Chapter 358
Chapter 358
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Saint and Completer (14)
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****
Clunk, thud.
Clunk clunk—thud!
“Todd! How many times have I told you to be careful? Some of these corpses have weapons or claws stuck in them! If you get scratched and tear your leather armor—”
“Yeah, yeah, mutant blood gets in and we wait forever for priests who never show, then get put down! I’ve heard that twenty times today already, Centurion! But these corpses, they’re so damn heavy... ugh!”
“If you drop them midway, it hurts me too since I’m lifting with you! Nngh—ha!”
Whoosh—
Thud!
Two soldiers, wrapped head to toe in oil-treated leather armor, were loading a corpse onto a cart. Out on the plains before Hedern’s walls, many more soldiers in similar gear were at work. They were Hedern’s troops, sent out through the brief lull to clean up the battlefield as much as they could.
“That should be all the bodies around here, right?”
“Urgh, looks like it. The rest are mutant corpses or so mangled we can’t bury them right away. And I’m not a centurion, you idiot. I’ve only got eight guys under me left—what kind of centurion is that?”
“Fair point. What centurion in the world cleans the battlefield rolling around in a muck pit of guts.”
Centurion Charles and his subordinate Todd stretched their aching backs as they eyed the cart piled high with rotting allied corpses.
It was grueling work. The ground was a squelching carpet of bodies, making every step a chore. The low-grade mutants swarmed like dogs and rotted unnaturally fast, belching eye-watering stench. The bodies of their comrades buried among them were heavy as hell, weighed down by armor and helmets—too much for two men in many cases. Half-rotted ones could burst open from their wounds and weight if not handled delicately. Filthy, exhausting, backbreaking labor.
Yet the two men’s faces held a hint of ease. Partly from familiarity, but mostly because compared to their usual routine at this hour, battlefield cleanup was practically a break.
“...Still, we got some time this round, so we didn’t see as much of that bullshit. Normally we’d be risking our necks holding back those waves of flesh at this point, watching these guys on the cart stagger up all zombie-like and lunge at us.”
“Lucky break. On the way out, a mage said the mutant horde that should’ve hit today was all dead near the blood mist zone.”
“Oh? Some hero stuck around nearby? Heard after that crap order, they’re all holed up in backwater forts with no spare bodies.”
“What do grunts like us know? Enemy doesn’t come, we celebrate. Let’s head back. Get too full and we won’t pull the cart.”
“Let’s load this last one and go. Leaving it’d be trouble.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. It’d be a pain if it turned mutant. On three. One, two, three—”
Splurt.
As they shouted three and braced to lift, a large corpse buried under the rotten ones grabbed the centurion’s wrist.
“Gah! It’s alive! Centurion! Let go, you rotten bastard—”
“Wait, hold on, Todd! He’s warm! He’s still alive! Not a fully turned mutant corpse! He’s wounded!”
“Guhhh... s-save... me...”
Todd and Charles hastily dug the man out from between the rotten corpses. His right leg was gone, and he was covered in severe wounds.
“...Wouldn’t mercy killing be better? He’s basically a corpse already. At least spare him the pain...”
“You’re right.”
...Click.
Centurion Charles drew his spear from his back with his free hand. Severed at the upper thigh, severe burns all over, buried in mutant corpses. Survival odds slim, and even if he lived, the mutant blood would’ve seeped to the marrow. Best to end it painlessly—his spear tip aimed for the wounded man’s heart.
Crunch—
“S-surviving... alive... save... me...”
“...Still got strength. Voice is pretty clear too.”
“Take him back?”
“Yeah. Buried in there overnight at least, and he’s hanging on. Killing a guy like that myself? Nightmares for sure.”
He withdrew the spear blade, struck by the man’s fiercely gleaming eyes peeking through melted eyelids and the iron grip on his wrist. As fellow soldiers—as survivors of this hell—he couldn’t see the man’s desperate struggle as someone else’s problem.
“Tch. Fair enough. Surviving this long in that state is a miracle. Probably some devout believer who prays to the goddess nonstop.”
“Hm? You’re religious? Which goddess... Abundance Church?”
“Mercy side. Grew up poor, owed them a lot. Being around constant death makes you take interest in fate, miracles, that stuff. Looks like this guy’s got real luck. Burns stanched the bleeding from the leg—goddess’s guidance if I’ve ever seen it. Face is so messed up even his wife wouldn’t recognize him, though.”
“Lucky bastard... yeah, got the most valuable thing on this battlefield in spades. If he pulls through, let’s ask him to share some of that luck as payment for our trouble.”
“Heh heh heh. Surviving overnight in a mutant corpse pile with a leg chopped off... that’s big luck. Enough to dream of going home?”
“We split it two ways, so not quite. Home in a box, maybe.”
