Endless Debt Chapter 649 - 160 Livestock and People

Blood flowed along the blade, seeping directly into Hert’s fingers without the guard to block it.

The sticky warmth made Hert feel as if he was gripping a slippery octopus, preventing the long knife from slipping away, he vigorously wiped his palm on his clothes, smearing the blood everywhere.

Hert didn’t mind these things; he was a Butcher, being surrounded by the scent of blood was completely normal.

Similarly, as the shadow of the Free Port, everything that happened here was just as ordinary.

Dirt and chaos became shelters for the rat hordes and hideouts for Demons.

The nauseating stench easily masked the decay of the Demons, while those wandering in this place became their sweet prey, and the Demons continued to thrive in this way.

"Big fish eats small fish."

Hert murmured to himself, walking the dark corners of the street, following the scent of decay.

The blood gradually dried, and the pain in his mind surged back strongly. From the shadows behind him came a subtle sound; the rat hordes were constantly tailing Hert as if urging him.

A voice whispered in the haze.

Only blood can soothe pain and illusions.

Hert didn’t refuse; on the contrary, it was exactly what he wanted.

He arrived at the end of the dark alley. Two guards smoked at the entrance, talking hoarsely with boring jokes, while songs and sounds of revelry came from behind the door.

Soon, the two guards noticed Hert, the glaring long knife posed a solid threat. One of the guards became alert, raising his hand in warning.

"Don’t come any closer!"

Just after he spoke, a Boning Knife pierced through the air, impaling his skull; the other guard didn’t have time to exclaim, as in the next moment, Hert was upon him, the long knife slicing horizontally, a single stroke beheading him.

Bright red blood traced a long arc on the wall, Hert breathed deeply, feeling as though the scent of blood had a pain-healing effect, quickly dissipating the ache in his head.

He pushed open the door, and intense, jarring music flooded into Hert’s ears, with the flashing of multicolored lights. People swayed in the dance floor, cheering loudly.

Hert said, "It’s too noisy here."

No one noticed Hert’s arrival; everyone was engrossed in the frenzy of the party, hugging, kissing, drinking hallucinogenic alcohol, throwing life behind them, only enjoying the present madness.

Hert silently squeezed into the crowd. It didn’t take long for him to spot another target, a balding old creature who had turned himself into a walking incense to mask his stench; the pungent fragrance could be smelled just by getting close.

And the unique decay of Demons.

Hert smiled, wondering how long it would take for these Demons to realize the nauseating stench emanates from their decayed shells and cannot be covered even by stuffing full of spices.

The old creature was completely unaware of Death God’s approach, still twisting his clumsy body to the music, as Hert clearly saw him pressing tightly against another girl, his hand indecently caressing her back, eyes filled with greed.

Hert could guess what the old creature was thinking; the thoughts of these Demons were surprisingly consistent.

The girl’s profile shook before Hert’s eyes; the youthful face made Hert feel a pang of familiarity, reminding him of his daughter.

With that thought, Hert quickened his pace, closing in on the old creature, Boning Knife in hand, its cold tip aimed directly at the Demon.

Butcher.

Those who profit from slaughtering livestock.

Back then, Hert explained the meaning of a Butcher to his daughter this way; he didn’t want to glamorize the profession, nor did he wish to overly vilify it, so he conveyed it to her with such chilly words, directly.

Reflecting on it now, Hert felt deeply disappointed in himself; his daughter didn’t care about what a Butcher was; she simply wanted him to spend more time with her.

The thoughts stopped here, Hert tried to Control his consciousness, focusing on work.

Butcher.

After working for long, Hert held a strange thought about his profession; he felt a Butcher was a job steeped in artistic flair.

He needed to understand the structure of flesh, to know the divine-like precision of organs and circulation, with exquisite techniques to separate precious bones...

The Boning Knife thrust diagonally beneath the ribs, easily avoiding the protection of bones, hitting the soft heart.

Hert collided forcefully with the old man, twisting the knife handle, the old man’s expression filled with agony, his heart shredded and hemorrhaging internally, such wounds even a Demon couldn’t endure.

