High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1514: Chapter 258 Hastur’s Friendship

Zheng Qing now stood alone before the King in Yellow.

Aside from a conjured charm gun, he had no other measures of significant threat at his disposal.

Even if that charm gun were loaded to the brim with blood symbol bullets, leaving aside how many shots he could even fire with his abilities, the power of those blood symbol bullets alone would likely be insufficient to blast apart this avatar of Hastur in a single strike.

A futile effort to provoke such a being.

Of course, Zheng Qing could also choose self-destruction.

But self-destruction wasn’t something he could trigger at will. The last time an accidental explosion occurred, it had been due to the combined effects of extreme emotional turmoil, a seal breaking right at its critical point, and numerous other conditions aligning. In the aftermath, he had cautiously tried to recapture that feeling, but it always eluded him.

The hem of the yellow robe swayed before his eyes, unsteady and elusive.

”Will I lose my sanity... or my sense of self?” He stared at that swaying hem and softly posed the question.

A gold bean disappeared from his palm, only to reappear moments later, linger, and then vanish again. This wavering indecisiveness evoked a strong sense of déjà vu, much like the hesitation of making multiple-choice questions on an exam.

A vague answer drifted from behind the white mask: ”Perhaps.”

Zheng Qing let out a faint sigh, his mind a chaotic mess. The many questions he’d pondered while sprinting across that black grassland now eluded him completely.

He didn’t even want to calculate how many gemstones and gold beans he had left.

Only one question swirled persistently in his mind, like tides against a dam, refusing to recede.

”Why me?” His voice carried a trace of weariness.

From behind the white mask, green, pupil-less eyes settled on the young wizard, carrying an equally probing gaze: ”This is destiny’s choice.”

”Destiny is a bitch,” Zheng Qing muttered, recalling who might have told him this phrase once before.

Still, he couldn’t help but think it was exceedingly appropriate here.

The yellow robe billowed without any wind, its hems fluttering lightly. Though the white mask bore no expression, Zheng Qing was convinced the figure behind it must be smiling.

Emotions were rare concepts among the Outer Gods, but that didn’t mean they were devoid of them altogether.

It was simply that very few things in existence could provoke clear emotional reactions among them.

The avatar of Hastur stared directly into Zheng Qing’s eyes.

The young wizard might have been unaware, but the Outer God across from him could see everything with perfect clarity. The longer Zheng Qing stood before it, the more he conversed with it, the more his eyes, once sharp in contrast between black and white, were beginning to fill with crimson.

The deeper the red within his gaze grew, the greater the likelihood of the Outer God’s ”gift” succeeding.

This gave the entity even more desire to speak:

”Mortals who stand before me are typically thrown into instant collapse. Even wizards fare little better... I have witnessed countless young wizards who lose their ability to think before me.”

”You are an exception.”

”Perhaps that is why destiny has chosen you.”

Zheng Qing listened to the raspy, drawn-out voice echoing around him. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the slight twitch at the corner of his brow. Finally, he rolled up his sleeves, wearing the look of someone determined to risk everything: ”If there’s no other choice... then bring it on!”

He closed his eyes tightly.

Thus, he did not see that on the white mask opposite him, a small split had suddenly appeared where the mouth would be—Hastur, who had been stingy about revealing even a hint of its mouth throughout their long exchange, now let the crevice widen.

The split grew larger and larger, stretching until it reached the edges of the mask.

What emerged was a curved, crescent-like grin, massive and moon-shaped, its interior a vivid scarlet:

”...Many people believe they can face death bravely, until the wind stirred by the God of Death’s robe hem brushes their faces... much like how many people believe they can charge into a blazing fire to save another, only for the very heat of the flames to erase their courage.”

”In the Endless Wilderness, you have already demonstrated sufficient composure and resolve.”

”Now... summon all the courage you have left.”

”I will complete this gift before your courage runs dry.”

”This gift from the Deeps of the Starry Sky.”

”This bond of friendship from Hastur.”

Amid the faint murmurs and that sinister grin, a halo of eight-pointed magical light emerged behind the King in Yellow’s head, like a full moon.

A drop of ink spread across the moon’s surface, quickly consuming its luminous glow, until all that remained was a palpable darkness.

Even with his eyes shut, Zheng Qing could feel a new wave of darkness sweeping toward him—blackness deeper than the void itself.

And at the heart of that profound black, a bright yellow sigil suddenly appeared.

A symbol composed of simple dots and warped lines, like a cluster of yellow question marks, unfolded in the depths of the darkness.

If the young wizard had opened his eyes at that moment, he would have seen an identical symbol, matching the configuration and hue within the darkness, slowly detaching from Hastur’s soft, white mask. It spun gently as it emerged from the hood, drifting toward Zheng Qing.

This was Hastur’s mark.

Imprinted with the essence of its being.

The rune spun faster and faster, deceptively slow yet lightning-quick, until it transformed into a radiant point of light, carrying a fresh yet turbulent energy. Without hesitation, it plunged directly into Zheng Qing’s face.

The boy let out a scream and fell backward.

...

...

The forest in the morning always bore a hint of dampness.

Soft mist and pale sunlight blended with the dark green of the oaks, adding a touch of hazy, dreamlike atmosphere beneath the canopy.

Zhu Si wiped her eyes as she awakened from sleep, a trail of drool still lingering at the corner of her mouth from a night of deep slumber.

She wiped the drool away, her face showing a trace of regret—within her dream, she had been about to savor a plump, glistening chicken head clean, but somehow, the surrounding mirrors ”crackled” and shattered one by one.

Upon waking, hearing the proud flapping sounds from behind the oak, she realized that the sound of mirror shattering in her dream had actually been the oily brown creatures thumping their chests outside.

The little witch swallowed again, frowning earnestly in thought.

In her dream, someone had accompanied her in dismantling that chicken head. The two of them had been enjoying themselves immensely, but upon opening her eyes, that figure’s face swiftly faded from her memory, as though erased by an eraser sweeping across pencil markings.

That figure was definitely neither her father nor her mother—of this, the little witch was certain. She was far too familiar with their presences.

She pondered for a while, until a daring Zu Ge crept toward her, swiping a piece of beef jerky with its paw before scurrying off. Only then did the little witch jolt back to reality.

She glanced around groggily, then lowered her head to see a red-robed warlock lying beside her, startling her into a jump.