, bodies covered in beast-like fur. This was real, not a turn-based game.

And these "nobles and servants" entered the hall directly. Mulan realized they had corporeal forms now; even though the hall was separated from the inner world, whatever had fused with them could still enter.

"You’d better hurry!"

With this, Mulan fired again, rushing at the nearest "nobles."

"Bang, bang, bang..."

Three shots dropped three foes. The fourth he decapitated with a sword, then kicked the fifth away, spinning to fire at the other corridor.

"Bang, bang, bang..."

His revolver emptied, Mulan retreated, sword raised to meet the attackers descending from the second-floor balcony and spiral staircase. Those vaulting the railing fell to the floor—he ignored them for now, dispatching the ones coming down the stairs, then turned to strike the fallen.

It was surprisingly easy; their movements were slow, and the sword coated in holy water tore through them like a red-hot blade through cheese.

"Swish—"

Suddenly, a cold gleam flashed. Mulan’s instincts screamed, and he raised his sword to block.

"Clang..."

The blade collided with the attack, a tremendous force nearly wrenching it from his grasp.

He had no time to ease his aching arm; the cold light struck again, forcing him to leap and parry.

"Clang—"

He used the momentum to slide half a meter across the floor. Now he saw his attacker clearly.

A "man" holding a dinner knife descended the spiral stairs—skin pale, eyes bulging, bloodstained and tattered clothes, a horrid wound on his neck as if bitten. Small, tentacle-like growths squirmed in every gash.

"Huff, huff, huff..."

"Mulan Jonest, who would have thought I’d get a chance to avenge myself—how wonderful, how wonderful, ha ha ha ha..."

Though his appearance and voice had changed, Mulan instantly recognized him.

"It’s you? Still haunting me!"

Mulan gripped the sword in his teeth, a few bullets sliding from his sleeve into his left hand. He spun the revolver cylinder, swiftly loading the rounds, then snapped it shut—ready again.

"No need to worry—you’ll soon join me. I told you, we’re the same kind!"

Without a word, Mulan fired.

"Bang—"

The man did not dodge; the bullet struck his chest. Normally Mulan aimed for the head, but this foe was too quick—a larger target was needed. Yet the man did not even try to evade.

"Ha ha ha ha, Mulan, mortal bullets cannot... argh..."

His boasting was cut short by pain and burning, his murderous, vengeful spirit suddenly destabilized. Then he saw the silver flash looming before him, but could not react in time.

"Zzzzz—"

Mulan beheaded the monster, exhaling in relief and muttering under his breath, "Idiot!"

He was about to strike again when he noticed a swirl of gray mist hovering over the corpse, spinning as it was drawn into his sword. Amidst it, he could almost "hear" a shrill, agonized scream.