30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 218

Standing night duty in the military means watching a lot of movies.

It wasn’t about slacking off—it was simply that, in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep, there wasn’t much else to do.

Well, for Ihan...

"You’re reading wuxia novels and web comics again, aren’t you?"

"Dogo-hyung, it’s called a web comic, not an internet cartoon."

His tastes were unwavering, so he rarely bothered with movies.

"It’s the same thing, isn’t it?"

"...Dogo-hyung, are you sure you’re only in your mid-20s?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I mean... you seem really mature."

"Ssshh... That sounds suspicious."

"Ah, look, a movie’s starting!"

"......."

Unlike Ihan, whose preferences never wavered, his superior had a broad taste in entertainment. He loved wuxia novels just as much as he enjoyed sci-fi movies, and as long as a film had even a hint of sci-fi, he would watch it—be it a superhero flick, a thriller, or anything else.

Because of that, Ihan often found himself roped into movie-watching sessions. The ones they ended up watching the most were...

"Dogo-hyung, you sure love those kinds of movies."

"I read a lot of American comics when I was a kid."

"Early education, huh..."

"What was that, you punk!?"

Movies about parasitic aliens. They watched them so often that Dogo-hyung would always ask the same childish questions.

"What if parasitic aliens like that really existed?"

"Are you seriously asking that at your age? ...Well, if I had to answer, I’d say we start with high-explosive bombs."

Then again, Ihan was just as childish. They once debated for four hours about how to kill a parasitic alien.

...And now.

Dogo-hyung, do you see this?

—KEEEEE!!!—

I think we weren’t childish after all. We were visionaries.

A grotesque, blackish-red mass of liquid consumed a fallen half-demon’s corpse, growing larger with each bite.

***

Gurgle... Gurgle...!

The blackish-red liquid was something so repulsive, so horrifying, that touching it seemed unthinkable.

It looked like a pool of crude, unrefined oil, yet at times, it shimmered like molten lava, as if it carried the heat of a raging inferno.

—But one thing.

One thing was absolutely certain.

[Don’t touch that. It’s bad news.]

"...You don’t have to tell me twice."

Even without the owl’s warning, Ihan, Raq, and Maximus instinctively stepped back, retreating as if they were fleeing.

A primal, gut-wrenching instinct screamed at them—every fiber of their being knew that touching that thing would bring nothing but disaster.

Their survival instincts sounded a deafening alarm, a blaring signal that they must not ignore.

And as if confirming their fears...

Slither... Squirm...

The blackish-red liquid melted away the half-demon’s corpse. Or... was it eating it?

Either way, it was a horrifying sight.

"...I never thought I’d see that thing again."

"You’ve seen it before?"

"Hmm, do you remember half a year ago, when monsters were summoned into the Academy?"

"How could I forget?"

The mere memory of that ordeal was enough to make them bolt upright in their sleep.

"Well, do you also know there was a mastermind behind that incident? And that both Galahad and Lionel intervened to take them down?"

"...That’s news to me."

"Then listen up. I fought one of those masterminds—a priest named Andrea Laurent. And that priest used his own body as a sacrifice... to summon that."

"......."

"Just so you know, after fighting it, I had to recover for more than half a month. It was ridiculously difficult to deal with."

"...Yeah, I can see that."

Even without Maximus’s warning, Ihan had no intention of ignoring the grotesque entity before them.

Its appearance alone was already unsettling, but more than that...

WHOOOOOOOSH—!

The sheer force radiating from it was enough to make their heads spin.

As Ihan and the two knights tensed, hardening their expressions and raising their energy in response, a hollow laugh rang out from a different direction.

"Heh... That damned Prophet really did a number on us, didn’t he?"

"He set up a spell to trigger upon our deaths. What a nasty bastard."

Of the assassins still standing—excluding Numbers 5 and 6, who were already dead or too broken to move—Numbers 7 and 11 watched as their comrades were consumed, their gazes empty.

Then, they chuckled.

"Well, dying like this isn’t so bad."

"So, is this better than running away if it means we can take them down?"

They didn’t resist.

Their eyes were like those of the dead—hollow, lifeless. They had already abandoned the will to live.

As if they had long known this day would come.

And Ihan, watching them carefully, suddenly spoke.

"Tch. You worthless shits are really trying to act cool at the last moment, huh?"

"!?!!"

"Since you’re planning to die anyway, let me ask—is Lime still alive? I need to kill that bitch with my own hands."

"You...!"

That single word—you—carried a heavy weight.

Their eyes, filled with disbelief, locked onto Ihan. But he didn’t care whether they were shocked or not.

"Right, I almost forgot. Weren’t you two the ones who defected from the assassin corps to open a bakery? ...But looking at you now, I guess assassination really was your true calling."

"...!!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"You still don’t get it?"

They were asking how he knew a secret only they should have known. Ihan simply shrugged before speaking again.

"It’s me. Cutie."

"????"