**Chapter 131**
—
Whitebeard let out a gasp of astonishment.
The insatiable hunger that had never been sated, no matter what he devoured, finally stilled the moment he swallowed Arthur Bayern.
But the change did not end there.
“Ooooh…!”
Even his body, which had never regained youth despite countless attempts, now felt as though some life had returned to it.
Whitebeard looked at his flesh, which had begun to take on a faint rosy hue, and tears streamed down his face.
“Ah… once again, I have escaped death.”
After weeping for a long time, Whitebeard suddenly burst into wild laughter.
“Kieeeeeeeek—!”
With a cry closer to a scream than a laugh, Whitebeard rolled across the ground.
“You bastard! You son of a cow! Son of a horse! Did you really think something like death could take *me*, Whitebeard!?”
Raging and cursing, Whitebeard abruptly fell silent.
“……”
Like a ghost, he slowly rose to his feet and looked up at the heavens.
“It has been… a long time.”
Bathed in twilight, the old man traced back through his memories.
A past so distant it could hardly be recalled.
—
—
Five hundred years ago, Whitebeard had been young and overflowing with vigor.
Having escaped death with the help of a demon, he rose to infamy as the most feared black mage of the continent, ruling over all within the palm of his hand.
But when he began to prepare to survive another five hundred years, he realized something.
Time, which had once been halted, had started to flow again.
*“My beard… has turned white.”*
He could not say when the change had come.
But one thing was certain: death had returned to shadow him once more.
*“Did the demon deceive me?”*
In a fury, Whitebeard destroyed everything around him.
Days and nights of rage later, he looked into a mirror again.
*“My hair… has turned white.”*
A chill gripped his heart.
Time was not merely flowing—it was flowing *faster* than that of ordinary men.
As he pondered the cause, an answer soon came.
*“The demon only promised to let me flee from death. He never promised I could overcome it.”*
In truth, the demon had not freed him from death but merely slowed the ticking of his life.
Now that frozen time had begun moving again, his lifespan was burning away faster than anyone else’s.
The moment he realized this, Whitebeard plunged into research.
*“I must find a way to flee from death.”*
Panic and fear pressed down on him.
And yet, he was not without confidence.
He was no longer an obscure youth, but the continent’s most dreaded black mage, an explorer who had glimpsed knowledge, truths, and secrets beyond the reach of common men.
Surely, with all that he had gained, he might find a way to overcome death itself.
That hope spurred his research, and before long, he found a possibility.
*“If I transplant my soul into another’s body…?”*
Would that not allow him to defy death forever?
Smiling to himself, Whitebeard began his experiments.
After years of research, he achieved half a success.
By transferring into a new vessel, he finally escaped the death of aging.
But along with that came a backlash that devoured the very being of Whitebeard.
The side effect of moving into another body had damaged his soul.
*“What was my name again?”*
The damage to his soul brought amnesia.
Having lost his name, from then on he was called only *Whitebeard.*
Another century passed, and by then, he had lost half the memories of the man he had once been five hundred years earlier.
*“No… this cannot go on….”*
What meaning was there in clinging to life while losing the very identity of “me”?
Whitebeard sought another method.
But neither magic nor black magic could offer a perfect answer to escape death.
In the end, he turned elsewhere for the solution.
*“What about bloodlines?”*
The special powers said to be miracles granted by the gods themselves.
*“If it is a bloodline—something no magic can define—then perhaps it can lead me beyond death.”*
The troll bloodline. The vampire bloodline. Countless others said to grant immortality.
If he could harness such powers, perhaps there was a breakthrough.
In the course of this research, Whitebeard discovered one most extraordinary bloodline.
“The blood of an angel…?”
It was known as *the Path of God.*
—
—
Whitebeard’s thoughts returned to the present.
“My, I wandered down memory’s path again.”
After passing three hundred years of age, he often lost himself in long reveries.
Shaking his head, he stretched out his hand.
Boom—!
The ground above split open.
Whitebeard leapt into the hole and landed in the great plaza where he had just battled Arthur.
The murals had collapsed, the plaza was half destroyed from the clash, but thankfully, the altar remained intact.
Climbing onto the altar, Whitebeard sat cross-legged.
Slowly, he closed his eyes and reflected.
*“Merely devouring the body does not transfer the soul. Only by consuming the soul completely can one seize control of the vessel.”*
*“To consume his soul, I must enter Arthur Bayern’s inner world… and kill him once more.”*
With that thought, Whitebeard opened his eyes.
Flash—!
His vision twisted, the world inverted.
He had transcended reality and entered contact with Arthur Bayern’s soul.
Crackle—!
As the landscape warped, Whitebeard wondered:
What sort of inner world would Arthur Bayern possess?
Such a peculiar man would surely have built a peculiar mindscape.
*“There is no greater delight than peering into the most secret parts of a man.”*
With that expectation, the world settled again.
Whitebeard blinked.
“…?”
The transformed world was strange.
The sky shimmered in rainbow hues. Five suns of grotesque shape spun round and round.
Flowers underfoot chuckled and burst into laughter.
So deeply twisted against all reason, Whitebeard muttered:
“What… is this?”
Was this truly the inner world of a man?
*“This is more like….”*
His throat bobbed.
“…Hell, is it not?”
—
Whitebeard closed and opened his eyes again.
But the scene before him did not change.
His mouth opened in disbelief.
“This is a human’s inner world?”
The inner world was shaped by *memory.*
A mirror of what one had seen, heard, and lived.
Thus, it rarely differed much from reality.
There were personal differences, but how far from reality could one’s life stray?
Yet before his eyes was something utterly alien.
Flowers with human faces. A sky of unnatural color. Five wandering suns.