Clunk. Creak!
Rattle rattle—
Lost in odd thoughts, the two loaded the miraculously surviving wounded man onto the cart and turned toward the city. No battle today, one cart of bodies cleared—maybe they could rest this afternoon.
Thus, the cart carrying dozens of corpses and one wounded man passed through Hedern’s gates.
****
‘This is nothing. Easier than cold porridge.’
And that wounded man was now scaling Hedern’s lord’s castle.
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- Jokasss: Slipped in easy. Thought for sure he was done when that middle-aged soldier shoved a spear at him.
- Professor: You never ignore battlefield superstitions, especially where allies drop like flies. Tons of tales about wounded comrades. One you leave behind crawls back trailing guts and you stab him in the back. Or you carry one over the gate while he cheers ‘I can make it! Just a bit farther!’—then after the gate, he’s already dead from an arrow. Superstitions to scare taboo shit and cheer selflessness.
- Heung An Mandu: Betrayal sticks in the memory forever.
- Professor: Exactly. That’s how they pile up, one by one.
- Holy: Whoaaa... so he staged that on purpose?
- Professor: Roughly? I cleared the incoming mutant swarm ahead, so Hedern had time to clean corpses at least enough for the walls to function. Buried quietly among them, then grab an arm desperately when they lift—play wounded clinging to life, and the cleanup crew’s sense of duty sends me to the infirmary.
- Jokasss: Just gambling, right? What if the soldier closes his eyes and stabs?
- Professor: Eh, spear through the heart and it’s crematorium instead of infirmary. Either way, inside the walls. Infirmary’s preferable, though. Crematorium’s tucked away, but infirmary’s safest rear—right by the lord’s castle.
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He couldn’t create with regeneration, but suppressing it? That he could do.
Even with his rare build, who’d spot the ‘Savior Saint’ in a burned-bald, eyelid-and-lip-melted, one-legged wreck looking like a medical dummy? Bet even if he yelled ‘I’m the saint~!’, no one’d believe him. Crazy talk.
Riding in as wounded got him to the infirmary—lord’s castle right in front.
Infirmary had the most divine power flow in the city, so laxest mutant spy watch.
The priests nearby? Come night, they dragged their drained holy power to a corner prayer room, knelt—and passed out cold.
Then? Regrow the leg he’d torn off himself, and scuttle up the lord’s castle walls like a cockroach.
Eyes that parried named bosses stabbing dozens of times a second could clearly discern the inside of a tiny hovering water orb.
Mage senses read every intruder-repelling spell on the outer walls crystal clear.
[...Smooth, huh?]
‘Damn right. Legendary guerrilla spec-ops vet. Last character? Reluctant axe assassin pro. Got chops in infiltration-assassination-escape.’
Plus, as he’d told the chat—not 2nd World’s axe killer anymore. Resources totally different.
Water orb surveillance combo for near-map-hack 3D internal mapping.
Mage skill to spot pesky magic traps.
Not cat-like, but feline predator stealth from springy muscles. And—
Crack!
Magic formulas? Screw ’em. Universal eraser for stationary alarms, wards: aura.
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- Jokasss: This char got pushed into saint build—left alone, he’d have mastered assassin and gone pro.
- Deer Drug Please: Axe loaded with brutal god-smasher power sneaks up so quiet you feel it inches from your skull? No blocking that.
- Take a Look: Handling holy power, aura, mana—three mysteries at once? Impossible. Use together and veins, mana roads explode—you’re crippled.
- Jokasss: Yeah, but he bounces up with ‘Aw, fuck’ even if they do.
- Heung An Mandu: Regeneration, noob!
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Basically a universal key for stealth, infiltration, penetration. Lord’s castle interior? Cakewalk.
“...That’s... ...im...possible...”
“...Nonsense...! ...!”
Deep night, even pious clerics conked out—and nobles kept lights blazing, heated talk going. Professor inwardly applauded.
‘Guts must be rotting. ‘War’s a sure win anyway’—but damage bigger than expected.’
Murmurs and occasional shouts from beyond thick door. Professor cast a comm spell with faint holy power.
[Latura, Ro-Haram! The Saint contacts me at this hour! Surely no ill befell your journey—]
[Busy. Short. Question on doctrine. We’re on crusade, right?]
[Ro-Haram preserve us! The Saint takes interest in doctrine... Yes, of course. The Mutant Queen’s an officially recognized evil god. This war pitting her spawn against humanity’s fate? Endorsed crusade by all five churches.]
[Good. Interfering with crusade? Heretics, right?]
[Intent’s debatable, but ignoring church warnings to cease disruptive acts? Yes. Undeniable heretics.]
[Right... got it. Last one. Heretics deserve death?]
