Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 66: A Dark God? Eyes? A Granddaughter?
A lone figure fled in desperation through the dense and shadowed expanse of the Beast Forest. His breath came ragged, each step fueled only by the primal instinct to survive. But then—without warning—his body stiffened mid-stride.
In that frozen instant, he felt the world betray him. The scenery, which should have been rushing backward with his frantic retreat, suddenly lurched forward at terrifying speed, blurring past him as though he were no longer moving at all but being dragged into the maw of something incomprehensible.
What in the hells… what is this sorcery?!
Panic clawed at his mind. His body no longer answered him—it wasn’t his anymore. His arms, his legs, even the rhythm of his heart felt distant, like echoes in someone else’s chest. Terror rose within him, sharp and suffocating. What kind of existence had he offended to suffer such a fate? What level of monster, what kind of power, could strip him so cleanly from his own being?
He tried to scream for mercy, to beg, to bargain. But his mouth refused to open. Even his thoughts seemed to sink into a dark mire, drowning as his consciousness slipped toward oblivion.
Time warped. It might have been a heartbeat. It might have been eternity. In the haze between seconds, dizziness overtook him, crushing his senses.
Then came the sensation of drowning—lungs burning, chest collapsing, as if he were plunged beneath black waters. But just as suddenly as it struck, it vanished.
He gasped violently, his body convulsing. Air flooded into him like fire. Knees buckled, and he collapsed, coughing, onto the dirt.
When his vision steadied, the first thing he saw was not the forest canopy, nor the soil beneath him—but two pairs of boots standing mere inches from his face.
“Hhh… hhh… hhhh—” His breaths came in ragged bursts, frantic and ugly.
A calm, heavy voice followed.
“Speak. Who are you?”
The words cut through his daze like a blade. Someone was questioning him. But who? He tried to raise his head, but it was as if a mountain pressed upon his skull, dragging it down. The effort alone nearly made him retch. He wanted to answer, to save his life with words, but then—
Something inside his mind tore.
It felt like an egg cracking, or a shell breaking, and from that shattering came horror.
Crack—
The sound of splitting bone echoed grotesquely.
A man—Jones—rested just one finger lightly upon his skull. In that instant, holy radiance pierced down, and the prisoner’s head ruptured like soft pulp. Black filth geysered outward in a grotesque spray, along with squirming appendages—tentacles slick with slime, and centipede-like worms writhing as they crawled free from his mangled flesh.
“Back.”
The single command came from Weber, cold and restrained. His voice carried weight.
And as if the world obeyed him, the spilling black ichor and crawling vermin reversed. The corruption slithered backward, re-entering the ruined body, retracing the same grotesque paths from which they had emerged.
When it was over, the corpse knelt once more in its original posture, though lifeless now—its head reformed but hollow, its soul long gone.
Jones glanced down, his eyes steady. “He’s dead. The soul’s already been sacrificed.”
Weber’s gaze lingered on the body’s empty pupils. Inside the shell of flesh, countless worms still writhed, some fat, some thin, twisting through organs and veins. Nestled deeper within were clusters of eggs pulsing like false hearts, each beat radiating a sick vitality.
“Interesting,” Weber murmured. “And which evil god does this one serve, I wonder?”
Only a god could cloak tricks before demigods such as them. Yet here lay the proof.
Jones let out a humorless laugh. “Old friend, this little one you’ve taken a liking to… it seems he’s stirred the notice of dangerous beings indeed.” With a casual slap of his palm, the withered husk before them disintegrated into nothing, erased from existence.
Weber shook his head slowly. “If it were truly a god’s gaze upon Merlin, he’d never be spared. A vessel as perfect as that boy… any true deity would seize him without hesitation. No, this isn’t the work of a god. Just the creatures below, sniffing at scraps.”
“What for, then?” Jones tilted his head, skeptical. “It can’t be for the food he cooks, surely?”
“Merlin of the Leo family,” Weber replied, his tone measured. “He carries the blood of the War God. What they want… are his eyes.”
