Chapter 22: The First Taste of Fine Wine

"Well then, take a look around! Oh, that's right—I nearly forgot. Although I've heightened the speed of your cognition, I haven't enhanced your motor nerves. You can't move, nor can you dodge. In other words, no matter how slowly the world now appears to be moving around you, you cannot escape the reality that you're about to be torn apart."

"…"

"How amusing. I know you're desperately searching for a way to survive. I must admit, I deeply admire that indomitable will of yours—the sheer refusal to surrender to fate. But facts remain facts. To live safely in this world, intelligence is not always your only bargaining chip. You need something else—something that guarantees your survival… power."

"…"

"So, what do you say? Will you share with me this first sip of fine wine? You'll grow to love its exquisite taste—of that I'm certain. But I hope you don't become too enamored, like the last poor soul who fell so deeply under my sway that he became a mere appendage of mine. That, I find terribly dull. Still, with your strength of will, I believe you can resist this wine's temptation… at least for now."

"What… must I do?"

"Oh? So that's your answer, is it? Hah… how entertaining. For those willing to accept me, allow me to offer this first lesson. Remember well how it feels—for from this moment on, you shall wield me at will. Let me see… how far can you take the power I offer?"

Within the stillness of frozen time, a black chain burst forth from the hilt of Annihilation. Unlike the others, this one bore a conical spear tip. It wrapped itself around the little beggar in four tight coils, binding him as though sealing a pact. Then, with brutal finality, it drove itself into his right forearm.

In the real world, the wolfdog's fangs were already descending, its claws poised to tear. In that very instant, the storm thickened—blinding, howling, a sudden vortex of white fury that consumed everything in its path.

…

…

…

Why had the blizzard grown so violent all of a sudden?

In the distance, the little girl peeked out from behind the carriage curtain. Snowflakes filled the air like thick smoke, swirling in a blinding dance. Moments ago, the four horses pulling the carriage had been calm; now, they reared and shrieked in terror. A gust of cold wind swept in, making the girl shiver. She hurriedly let the curtain fall, but even that thick barrier could no longer keep out the cold. The once-cozy carriage had become a frozen tomb.

…

The servant stood wide-eyed, his lips twitching. Before him, the blizzard had grown so dense he couldn't see a thing. Snowflakes, sharp and crystalline, buried both the little beggar and the wolfdog. No one could say what was happening within.

Whoosh—

Something flew out from the blizzard.

A wolfdog. The moment he saw his beloved beast again, the servant felt relief flood through him—until he took a closer look.

It wasn't a wolfdog.

It was half of one.

As if cleaved in two by a blade of unnatural sharpness, only its left half remained. Its mouth still frozen mid-snarl, teeth bared in silent defiance. The exposed inner half was sealed in a layer of pristine ice—no blood, no gore. A preserved specimen. Every organ, from its sliced heart to the stomach's shredded remains and curling intestines, was on full display.

The mangled creature crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. Its body, rigid as stone, could've lain for days in subzero temperatures. Just minutes ago, it had been alive, fierce, and moving.

The servant stared blankly at the corpse, his thoughts too horrified to form. At that moment, the blizzard began to part. And from the swirling white emerged a pair of glowing, blood-red eyes.

"You… You… YOU—!"

The storm stopped. As if afraid, it no longer dared to touch the child. At his feet, the bodies of two more wolfdogs lay cleaved, frozen mid-pounce.

Clink…

A soft sound echoed from the beggar's hand. The servant looked down.

There, plunged into the snow, was a massive black sword—taller than the child himself. Loose iron chains coiled around the hilt, rattling faintly with each movement of the child's hand. And embedded in the hilt… a crimson eye, wide open, glaring at him.

The servant couldn't move.

Like a frog caught in a serpent's gaze, he forgot what he was supposed to do. The child's eyes burned with a crimson glow, his right hand gripping the colossal sword's hilt. And at the corner of his mouth…

A twisted smile.

"Guhuh…"

Under the reflection of those blood-red pupils, the child's left hand slowly loosened. The infant he'd been cradling fell to the snow, discarded like trash.

"Guhuhuh…"

That grotesque laugh echoed through the trembling snow. Yet the baby, cradled in the snowdrift, remained undisturbed—fast asleep, oblivious to the horrors outside.

The chain embedded in the child's arm formed a shackle. Slowly, he stood, both hands now clutching the sword. He drew it from the snow with a screech of tightening metal, the chains binding his right arm to the hilt. Now, this child—this small, blood-eyed specter—stood holding a sword far too large for him, staring at his prey.

"You… you gutter rat! What trickery is this?!"

The servant raised his hand, gripping his curved blade in a futile attempt to suppress his fear.

His hand dropped.

His severed hand landed in the snow, the blood already frozen at the stump.

No pain. Or rather, the pain had no time to register. Like magic, the servant watched as the child swung the sword—and then his hand was gone.

"Heh… hah… HAHAHAHAHA…!"

All calm had left the beggar. His face contorted with manic ecstasy. The first taste of that infernal wine had driven him mad—utterly, irreversibly.

"AAAAAHHH!"

The pain finally reached him. His right arm, now cauterized by frost, throbbed beneath his clutching hand. He turned and fled, no longer caring about his mission, or the wager he'd lost. He only wanted to live.

He moved his foot—but his body stayed still. In his wild, panicked eyes, he saw his left leg fly through the air. Then the right. Then his left arm.

Snap—

Snow scattered upward.

He lay sprawled in the snow, his twisted mouth frozen in terror.

The white world remained pure—unstained. The frozen wounds refused to bleed, preserving the sanctity of the crystalline realm. His body could no longer feel. Desperately, he tried to turn over.

A foot landed on his back.

Snowflakes danced above. The servant's pupils dilated with fear. Then came laughter—inhuman, echoing beside his ear.

"No… No! Don't kill me! Please… I beg you… don't—!"

He couldn't turn his head. Only white lay before him. His desperate pleas, his will to live, made him a trembling mouse. But the twisted laughter behind him only grew louder.

Clang.

The sword drove into his back. Pierced his heart. Emerged from his chest. Pinned him to the snow.

His mouth opened—no blood came. The wound had frozen solid, sealed in a fine film of frost.

"Guh… guh… krk…"

His shattered heart froze completely. The icy torment dragged him downward, his eyes rolling white.

The black sword twisted.

Glasslike cracks echoed through his frozen spine. No blood spilled—each rupture froze instantly.

The blade continued its descent—from chest to waist, waist to hip—cleaving the servant slowly in two. The frozen wounds delayed death, forcing him to endure every slice.

Annihilation withdrew.

Its blade glistened—spotless, untouched by gore. The servant's body was no longer human. His mouth hung open, eyes blank, reduced to a silent slab of flesh.

Blood-red eyes flared in the snow-drenched night. The child's twisted expression remained, breath heaving, lips curled in a savage grin. As Annihilation's eye glowed, the beggar lifted his head, scanning the snow-covered world.

There—he saw his next target.

The swaddled bundle in the snow.

Driven by crimson lust, he dragged his sword forward, step by step. The shackle on his right arm clanked softly, echoing in the night. His breath ragged, his laughter manic, he reached the bundle—raised his sword—and leveled its black edge at the sleeping infant within…

Blood-red eyes blazed with thrill. The light stirred the beggar's frenzy.

And finally, his lips curled wider—

The blade plunged downward.

In the swirling snow, the black sword fell into the swaddle—sending snowflakes flying in a silent, deadly bloom.