Art.

Hert once thought of combining the Butcher with art, so he had procured an old, decrepit bathtub to conduct his creations. Yet, after so long, he still couldn’t produce a piece of art he could deem satisfactory.

Hert felt somewhat anxious.

Releasing the handle, Hert punched it hard, and in an instant, the Boning Knife plunged deeper once more, this strike completely killing the old man. He staggered like a drunkard and fell; Hert caught him, letting him lean against the edge of the dance floor.

Vigorously pressing down on the wound, Hert painstakingly withdrew the Boning Knife, and upon straightening his body, he noticed that a girl had been watching the whole scene.

Hert ignored the girl, indifferent to her terrified screams; it was already noisy enough there; others merely thought she was having a wild time.

Yet some in the dance floor took notice, a man made a move to draw a gun, rapidly approaching Hert.

Every day, countless travelers arrived at the Free Port, and countless unlucky souls, driven by curiosity—or simply stupidity—were deceived by Demons into attending their parties.

When the hallucination agent took effect, immersing everyone in delight, the Demons would commence the true party, feasting extravagantly.

Such events frequently occurred in Free Port, the convenient sewage system facilitating waste disposal, and just as conveniently aiding Demons in corpse disposal, along with the diligent rat swarms ensuring no part of a body went to waste.

Hert did not evade the man’s gun muzzle; instead, he rapidly closed in on him; the man did not hesitate, immediately pulling the trigger. A flash of fire appeared, the long knife precisely cleaving through the bullet, and Hert arrived right before the man’s eyes.

The man couldn’t believe what he saw; next, his vision was stained red.

The Boning Knife precisely sliced across the man’s eyes; before he could fire wildly, the long knife severed his wrist along with it.

Hert raised the long knife high; the blinded man used his remaining arm to grab a woman beside him, holding her tightly in front of him as a human shield.

The man didn’t think this would stop Hert’s strike, yet he succeeded.

Hert was the Butcher; the Butcher kills beasts, not humans.

The long knife rested between the woman’s brows; it took several seconds for the woman to awaken from her drunk state, belatedly realizing what had transpired, she screamed aloud.

During Hert’s merciful seconds, another man stood on a high platform, aiming at Hert, pulling the trigger.

The bullet pierced Hert’s skull; Hert didn’t immediately fall, instead swaying as he turned to gaze at that man.

Under the man’s watchful gaze, no blood flowed from the skull’s bullet hole; instead, plumes of thick smoke rose, and then Hert’s entire being collapsed into a mass of ethereal gas, disappearing entirely.

The man warily searched for Hert’s position; faintly, he heard the low rumble of a storm.

In an instant, as if a fierce wind descended upon this place... no, it wasn’t a fierce wind, but something moving at high speed, disrupting the airflow in this enclosed space.

Fierce wounds erupted on the walls and floor, the liquor cabinet collapsed with a roar, all the bottles shattered into shards of glass blown by the wind, slapping faces with a needle-like pain.

The song of revelry abruptly halted, as if someone’s throat was sliced; subsequently, blossoms of blood burst across the dance floor.

Headless corpses stiffened in place, sober people watched in horror as blood soared high, like torrential rain, washing over the dance floor.

Fear engulfed people’s minds, while at this moment Hert was smoking, wiping the long knife in his hand, quietly departing through the door he had entered.

Pushing open the door, two figures awaited him at the alley’s end.

The Boning Knife was thrown out like a cannonball, this strike was enough to penetrate the wall, but just as it was about to explode the enemy’s head, the opponent unexpectedly matched Hert’s speed, catching the handle and halting the lethal knife tip just short of his eyeball.

Hert furrowed his brow, bathed in moonlight, he saw clearly the face of the person—an individual Hert could have never anticipated appearing before him.

"This must be an illusion."

Hert muttered, it was the first time he’d encountered such an illusion.

Blankly blinking, Hert confirmed repeatedly, an impossibility had appeared here, he wondered if he needed to increase the dosage.

The figure waved at him, Lebius called out.

"Long time no see, Hert."