Honey Wine Ch.42

Chapter 42: Sweet-and-Sour Candy

Without a hint of hesitation, Alan crushed the precious talisman he had obtained from Lelian.

The amulet, said to be a valuable relic from before the Great Rift War, immediately released a semi-transparent magical barrier in front of Alan. Almost at the same moment, several grotesque tentacles covered in pustules and warts violently lashed at it, emitting a piercing screech.

“Ah, how cute.”

The demon, with Lart’s face, tilted its head slightly in a smile upon seeing the barrier and let out a low, muffled snicker.

“You don’t really think such a little toy could stop me, do you?”

“This is no toy.”

Alan glared fiercely at the demon and whispered.

Facing a demon like this, the black-haired mage remained calmer than most people would… though in the next second, he screamed toward the tent: “Help—ahhhh! Lelian—Little Green—!”

With a shhkk sound, the tent was torn open by a blackish-green plant.

Little Green’s body had swollen to a terrifying size, and its flower heads all opened simultaneously, transforming into a particularly menacing weapon. Dozens of vines coated with corrosive slime shot into the torn tent like venomous snakes, violently entangling the demon.

Alongside the terrifying dragon vines, several poised figures appeared, ready to strike.

The paladins formed a tight, coordinated formation and charged straight at the demon. At the very forefront of them all was Lelian.

The red-haired vice-captain of the royal knights’ eyes were wide open, radiating an extraordinary ferocity. Her broadsword shimmered with the brilliant golden light unique to a divinely empowered strike.

Lelian swung her broadsword directly at the demon.

Everything happened in an instant. For a brief moment, the demon trapped by the vines actually looked somewhat weak and helpless. It froze in place, as if half-paralyzed by fear, allowing the dragon vines and the paladins to unleash their full force upon it.

However, the moment Lelian’s broadsword made contact with the demon, the runes hidden within its blade were suddenly activated. Both Lelian and Alan watched in horrified disbelief as the runes emitted a brief, feeble flash of light—like a flickering dying ember—before being quickly corroded and defiled by a filthy streak of blood.

In an instant, ominous rust-like marks began to appear along the broadsword’s blade. Even worse, it wasn’t only the paladins’ weapons that were being corrupted by the demon’s aura—though the thick dragon vines seemed to have “Lart” completely immobilized, the sections of the vines that touched the demon rapidly developed large patches of withering and rot.

“Damn it.” Alan cursed under his breath.

In what seemed like just a blink of an eye, the demon in front of him had effortlessly nullified all of their attacks.

By comparison, all the plans he and Lelian had made up to this point now seemed as childish as children playing house.

Even with all his inexperience, Alan could clearly see that the demon currently occupying Lart’s body was not an ordinary low-level demon.

“Who… are you?”

Even Alan was surprised at himself—he remained unusually calm despite the situation.

He cast a simple vine spell, yanking at Lelian’s ankle to pull the red-haired swordswoman just enough to narrowly dodge several small, black snakes that had shot out from the demon’s shadow.

Unfortunately, in the next moment, the vines Alan had conjured were bitten through by something else—small, shapeless chunks of flesh hidden within the shadow. Lelian screamed and crashed to the ground, and the demon’s shadow, moving like a living thing, suddenly surged upward, instantly wrapping Lelian into a twisted, human-shaped mummy.

Immediately after, the other paladins following Lelian were also effortlessly ensnared by the demon.

Having effortlessly countered their attacks, the demon slowly turned its head to meet Alan’s gaze.

“Who am I? I have held millions of names. I have shaken the fates of countless people, destroyed innumerable nations… And those hypocritical bitches erased every one of my names from this world out of fear. But, considering how… delicious you are, and how desperately this body desires you, you may call me Hieronymusa. I suppose fragile, short-lived humans like you might still remember that name.”

The moment Hieronymusa spoke its name, the stench of blood and sulfur in the air intensified sharply. At the same time, Lelian, still lying on the ground, let out a fearful gasp.

