Corrupted Priest-Chapter 29

"Where is the Herald of Rest?"

"Not far from here. Shall I take you there now?"

I glanced at my companions, who looked as bewildered as I felt, and answered the guard.

"Please wait a moment."

"Yes!"

I turned to Dakia and said,

"Princess, things turned out like this, so please go ahead and find accommodations. I'll help them out for a bit and catch up later."

Dakia responded with a warm smile, as if she'd known I'd say that.

"Go ahead."

With my employer's permission, I asked the guards to lead my party to a decent inn, which they gladly agreed to.

"Give me your bag. I'll take it to your room."

"Thank you, then."

I handed my travel bag to Carmen and followed the guard to where the Herald of Rest was. Walking a quiet road outside the city, I asked the guard,

"How long has the Herald of Rest been here?"

"Almost two weeks."

Two weeks? No wonder he's so desperate.

Sentient beings instinctively feel deep unease and aversion upon seeing the risen dead brought forth by the Heralds of Rest. Some weaker individuals even fell into panic when exposed to them for too long. So, most people were extremely reluctant to meet or speak with a Herald of Rest.

The sun, which had illuminated the land all morning, slowly sank behind the towering snow-covered mountains. As the hidden darkness crept in, the guard lit a torch he had prepared.

"Just a little further."

His tense voice was full of apprehension about the undead that might emerge at night. With a rustling sound, the guard's eyes were soon filled with fear.

The dead began crawling up onto the road. Those with intact legs walked. Those without them crawled, following the others.

They were all heading somewhere.

"Pr-Priest..."

His trembling voice and fading eyes told me clearly that he was at his limit. I smiled gently.

Read latest chapters at freёweɓnovel.com Only.

"Do you have a spare torch?"

"Y-Yes!"

He handed me the torch he was holding and lit a new one.

"Looks like I won't need further guidance. You should head back to Eradico."

"A-Are you sure?"

"Yes."

If we kept going together, it was obvious he'd collapse from fear, and I'd have to carry him back to the city. Better to send him off now while he can still walk on his own.

The guard thanked me repeatedly and dashed off back to the city like he was flying.

"Fools!"

My mother grumbled, wondering why people were so afraid of nothing more than moving chunks of dead meat. I patted the breast pocket she was hiding in and stepped into the marching dead.

"Mother. It's perfectly natural for people to be afraid of moving corpses. Just imagine this — you're about to cook, and you've placed a headless chicken on the cutting board, but suddenly, it starts running off on its own."

My mother wriggled for a while inside my pocket, contemplating. Then, she cautiously responded.

"Still... why is that scary?"

She clearly didn't understand. I chuckled.

"Honestly, I just said that to sound thoughtful. I don't really get why people fear these walking slabs of meat either."

"Exactly!"

She fumed at having wasted her energy thinking about it, and I soothed her as we walked on. Soon, I found the Herald of Rest who had raised these dead.

The Herald of Rest stood in the midst of a swarm of the dead, blowing a white trumpet.

No, "blowing" might be the wrong word.

The trumpet was held to a white mask that covered his entire face, meaning his lips weren't even touching the instrument. Without air being blown in, there should have been no sound.

He was merely pretending to blow in complete silence.

But then, the trumpet call of the Heralds of Rest was never meant for the living, and thus did not need to be heard by living ears. They blew their trumpets solely for the dead.

Among the clergy of all kinds of gods, the Heralds of Rest were a particularly peculiar group. The Trumpet of Death and Rest they served had no worshippers — only priests.

Unlike other gods who bestowed powers upon chosen followers, the Trumpet of Death and Rest handed out its powers to just anyone. Suddenly. Without reason.

Those chosen became Heralds of Rest and lived lives devoted to the dead. None ever explained their selection, and no one truly understood why they lived as they did.

They wandered alone, blowing silent trumpets, always leading the dead. While working in the cemetery, I had often buried the dead they brought.

They typically appeared in places where mass deaths occurred, especially on battlefields, where they were a constant sight.

Naturally, some authorities were displeased with them taking fallen soldiers away in the night. But no one dared to attack the undead led by a Herald of Rest, because Heralds were fiercely protective of the dead under their care.

And really, who would want to fight a ceaseless army of undead?

So the Heralds of Rest were like a natural phenomenon, drifting through life with the dead, interacting with no one.

Black, trailing undertaker's robes. White gloves and masks. Silent white trumpets.

I gently pushed past the dead and approached the utterly impersonal figure.

After weaving through the horde of corpses, I put on a friendly smile and spoke.

"Good evening."

There was no need to introduce myself. They had discarded their own names and didn't care to know anyone else's.

Still, I hoped this one would speak.

Some Heralds didn't even speak — they communicated only through gestures.

The white mask with no eyeholes turned toward me.

Though surrounded by countless undead in the clearing, not a sound could be heard. In the near-total silence, I spoke again.

"Perhaps many have come before me, but I've also been asked to speak with you. As you know, moving corpses are deeply unsettling to most people."

No reply.

"You've been here for nearly two weeks. Isn't it time to move on? Your kind never stays in one place too long. Or is there another reason you're lingering?"

"...Hmm..."

He started to speak, then paused, clearing his throat like someone who had forgotten how to speak after such a long silence. I waited patiently for him to continue. After a moment, he finally whispered in a low voice:

"Worshippers of the Evil God."

