Chapter 45 Mimic

  "Alexander Maxwell" she swallowed hard, glancing uneasily at the corpse. “He’s the original Count Maxwell… and a brutal man. A powerful warrior and utterly despicable. He revels in violence—fighting, killing… bloodshed. They called him The Death Tree. In every place he raided, he left behind a grotesque symbol of his cruelty—a tree adorned with the impaled corpses of the dead, their bodies twisted among the branches like some macabre offering.

  He began as a mere bandit, rose to the rank of mercenary, and through relentless conquest and bloodshed, seized enough power to be granted noble status—though nobility in name alone. And as a cruel jest—a mockery of all decency—he fashioned his house sigil after that gruesome legacy: a twisted tree, adorned with the dead. The Death Tree, immortalized in his standard."

  She paused, lowering her gaze.

  “My father—the king—granted him that title after Alexander helped secure his reign. Since then, he’s remained a fearsome force in the kingdom. He, my father King Alden, and my master, Lady Vitka, are considered the three most powerful figures in the realm.”

  Agnes let out a weary sigh, the weight of impending danger settling over the room like a heavy fog.

  “If… no, when Alexander finds out about his son’s death, all hell will break loose.”

  Iryoku remained still, his expression unreadable, his voice calm. “So… where is this man now?”

  Agnes quickly responded, “He’s on the front lines, fighting the demons. As soon as he could, he passed the count title to his son and rode off to war. He’s a man made for battle… a warmonger. When the demon invasion began, he was happy. That’s the kind of person he is—someone who lives and breathes combat.”

  A sudden, low chuckle escaped Iryoku’s lips.

  “Hahaha…” It grew into laughter, nonchalant and unsettling. Both Agnes and Yumi glanced at him in disbelief—was he laughing in the face of such danger? Had he lost his mind?

  Without warning, Iryoku moved. Still seated on the bed, he slipped his arms beneath Yumi and effortlessly pulled her into a princess carry. Her face turned a deep scarlet, caught between flustered shock and speechless indignation at his sudden, teasing display of intimacy.

  Then, with deliberate gentleness, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. At the tender contact, Yumi’s eyes fluttered shut, her body instinctively relaxing into his hold, responding to the unexpected warmth.

  But Iryoku’s gaze never softened—not for Agnes. His piercing eyes remained fixed on her, sharp and cold, almost taunting. It was as if he were flaunting his affection for Yumi, making sure Agnes saw it. A silent statement: I love her. You mean nothing.

  “You think a mere man would scare me?” Iryoku said darkly, his voice low and dangerous, each word laced with venomous contempt.

  Before Agnes could form a response, he cut her off, his tone turning razor-sharp, like a blade drawn across stone.

  “Then fix it yourself,” he snapped, each word sharp and biting, laced with challenge and contempt.

  Finally, Iryoku felt a powerful punch to his chest.

  “Enough already! Let’s resolve this—and stop treating her like that,” Yumi protested, her voice firm and serious for the first time.

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  “Okay,” Iryoku replied, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant defeat.

  He rose from the bed, still carrying Yumi in his arms in a princess carry. She squirmed, trying to break free and plant her feet on the ground, but Iryoku ignored her resistance. It was clear—he didn’t want to let her go, not just yet.

  With steady steps, he approached the princess and the bloated figure of Maxwell lying nearby. His eyes met the princess’s gaze.

  "so what do we do?" iryoku asked

  Iryoku, Agnes, and Yumi sat in tense contemplation, trying to devise their next move. A heavy silence lingered—until Agnes broke it.

  “I might have a way,” she said at last, her voice steady with resolve.

  Raising her hand, she summoned Aqua once more, having briefly dismissed the spirit while Iryoku was waking. In an instant, the water spirit materialized before them—graceful and ethereal. Her form took shape as a feminine figure, elegantly sculpted from shimmering liquid, her body flowing like a living stream, glistening in the light.

  It was the first time Iryoku had seen her. He let out a low whistle. “Fuifui... now that’s a body,” he said playfully, eyeing her curves. “She’s got the same measurements as the princess, too.”

  “Augh!” he yelped as Yumi, still cradled in his arms, leaned over and bit his shoulder sharply.

  “Stop fooling around and get serious!” she snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

  Iryoku winced but smirked. “Alright, alright… I’m focused.”

  Agnes took a deep breath and closed her eyes, centering herself. “Each of my summoned spirits possesses unique abilities,” she explained, her tone calm but focused. “Aqua specializes in support magic—especially healing. While she’s capable of fighting, her true brilliance lies in restoration and... one other ability. A powerful one. But it demands a considerable amount of power.”

  Her hands rose and clasped together in front of her chest, a soft light beginning to gather between her palms. “The strength of my summons depends on the amount of magic I channel into them. To perform this next spell... I must provide Aqua with enough power.”

  Light swirled around her fingertips, then surged forward in luminous streams, converging upon Aqua. The water spirit shimmered with a bluish glow, her liquid form pulsating with energy as she absorbed the magical flow.

  “Now... do it,” Agnes commanded, her voice resolute.

  Iryoku and Yumi watched in captivated silence, unable to look away.

  Aqua raised her arm, her graceful form moving with purpose as she extended her hand toward Count Maxwell’s lifeless corpse. A stream of water surged forth, engulfing the cadaver in a wave of fluid light. For a brief moment, the body was completely submerged, encased in shimmering liquid. Then, the water receded, flowing back to Aqua—now glowing with an eerie, otherworldly brilliance.

  Then, before their eyes, Aqua’s body began to shift.

  The curves and grace of her water form distorted and reformed, reshaping bit by bit—until standing before them was no longer Aqua, but a perfect replica of Count Maxwell. His grotesque figure—fat, imposing—stood in full detail, rendered entirely of water before solidifying into what appeared to be a lifelike human mimic.

  An exact copy of the Count stood before them, perfectly mimicking his fat figure and grotesque features. Iryoku and Yumi stared in stunned silence, momentarily speechless at the surreal sight.

  “Why didn’t you start with this?” Iryoku remarked, breaking the silence as he opened his hand to the side in exasperation.

  “This... solves everything, doesn’t it?” Yumi murmured, still dazed. She stepped away from Iryoku’s support to stand on her own, though his hand remained firmly clasped around hers.

  “This is my first time actually trying this spell,” Agnes admitted.

  “You’re a dangerous woman, Princess,” Iryoku said, half-joking, half-serious. “Hiding this kind of power.”

  Agnes, visibly fatigued, let out a weary sigh. “It has its limitations,” she admitted. “The mimic can only speak a few preset lines, and only in response to specific commands from me. And of course, using this spell consumes an immense amount of my magic.” She paused briefly to catch her breath, then continued, “Though summoned spirits like Aqua can slowly replenish their energy from the ambient magic in nature, it takes time—and without me, their combat potential is... limited.”

  Just then, the mimicked Count began to move. His stiff, unnatural gait brought him closer, his expression blank and unsettlingly neutral. In a flat, mechanical tone, he spoke:

  “Greetings. I am Count Maximilian Maxwell.”

  Both Yumi and Iryoku recoiled slightly. Though it looked human, and the speech was clear, there was something deeply _wrong_ about it—a subtle, eerie dissonance that made the illusion unsettling.

  “It needs some... tuning,” Iryoku muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the mimic.

  “But...” he added, glancing toward Agnes, “it’ll do.” His eyes sharpened, already calculating—formulating a plan.