“Impossible—”

She stared at the demon with eyes wide, her face paler than death itself. “The laws of reality would never allow a demon duke to cross the Rift and enter the Material Plane!”

Alan was naturally baffled by the name Hieronymusa.

But for the senior members of the Royal Knights, it was a name far from unknown. According to ancient legend, back when the dragon slayer Victor was still a wandering, exiled prince and his ally—the silver dragon Ognegan—had yet to commit the blasphemous act, one of their seven most famous holy feats during their travels was the slaying of the demon duke Hieronymusa, who had held sway over the southern continent for thousands of years.

Not to mention that Hieronymusa should have been dead a millennium ago—

Even if it hadn’t died, as a high-ranking demon, once it left the Abyss and entered the Material Plane, it should have drawn the attention of the goddesses.

It simply shouldn’t be able to flaunt its existence now so openly, so arrogantly, as it was doing.

“…Ah, well, that’s that.”

Hieronymusa, as if sensing Lelian’s disbelief, smiled and lightly touched its own face.

The face that once belonged to Lart.

“So, it seems that a body that has forsaken the gods is always quite useful.”

As it spoke, the demon’s body began to swell and distort at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The Lart of old had possessed a face praised as the “Light of the Empire”—for a long time, the prince’s striking beauty was even regarded as a sign of the goddesses’ special favor. But now, he looked like some grotesque creature freshly risen from the deepest reaches of an endless swamp.

His skin was covered with dense, patterned scales. If one’s gaze lingered even briefly on the patterns, they seemed to come alive, slowly wriggling within the viewer’s sight. The once-clear blue eyes, like a serene sky, were now clouded over with a murky, chilling dark red. The pupils had become unsettling horizontal slits, reminiscent of a goat’s. His head bore sharp horns that further evoked a goat—but unlike a real goat’s horns, these were unnaturally long and pointed, festooned with thread-like appendages resembling intestines or other internal organs.

Most repulsive of all was the demon’s grotesquely bloated back—it seemed to be composed of clusters of massive tumors, each bearing a strange, menacing human face.

What made Alan’s heart ache was that among those faces, he immediately recognized Lart’s agonized expression.

His former friend now appeared twisted in endless suffering, his tightly shut eyes oozing thick, black-red blood—just like the other “companions” that had fused unnaturally close together. From the gaps between the faces, ciliated or suction-cup-covered tendrils and appendages reached out, their surfaces coated with foul, gray-green slime.

And now, the demon brandished those revolting limbs like claws, advancing step by step toward Alan.

With each step it took closer, Alan found himself involuntarily retreating one step.

But it was clearly a futile attempt at escape. Compared to the demon itself, the clawing appendages seemed to take a special delight in attacking Alan. Within just a few breaths, the amulet’s magical barrier rapidly faded under the whip of the tentacles and the scratch of the limbs—it weakened, dimmed—and then, right before Alan’s eyes, it shattered, turning into a small puff of magical ash that was carried away by the wind.

Alan: …

The demon’s eyes rotated, locking onto Alan, and it chuckled softly.

“Hee hee hee… now I understand why he coveted you so much.”

A long, thin tongue covered with crimson warts shot out from the demon’s gaping mouth. Its saliva splattered onto the floor, leaving a trail of corrosive black spots.

“Ah…”

The demon duke drew in a mock deep breath, then exhaled with a sticky, chanting-like wheeze.

“What a fragrant body, what a pure soul… I can hardly wait to taste you.”

Alan’s amulet had completely turned to ash.

The black-haired mage could feel Lelian and the other paladins struggling with all their strength, and Little Green was locked in a desperate, tangled fight with countless black snakes emerging from the shadows.

Yet he had no time to attend to his companions, who were valiantly trying to save him…

Hieronymusa’s tendrils had already coiled around his neck. The cursed slime burned his skin instantly, like molten iron searing into flesh.

Through Alan’s eyes, he saw the demon’s mouth slowly stretch toward his ear, its grotesquely opening maw lined with countless fishhook-like teeth, like a mutated giant serpent.