"What?"

For a moment, I was genuinely shocked, wondering if he had somehow seen through the identity I had kept so carefully hidden. But the "worshippers of the evil god" he mentioned weren't referring to me.

He pointed toward the distant city of Eradico.

"They will bring about great death."

"You mean there are worshippers of the evil god inside the city?"

The Herald of Rest nodded slowly.

"Have you told anyone else about this besides me?"

"No."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

The white mask fell silent again. I waited once more.

"...Because."

"What?"

He muttered too softly for me to hear. When I asked again, he spoke a little louder.

"Because it's already begun."

At the same moment as the Herald's words, a massive violet barrier engulfed Eradico. This was no time to be leisurely talking.

I sprang to my feet and sprinted toward the city.

Alone among the dead, the Herald of Rest slowly spoke.

"As you wished, I have told him the truth. O Trumpet of Death and Rest."

He took a step forward, trailing his flowing black garments behind him.

"Now, before death is dishonored, I shall do my part."

His footsteps headed straight toward Eradico.

The dead began to move, slowly following him.

Boom!

A massive violet barrier had thoroughly sealed Eradico from the outside world. Moreover, this wasn't just a wall formed by divine power.

It was a barrier created by twisting the laws of nature through densely concentrated magical energy.

A mage. There was a mage inside.

While it wasn't entirely impossible to break in with brute force, it was highly inefficient and would clearly take a long time.

By the time I got through, it was obvious what horrors would have already occurred inside.

But I had a way to get through this magical wall. I pulled out Mother's Hand from my coat.

"It's your time to shine, Mother."

Mother's Hand was easily affected by simple physical laws but remained untouched by magic-warped ones. In other words, I could use it to sneak in without alerting the mage.

As I brought the hand close to the barrier, it shimmered and transformed into a girl.

With one hand on her hip, Mother looked up at me and shouted:

"Slaughter!"

It was a question—Do you really have to go in there? Her worry was perfectly understandable. Facing worshippers of an evil god wielding divine powers could easily mean death.

Reflected in her deep green eyes laced with darkness, I saw my own face.

I smiled gently, as always.

"Your son insists on it."

"Slaughter..."

With an exasperated sigh, she reached out her soft hand to take mine and led me forward.

As I let her guide me, my body passed effortlessly through the violet magical barrier.

"Slaughter!"

Mother warned me again to be extremely careful and stretched out her hands toward me. I gently embraced her, and with a shimmer of darkness, the girl transformed back into a hand and slipped into my chest pocket.

I drew the Butcher and looked at the now-exposed Eradico.

The city was on fire, filled with screams.

Why did every city I go to end up burning?

I rushed through the city gates.

Three figures stood in the middle of the burning street.

A violet-haired woman clung to another woman's hand, wailing.

"It's not here! You said it was here! But it's not!"

The red-haired woman she clung to was drenched in cold sweat.

"I definitely saw his party enter the city! J-just give me a moment! I'll find him!"

"You! Just! Die!"

A man who had been silently observing them finally opened his mouth.

"Wait. I think I've found him."

"What?! Where?!"

The violet-haired woman perked up and clung to him. He pointed at me.

"Over there. That's Marnak."

The violet-haired woman beamed.

"It is him! It's really Marnak!"

Blond hair cut neatly. A well-trimmed beard. A face that exuded charm.

We'd met before.

I quietly activated the Butcher.

Whirrrrrrr!

"Slaughter!!!"

My mother's voice begged me to stay calm and rational. I ignored it.

The violet-haired woman skipped toward me.

"Marnak! Marnak! You're supposed to be so strong!"

The divine corruption I had accepted to its limit revealed itself as tattoos. The Script of Decay amplified my body again and again.

"Move."

"I've waited so long for you! I—"

The spinning metal blade of the Butcher sliced her vertically in half. Blood and flesh sprayed.

I charged ahead, divine power and muscle coiling into an explosion of strength.

Whirrrrrrr!

The Butcher became a single line. The line that would tear that bastard's face apart.

"You're nothing like the rumors."

"Shut up."

As he muttered, a dark violet barrier rose before me. I swiftly pulled out Mother's Hand and overlapped it with my hand.

"What?!"

The Butcher pierced through the barrier effortlessly, and the man's face twisted in shock. I swung the blade to bisect him.

But despite his shocked face, his body reacted faster than anyone else's. That reflex saved his life.

Instead, I shredded his left arm.

The man—Riberkel—staggered back, clutching his shoulder and grinning broadly.

"Ah, now I remember! Hearing your voice jogged my memory! You're that corpse cleaner from back then! Wow, seeing you in that priest's robe kinda makes me proud! Huh?"

Still grinning, he tilted his head.

"But if I recall correctly, weren't you dead? I personally killed you, remember? Huh. Weird. But hey, you're alive now, so I guess it doesn't matter. Although... it's a bit of a shame for you."

Riberkel bared his white teeth and extended his right hand toward me.

"Because the arm of the priest who used to wear that robe? It's this one! The right one, not the left! Hahaha! I used it so well over the last three years!"

Filthy mage bastard.

Grinding my teeth, I reined in my fury and enunciated each word clearly.

"I'm going to chop you up piece by piece... slowly."

I restarted the Butcher. It screamed in my place.

Whirrrrrrr!