[Lock in Enlightenment Hall to shatter mind, body to pyre for ash, scatter remains under faithful feet forever treading church lands.]
[Hmm. Thaaanks. Brother Gregory.]
[Saint, found heretics? Summon paladins at once—]
Fizz!
“Okay. Prep done!”
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- Jokasss: Prep for what?
- Professor: Excuse. Pre-murder warm-up. War changes weight of snap killing vs. premeditated on strangers.
- Heung An Mandu: Need prep to off a few assholes?
- Professor: Kid, everyone here’s killed. Me, you, us—we’re someone’s asshole. Words from pro killer Prof Park, tempered by repeated emphasized murder. Listen up.
- Deer Drug Please: Oh fuck.
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Gotta steel mind ahead, or hesitate mid-op and fuck it. Experience dictates. Military? ‘Orders’ covered all. Now? Personal gain too. Gotta steel up.
“Suuuuuuck—haaaa. Alright. Let’s begin.”
Final deep breath shook off lingering guilt. Professor strode boldly to the door with commanders’ voices.
Crunch, crack! Snap, pop!
Flickering torchlight threw his wildly writhing shadow—growing huge, vicious, stretching long.
Knights guarding the door instinctively reached for swords at the sudden shadow—
.
.
.
.
.
.
...Knock knock knock knock.
“Count Marrow! Baron Diselrow! What say you to this crisis?!”
“Heh heh heh. Count Golsen seems short on sleep. My boy was noisy like that at five when woken.”
“Ah, I’ve been there. Nursemaids suffered...”
“Wh-what? Palome! Your Teldrat thrives the longer the war drags—easy for you to say! Sell off rotting barley, wheat anyway! Think future, not coin now! Land! Fiefs! New titles!”
“You? Getting cocky, are we? Who foresaw those monsters’ onslaught? Signed in Köurn together, now you nitpick tactics—absurd!”
“Something left to eat first, or escalation—”
“Wait for Teldrat’s word—”
“Instead of bickering, countermeasures—”
Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock—
“...Who’s there? This hour, daring interrupt allied commanders’ council?!”
Nobles, pissed from pointless dawn meeting, finally turned frowning to the low door knocks.
“...My lords... urgent... matter...”
“Bah... out with you! No raid outside—sounds quiet. What’s so urgent...?!”
“More... urgent... still...”
Hoarse voice cracking like parched earth irked several nobles.
“Tch tch. Door guards paid for times like this.”
“What can you do? Lifelong sword-swingers lack tact. My knights would’ve—”
Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock
Scraaaape—grrrrrind!
“Eeeeek...! Fine, I’ll open it! This body’ll do it himself! Gotta see this highborn knight ignoring noble dismissal!”
Persistent knocking despite orders—fuming Count Golsen shot up, stormed to door. Some’d call a noble opening his own door undignified, but he craved chance to publicly shame another’s knight, maybe punish—undermine someone’s voice.
‘Hope it’s Marrow’s man. None of mine sound like that.’
Click!
Screeeeech—
Door opened. Armor-clad knight with limp arms before Count Olson.
“Well? Let’s hear this urgent news!”
“Yes... must tell... regrettably, obituaries. Obituaries.”
Slink—
Thud!
At count’s word, armored body slumped. Only a monster hand gripping knight’s neck floated in shadow.
“Wh-what—”
Slash!
Before count’s scream finished, head sheared top to bottom. Shadow-hid monster slowly stepped into meeting room light.
Dagger-neat fangs.
Blood-red chitinous shell on vicious frame.
Sharp claws clutching severed Count Golsen’s head above, massive hand-grip.
“Obituaries. Come to deliver death notices to us nobles slaving tirelessly to fill bellies amid chaos.”
“Monster...! Guards ou—”
Splatter!
“...Screaming in dead of night? Tacky.”
As first noble recovered to yell amid frozen shock—
Severed count’s head hurled like cannonball, smashed his skull to bits.
Screeeeech—clack. Click!
Red mutant entered through flung doors, closed them quietly—like grasping civility.
“Priests sleeping outside after hard day—quietly. Let’s end this quick?”
“Uwaaaah—!”
.
.
.
.
.
.
Thud. Drip drip.
Thump. Thump thump.
Eerily quiet room for the deaths.
Just flesh-slicing sounds, heads and bodies hitting floor. Even those muffled near-silent by plush fur carpet.
“...Sorry. Some need convincing—requires fewer of you. Quite a few.”
...Screeeeech, clack.
Exhaling held breath, monster scratched head with claws, left carnage behind.
Next day. Hedern knights puzzled at unusually silent allied commanders—no morning bellows.
“...This smell? Damn it, arm up and follow! Up top!”
Ding ding ding ding ding—
Late emergency bells rang. Under closed meeting room door: spreading blood, two fainted knights.
****
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