Jones’s expression shifted, realization dawning. So that was it. Merlin had once casually given his full name, but without the family’s signature silver hair, Jones had not thought to connect him with the Leo line.
“Those eyes…” Weber continued, his gaze distant. “They are no trinket. Legends say the War God’s gaze could pierce through every nuance of a battlefield, foretell the enemy’s intent, unravel their strategies in an instant. In combat, no ruse could stand against those eyes. And within them—colossal magic slept. It was for those very eyes the Leo family fell.”
“No wonder,” Jones sighed softly. “The boy truly is cursed by fate.” Yet his tone held no weight of concern. Neither he nor Weber felt the need to probe deeper into Merlin’s looming shadow of schemes.
Not long ago, they had jested about raising Merlin to slay gods, to bring back divinity for their own amusement. Perhaps it was half-serious. More likely, it was nothing more than mockery of destiny itself.
For gods are not slain so easily. Not even by one who bears what even gods lack—true infinite magic.
“I only hope the lad lives a little longer,” Jones muttered. “His food is too damn good to waste.”
Weber smirked. “Then guard him.”
“I haven’t the time for such indulgence. But if he stays within the Arcane Academy, I’ll keep him safe enough.”
“As will I, if he falls within the Light Church’s reach.”
“Ha! You speak like a man who believes his own lies.”
“Go to hell.”
Merlin awoke to sunlight creeping through the curtains. He stretched, jaw cracking in a yawn, and dragged himself upright from the bed. Outside, through the tall windows, he glimpsed students already bustling about with their duties. Industrious as ever—the so-called “Beast of Burden Academy” lived up to its reputation.
He rubbed his eyes, considering breakfast. By now, his diligent secretary ought to have arrived with food already set out.
Stacie had proven herself frighteningly competent. Since hiring her, he found his own habits slipping toward idleness. She handled everything so efficiently, he scarcely needed to lift a hand.
Yawning once more, he pushed open the door.
And froze.
There, in the hallway, stood a sleepy figure—a girl.
She wore a soft sky-blue pajama set, scattered with moons and stars. Her pale skin peeked where the fabric slipped, smooth and radiant. Silken chestnut hair cascaded freely to her shoulders, framing a face round as an apple. Her drowsy eyes blinked twice, unfocused yet charming. A tiny, delicate nose lent her features a gentle definition. As she approached him, she stifled a yawn, her ears twitching like a small rabbit just stirring from its burrow.
“Morning…” she murmured, greeting him with sleepy ease.
Merlin nodded absently, intending to pass her and head downstairs—until the wrongness hit him like thunder.
He spun back, dumbfounded, staring at the girl. “Wait, wait, wait! This… this isn’t the dormitory. This is my newly built villa. Who the hell are you?!”
Where had this girl come from?
“You’re not—who exactly are you?” He darted forward, gripping her arm, suspicion sharp in his voice.
“You’re hurting me,” she said simply, rubbing her eyes again, utterly unbothered by his alarm. “You may be handsome, but grabbing a girl like that is terribly uncouth.”
Merlin’s mouth twitched, words ready to spill, when a familiar voice cut across the air.
“Boss Merlin! Breakfast is ready—eh?”
Down the stairs came Stacie, apron tied neatly, ladle in hand. She looked every bit the picture of a newlywed wife bustling about for her husband. But when her gaze landed on the pajama-clad girl, the warmth in her eyes cooled to frost.
Her brows knit, her voice dropped. “Miss Scarlett… what are you doing here?”
Merlin blinked between the two, utterly lost. “You two… know each other?”
Stacie’s expression grew complicated. A faint, wounded irritation darkened her features. She sniffed sharply, crossing her arms. “Boss Merlin… don’t tell me you don’t even recognize Miss Scarlett?”
“Should I?”
“Miss Scarlett is a first-year like us,” Stacie explained, her tone edged. “And her grandfather… is none other than the headmaster of the Arcane Academy.”
Merlin’s eyes widened. “The headmaster’s granddaughter? That would make her… the granddaughter of a demigod?”
The girl before him smiled faintly, rubbing at her sleepy eyes as though all this fuss were nothing at all.