Alan felt his heart drop straight to his stomach.

“Lart!”

His voice trembled as he shouted at the demon.

“I know you’re still in there! You’re not that weak—Captain Lart, wake up! This thing is about to eat me!”

Hieronymusa’s throat vibrated as it let out a low, mocking chuckle.

“So cute, so cute… I can hardly believe there’s such a pure, childish little thing among spellcasters. I will savor your soul properly—it’s so sweet! Hee hee hee… hahaha—”

To give the mage’s overly sweet, pure-white soul a bit of acidic bitterness in the “aftertaste” (yes, Hieronymusa had a refined palate), the demon spoke patiently, crushing the mage’s ridiculous hope:

“The soul of that forsaker of the gods is almost fully digested. Poor little mage, you can’t imagine how much darkness your kind and dependable captain had accumulated in his heart. Those blasphemous fantasies… tsk tsk tsk.”

Hieronymusa licked its lips, savoring the taste of Lart’s soul.

“That prince of yours can no longer respond to you, Mage Alan. But after I finish you… I will place your skull as close to him as possible—hee hee hee. I think Prince Lart will be very pleased—”

“Captain, I believe in you.”

Alan forced himself to stay calm, staring fixedly at the human face embedded in the demon’s body. He spoke each word deliberately:

“You promised once, no matter what happened, that you would appear and protect me.”

And then, something shocking happened—or rather, something that shocked the demon.

Lart’s face, like an ornament among the countless others, suddenly opened its eyes in response to the mage’s trembling call.

“Al…an…hss…Al…an…”

Dozens of human arms suddenly burst forth from the back of Hieronymusa’s skull.

Those arms were covered with bulging, almost sickly muscles, with fingers twisted by irregular bone nodes, randomly sprouting along the edges of the palms. The fingertips dug deeply into the demon’s wet, slimy pustules and suction cups. The arms tore at Hieronymusa’s grotesque body with a frenzy, as if gone mad—though arguably, the worst part of the demon duke’s body at that moment might indeed have been those arms themselves. The sudden, self-inflicted assault caused the demon’s massive, swollen form to shudder slightly. Even the serpentine monsters writhing in the shadows paused for a brief instant.

At that very moment, the scorched dragon-vines seized the opportunity to strike, instantly devouring the black snakes entirely.

On almost every branch of the dragon vines, horrifying, tooth-filled flower heads sprouted. Now, all of these flower heads pierced into the demon’s body—and as they gnawed with near-madness, the flowers’ contours faintly took on the semblance of reptilian skulls.

“Al…an…I’m…sorry…run…run…”

Lart’s muffled whimpers echoed from deep within the demon.

As the host whose body had been consumed by the demon, he understood Hieronymusa’s power better than anyone. Even this brief reclaiming of bodily control might have been intentionally allowed by the demon duke.

After all, according to the stories passed down in ancient texts, Hieronymusa delighted in giving humans hope only to shatter it cruelly—a disgusting kind of high-demon sadism.

Yet Alan did not seize the opportunity to immediately escape the tendrils’ grasp.

In fact, he moved even closer to the demon.

Close enough that he could easily hurl a large piece of fragrant, sweet-and-sour candy straight into Hieronymusa’s gaping, blood-soaked maw.

That piece of candy had been exchanged long ago, back when Alan was still an adventurer, from a kind (or so it seemed) wild fae.

For the native inhabitants of this continent, those cursed wild faes were extremely dangerous.

Even if you weren’t a spellcaster or a well-traveled adventurer—if you were simply a farmer’s wife living in a remote village—you would solemnly warn your children beside the golden-red glow of the evening hearth: never be deceived by the malformed dwarves emerging from the grass or the forest, and never eat the food they offer. The food they presented to children—or some foolish traveler—always looked and smelled enticing. Sometimes it was a large, fragrant, piping-hot buttered loaf; sometimes a roasted pork leg wrapped in leaves, exuding an irresistible aroma; and sometimes…

It would be a large, crystal-clear piece of candy, visibly sweet and sour, just begging to be eaten.

