32 - The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce

**Noble Family's Honorary Son-in-law Wants a Divorce: Chapter 32** Jonathan spent his childhood at a church that functioned as an orphanage in a small city. His friends were other orphaned children living at the church, and among them was one particularly timid boy who always lingered at the back — that boy was Jonathan. "Hey, you bastard! Bark like a dog!" "Fetch some poop from the drain! Let's shove it in his face!" Harassing the local stray dogs was the most innovative game the orphaned children, who had neither money nor parents, could come up with. Observing this, even at a young age, Jonathan felt a sense of superiority. "I'm different," he thought. Jonathan took pride in not tormenting the stray dogs, diligently following the teachings of the nuns. He considered himself the most mature among them. But then, a shocking day arrived. "Aaagh!" "Tom's been bitten!" Perhaps they had accidentally stepped on its tail. The stray dog bit the neck of a friend named Tom. It happened in an instant. Tom fell, clutching his neck with blood streaming down, crying in agony. Terrified, the other children ran to find the nun. However, unlike the others, Jonathan stood frozen at the scene, a peculiar grin slowly spreading across his face. "Kik." Watching his friend being mauled by a dog, young Jonathan came to a realization. "Kik-kik." He wasn't mature at all; if anything, he was more intense in his feelings. "Kik-kik-kik." Since that day, Jonathan redefined himself. While saying, "I'm a little different," he realized he was quite detached from the emotions of ordinary people. He hid his true nature for years, but every night, Tom's fate replayed in his dreams, sweet and tempting like a succubus. Eventually, Jonathan ventured into the night. His nocturnal wanderings were simple: visiting the bustling nightlife district of the city, where chaos was routine — bar fights, the clinking of knives, drunk men craving women. That night was no exception. Jonathan slipped out of the church at dawn, wandering the streets like a hyena starved for the scent of blood, listening to the drunken ramblings around him. "Did you hear? A flock of man-eating crows has been spotted in the area." "They're causing quite a stir, trying to hunt them down." "My son is part of the town guard, and I'm worried." In that moment, Jonathan felt a surge of excitement. Man-eating crows were monstrous, about the size of a human. "People will die," he thought, and just imagining it sent a thrill down his spine. It was as if he would finally say farewell to Tom, his eternal benefactor, as new dreams inspired by the man-eating crows would replace the old ones. A few days later, Jonathan didn’t even need to seek them out — the man-eating crows flew over the city walls and into town. When the nun called his name, Jonathan shrugged off her grasp and bolted outside. The air smelled metallic, the familiar scenery now painted with flesh and gore, electrifying Jonathan's heart. "Kik!" He couldn't help but laugh. "Khuhuhuk!" He never imagined he could feel such emotions in his life — it was bliss, ecstasy. --- "Comrades!" "Shut up!" Blackened tears ran down Jonathan's cheeks as his voice, filled with desperation, echoed loudly. "Why do you betray the kin! Comrades! Don’t deny your blood!" Nortemus lamented with deep sorrow. Yet Jonathan gritted his teeth and replied unwaveringly. "I am a knight of Helmut!" "A mere knight?! Your blood isn't of Helmut! Don’t be mistaken, comrade!" "What does that matter?!" Jonathan's resolve was as firm as an unwavering greatsword. "This incredible strength of spirit…!" His inability to succumb to Nortemus's temptation had one reason: the indelible shock of that day. The living emblem of Helmut that had branded itself into his mind, something Nortemus could never hope to surpass. "Comrade! How can you deny yourself?! Denying your very instincts means acknowledging our existence as evil!" "……!" Jonathan wanted to speak, but no words came out. Black smoke billowed from Nortemus and seeped into Jonathan’s mouth, clamping shut his teeth and tongue. However— “Ridiculous.” A voice answered from the opposite side of where Jonathan stood, breaking through the wind. **A Crescent-Moon Slash** Much like the elegance of a crescent moon, the strike was serene. “What—?!” *Swish!