*“Did the spell fail? Impossible….”*
As his expression twisted with unease, something approached from beyond the flower field.
Startled, Whitebeard turned his head.
“…A rabbit?”
His jaw fell slack.
It was a rabbit with four ears.
*“How can a rabbit have four ears?”*
As the thought crossed his mind, the four-eared rabbit suddenly lunged at him.
Whitebeard flailed his arm.
“Get away, you wretch!”
At his shout, the rabbit halted.
Panting heavily without realizing, Whitebeard turned his head away.
*“Where is Arthur Bayern? I must find him, kill him, and escape this place….”*
The thought broke off.
He spun back in shock.
“……”
The four-eared rabbit was chewing on his right arm.
Pain lanced through him, real and raw. Whitebeard roared:
“You monster—!”
His magic engulfed the rabbit in an instant.
Clutching his bleeding arm, he gnashed his teeth.
*“Why would a rabbit eat a human arm?!”*
Had the spell truly gone wrong?
As he prepared to recheck the incantation—
Identical rabbits appeared in droves across the flower field.
“……”
His mouth shut tight.
The rabbits fixed him with their gaze, then began to laugh.
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
The rhythm was unnervingly regular, sending chills up his spine.
Unable to endure it, Whitebeard unleashed his magic.
Boom—!
In one blast, the laughing rabbits vanished.
As they disappeared, his ragged breathing steadied.
But it was only the beginning.
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
Now the flowers with human faces turned to him, grinning.
Whitebeard’s face contorted as he shrieked.
“Gaaaaah! Silence! Shut your mouths!”
His spell blasted part of the field away.
But unlike the rabbits, the field was too vast.
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
\[Kki-ek.]
Laughter echoed from every direction.
Finally, Whitebeard fled.
Direction mattered not—he simply ran.
After a long sprint, his eyes lit up.
The field ended near a distant cave.
*“I’m saved!”*
Forgetting his age, Whitebeard dashed headlong and collapsed inside.
“……”
Sticky sweat. Labored breath.
He had not felt such physical exhaustion in centuries.
Why was a man’s inner world like this?
Had the magic failed?
Where was Arthur Bayern?
Questions that should have come naturally were long forgotten.
Now he only wished to escape.
And at that wish—his right arm vanished.
“…?”
He turned.
From within the cave, a stag tilted its head.
A stag with ten mouths.
\[Kki-ek.]
It laughed.
All ten mouths laughed with it.
Whitebeard screamed and bolted from the cave.
\[Kki-ek.] \[Kki-ek.] \[Kki-ek.]
As he ran, the flower field roared with sound once more.
It was no longer laughter.
It was noise.
Ear-splitting noise.
And blood gushed from his ears.
Whitebeard’s jaw trembled.
*“I must escape. But how?”*
Both hands were gone—he could not form spells.
Had he even one hand, he might have managed something. But now, neither remained.
*“I’ll use my feet to cast. I must. There’s no other way.”*
Was it absurd? Perhaps.
But for a mage of his level, the difference between foot and hand was little.
The true problem was finding a safe place to chant.
On the edge of collapse, he could not focus.
As he searched desperately—
He saw a hut in the distance.
“…”
Panting, he hesitated.
What if that hut held monsters like the stag?
Without hands, was it too dangerous?
Chewing his lip in anxiety, he knew the answer was fixed.
*“…This is no time for doubt.”*
Resolute, he grabbed the hut’s door.
It was unlocked.
Creak—!
He stumbled inside and collapsed.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
Just as he tried to cling to consciousness—something sharp touched his throat.
An axe.
“…!”
Shocked, he turned.
And gaped.
“A… a demon?”
With an involuntary gasp, he saw a demon smiling with axe in hand.
\[Kki-ek.]
In that instant, Whitebeard soiled himself.
But shame had no place.
Pure terror seized him, and he screamed.
“Kieeeeek—!”
He burst from the hut.
The axe-wielding demon chased after.
\[Kki-ek!] \[Kki-ek!] \[Kki-ek—!]
Laughter came from all directions again.
In this mad world, Whitebeard realized he too was going mad.
*“No… What is this? Who am I? Why am I here?”*
He forgot even his purpose in coming here, sprinting through the fields.
At last, the demon’s axe cut into his back.
“Gyaaaaah—!”
Writhing in agony, he tumbled across the flowers.
Above him, the stag with ten mouths and the demon loomed.
\[Kki-ek.]
Their crazed smiles made Whitebeard tremble—then he too burst into laughter.
“Kki-ek.”
Satisfied, they narrowed their eyes.
\[Kki-ek!]
But in that moment, their heads were severed.
Blue blood spurted as Whitebeard rose.
“Kki-ek, kki-ek, kki-ek.”
Laughing madly, he transformed into a demon, spreading his arms.
The world warped—and a pure white void appeared.
Amidst the whiteness, Whitebeard laughed again.
“Kki-ek.”
And then, from afar, someone stirred.
Arthur Bayern.
“…Hm? Where is this?”
Opening his eyes, Arthur scratched his head.
After fainting, the world had suddenly changed.
*“Why is everything so white?”*
Then came the strange laughter.
Arthur blinked and turned.
“…Oh? Mr. Whitebeard?”
He hopped lightly into a stance.
Whitebeard laughed again.
“Kki-ek.”
Arthur blinked.
“…What is that? Are you… laughing?”
“Kki-ek.”
“…Mr. Whitebeard?”
“Kki-ek.”
Arthur’s expression soured at the repeated sound.
“…What is this? Did you lose your mind while I was out for a moment?”
From the look of him, it certainly seemed so.
The black mage who had lived a thousand years—had gone mad.
—
😂