“…Those things are cursed poisons.”

The farmer’s wives would deliberately adopt a grim expression to frighten their terrified children.

“If you eat them, you will turn into a goose, or a pig, or even a quacking wild duck—and then those cursed wild faes will grab you and drag you into their world, where you will become merchandise at the fairy market.”

And now, in the exact center of the long-vanished tent, Alan stared intently at Hieronymusa’s throat.

The moment the “candy” touched the demon’s oral mucosa, it completely dissolved. Yes—wild faes had, indeed, perfected their creations to prevent anyone from spitting out their enchanted treats once consumed.

One had to admit, those wild faes were truly malicious and cunning little creatures.

Yet at this moment, Alan thought back to the young fae’s wrinkled little face, and an unprecedented surge of gratitude welled up in his heart.

Hissss.

Alan heard a very faint sound.

Then, the massive shadow that had engulfed him vanished in an instant.

Amid a rising cloud of white smoke, the once terrifying, grotesque demon transformed into a stunned, gray-green frog.

“Ribbit—”

As it looked at Alan, the frog—or rather, Lart—puffed out its cheeks.

When someone who had eaten wild fae food lost their human form, their mind and soul would fully shift into the animal the faes intended.

This meant that Lart had now become an unmistakable frog.

He croaked loudly, producing the resonant call of a male frog in mating season, inflating his vocal sac to its maximum.

“Mage Alan?! What’s happening?!”

Lelian screamed.

But before she could finish, another voice interrupted her.

“How dare you—”

A thick, black, foul-smelling smoke erupted violently from the body of Frog-Lart, accompanied by the enraged shriek of the demon duke. Clearly, Lart’s pitifully small frog brain and completely transformed soul could not possibly contain a demon duke.

Hieronymusa was forcibly expelled from Lart’s body.

Yet, after losing Lart’s vessel, the demon appeared to be suppressed by some law of reality. At least for a brief moment, the fragments of Hieronymusa that it had summoned into the Material Plane through Lart’s body weakened noticeably.

Of course, this did not mean that everything was safe.

After Lart was transformed into a magical frog, the ominous smoke from Hieronymusa quickly shifted its focus to another paladin who had originally been restrained. The paladin’s jaw stretched wide like a serpent’s, while the black mist poured relentlessly into his body.

It was easy to imagine that in just a short while, Hieronymusa would acquire a new vessel. Of course, the new body wouldn’t be as perfect or powerful as Lart’s top-tier form, but even a substitute host would be far beyond the ability of this group of frail, weak humans to resist.

“Run!”

Alan grabbed the croaking Lart from the ground and shoved him into Lelian’s arms.

She let out a sharp, startled scream—though it was hard to tell whether it was because of the frog itself or because it was now in her embrace.

“Evacuate the rest of the villagers from Green River Village—quickly!” Alan shouted to Lelian.

“I’ll stay here to help Little Green keep it contained for the moment, to buy you time.”

As he spoke, Alan crouched down. A pale green aura spilled from his palms, seeping into the ground tainted by the demon.

The dragon vines, which had been nearly lifeless, instantly regained strength and vitality. Moreover, every seed buried in the soil beneath them sprouted green leaves and surged upward with near-feral force—then collectively bound themselves around the paladin whom Hieronymusa was moments away from fully “inhabiting.”

“I’ll stay too, Mage Alan!”

Lelian’s eyes flashed with intense worry. She could see that, as the dragon vines and the newly energized plants surged with unprecedented life, the black-haired mage’s face visibly paled and grew haggard with each passing second.

“You staying here won’t do any good—you’ve already proven that! I need you to immediately contact the nearby royal knights and have them come to exterminate Hieronymusa. Without the knights, the people of Green River Village can’t evacuate in time!”

Alan shouted at Lelian with the last of his strength.

“…And you have to get Lart out of here. Once the wild faes’ magic solidifies, he’ll be a frog for the rest of his life!”

———————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Lart: Ribbit—

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