* Nortemus’s right arm fell to the ground. His eyes bulged with blood-red veins as he gasped in shock. It was Isaac’s swift maneuver that severed Nortemus’s elbow. *Thunk!* Instantaneously, a spear pierced through the air and struck him in the abdomen. Nortemus’s blood gushed as he coughed up more than words, the spearhead planted firmly beneath his greatsword. Silvanna, her posture unchanged from her spear throw, glared at Nortemus. Though obscured by the greatsword, Nortemus could still grasp the situation, seething with rage. “Aggh! You fools! You—!” They had no intention of listening. Swift as ever, Isaac reversed his grip on his blade and drove it into Nortemus’s side. *Thud!* “Agh! Ugh!” Nortemus groaned through a mouthful of blood, words failing him. Yet Isaac, undeterred, prepared to draw his sword once more. He reached for the remaining swords at his waist, his hand drawn to his blade rather than his usual broadsword. His eyes followed the path ahead. [“In the moment of drawing the blade, it contains the end itself.”] “……!” [“This is called ‘Iai.’”] A red line traced across Nortemus’s white neck. By the time the sword drew past, blood erupted from the cut, rendering him voiceless from a scream he couldn’t release. Hastily clutching his nearly severed neck with his remaining hand, Nortemus glared menacingly at Isaac. “Phaaah!” Amidst the chaos, perhaps due to a damaged nerve, Nortemus exhaled smoke even with his neck hanging loosely. [“Listen well, for this is not easily taught.”] ‘Why teach something one cannot even use?’ [“Even if you plead for another demonstration, it shall not be granted.”] As Isaac retreated rapidly, he almost heard the stern voice of his old master echoing in his ears, driving the lesson home. “I should have watched better.” He lamented missing the perfect opportunity to finish it. *Thwoop!* Silvanna’s spear reacted to her aura and withdrew itself, and Jonathan seized the opening Isaac had created to retreat hastily. Despite the greatsword embedded in his heart, the hole in his abdomen from the spear, the severed right arm tumbling on the ground, and his neck barely attached— “Is he still not dead?” Nortemus stood firm on his legs, glaring at them with a haunting stare. “Urgh, ugh!” He struggled for breath, tormented by the inability to breathe properly. As the attention shifted from Jonathan to Isaac, he shouted in frustration. “How dare you imitate our swordsmanship!” Isaac did not bother to reply. It was not worth the response. “Pant! Pant!” The long hair of Nortemus that had been swiftly cut by Isaac's previous attack now fluttered in the wind, leaving him no more than a walking corpse. From the wound where the greatsword was plunged, dark smoke surged and billowed outwards, spreading in all directions. “Planning to escape?” Silvanna swung her aura-infused spear wide. A fierce wind resembling a sword force blew, scattering the smoke. Yet, when the smoke cleared away, Nortemus was no longer standing there but emerged from a different location. “Pant! Pant!” Specifically, amongst the pile of corpses of the villagers. “Stop him!” Before Isaac could urgently shout, Sharen was already swinging her greatsword. The instinctive reflexes unique to Helmut made her charge the moment Nortemus was spotted. Her greatsword, gleaming with her aura, slashed, releasing a torrent of scarlet flames as if from a poured bucket. However— “Argh!” Nortemus sacrificed his remaining left hand to absorb the attack. His left hand reduced to a mangled mass, and finally— With both hands lost, the greatsword still lodged in his heart, he continued to exude black smoke. “Comrades—!” Once more, Sharen swung her greatsword. “Apologies for not being able to stay until the end!” To finish what Isaac couldn’t, her greatsword traced the same course to sever the neck again— “Goodbye!” *Slice!* Nortemus’s head was cleaved off. It spiraled through the air before embedding into the pile of corpses below. The black smoke emanating from his heart dispersed in all directions, driven away by the swing of Sharen’s greatsword. “We did it!” As Sharen cheered with a radiant smile, the black smoke began coalescing towards where Nortemus’s remains mingled with the heap of corpses. 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