Chapter 422: The Apostle of Curses Arrived, But...
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 422: The Apostle of Curses Arrived, But...
The Ferryman sensed an ill omen, though he could not pinpoint its source.
There was no rule stating that the source of an omen had to be human, but this time, it was.
In the hierarchy of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, a Bishop oversaw a small parish, and an Archbishop managed several combined. Above them both stood the Apostles.
In other words, one of the few Apostles within the cult had personally taken action.
His name was Redit.
'I will turn him into worm food.'
He steeled his resolve, his thoughts consumed by the man named Encrid.
Once he summoned his will, his Authority would manifest. Redit did not unleash that power recklessly; instead, he had been accumulating it for the sole purpose of killing this one man.
The Apostles of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult were born with their Authorities.
Born in a village bordering the Demon Realm, Redit had wiped out not only every villager but also their livestock before he had even turned ten.
His innate ability was curses.
With a mere glance, he could burst an opponent's heart or make worms writhe beneath their skin.
However, he had not always been an Apostle.
His ascension to that rank was the result of a chance meeting when he was fifteen.
While wandering the continent and being reviled as the incarnation of a devil, Redit met someone against whom his abilities were useless.
"What an interesting fellow."
The man's heart should have burst, yet he remained perfectly fine. Even as worms tore through the flesh of his forearms and swarmed over his limbs, he didn't so much as knit his brows.
He even smiled as flies gnawed at his skin.
"Do it more."
He was an opponent against whom nothing worked.
"Follow me, and I shall let your paltry strength be called an Authority."
As the man spoke with a smile, Redit saw a halo around him. He was a man who radiated light. He was a savior.
"Who are you?" Redit had asked.
The man replied with a smile. "I am the spokesperson for those betrayed by the false god, and a penitent walking a path of thorns for my master."
Redit shed tears.
He could feel it in his soul. He had lived his entire life up to this moment just to meet this man.
"Follow Father. I will open a new world for you."
The one who had found him was an Apostle of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult.
Redit accepted his teachings. He underwent grueling training so that his ability could truly be worthy of the title "Authority."
Thus, he became the Apostle of Curses.
"Father, I am leaving."
The Wolf Bishop had died, and the cult's plans had been ruined time and time again. And whose fault was it? By now, there was not a single key figure in the cult who did not know the name Encrid.
They could no longer afford to stand by and watch.
The Apostle who had brought him in—the man he now called Father—nodded.
Redit clenched his teeth, brought his oozing hands together, and bowed his head in prayer.
Seeing this, his father spoke. "Go and show them. Show them that no one is allowed to obstruct our work in such a manner."
That conversation had taken place on a highway bathed in bright sunlight. By the time Naurilia's civil war ended, the Apostle had already entered the kingdom.
Because of his innate Authority, Redit could not ride a horse, and keeping people near him was impossible. If anyone stayed by his side for more than a week, misfortune would inevitably find them.
While bursting a heart or summoning worms through his gaze were curses he could control, events like being struck by lightning or swept away in a landslide just by being near him were beyond his conscious command.
His curse was so virulent that a person could die from a minor scratch becoming infected simply because they stood in his shadow.
He was, quite literally, a walking plague.
He possessed a unique constitution that allowed him to wield curses superior to those of any shaman, despite never having formally studied the dark arts. He had trained relentlessly to ensure his power was fully worthy of being called an Authority.
He had learned the secret to strengthening his power: the warding of misfortune. The fewer people he kept around him, the more powerful his direct curses became.
However, he had to be extremely careful when accumulating the power of his curses. If he gathered power for too long without releasing it, the misfortune would rebound upon him.
For this task, Redit had gathered his curses to their absolute limit. He had pushed himself to the point where, if anything went wrong, the backlash would ravage his own body.
As a result, his skin had softened and begun to ooze fluid. His face, covered in pockmarks and scabs, was the very definition of hideousness. At a glance, one might have mistaken him for a ghoul.
Since his opponent was strong enough to belong to an order of knights, this level of preparation was necessary. For the sake of a single, ultimate curse, Redit had wandered only deserted paths, gathering power just as a monk would fast and pray.
Now, the process was complete.
Pockmarked, scarred skin; a body that creaked with every step; bones so fragile they would fracture under the slightest strain; internal organs unable to digest food; and withered muscles barely performing their functions.
This was the "Heavenly Punishment" of one born with a curse.
Concealing his body beneath a wide overcoat and pulling his hood low, he arrived at the Border Guard.
"Who goes there, and where are you from?"
"Just a traveler... Cough, cough."
Just uttering a few words made his throat itch and his lungs feel as if they were on fire.
'I overdid it a bit this time.'
Redit knew he had gathered too much of his Authority. But this, too, was almost over. It would last a few days at most, and then he would be able to forget this pain for a while.
For a body burdened by Heavenly Punishment, the only relief was found by unleashing its curses upon another. To him, manifesting this Authority was his only way to survive.
If not for that, he would have had no reason to slaughter his village or wander the continent as a demon. But now, being the Apostle of Curses was enough.
"You look very ill."
"There's an infirmary inside. Go check it out."
The gate guard of the Border Guard nodded after looking at Redit's appearance. He didn't seem to have any intention of demanding a bribe.
The Border Guard was rising as a trading city. One might expect the guards to be corrupt, but they all focused solely on their duties.
Redit nodded and passed by. Seeing fluid ooze down the bridge of his nose, one of the guards furrowed his brows.
"Make sure you get treated," the soldier called out.
Redit bowed his head slightly and stepped inside. There was no need to look for an inn. He intended to head straight for the barracks, as he had heard that the bastard Encrid was obsessed with training.
"Lord Encrid!"
Just then, a voice caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw a man with black hair and blue eyes standing in front of a forge radiating heat. He was in the middle of putting metal gauntlets on both hands.
This was clear proof that the god of the Demon Realm was watching over him.
'The god has blessed me.'
The true god resided in the Demon Realm, and he did not reject anyone for being a demon. Reciting the cult's teachings, Redit gathered all the power he possessed.
An imperceptible wave of curses arose and surged toward Encrid. No, a mere wave would not be enough.
Redit took a step. His cursed body, burdened by Heavenly Punishment, screamed in agony. This, too, would be over soon.
He approached and reached out his hand.
Encrid looked at Redit.
"I-It is an honor."
Acting as a common citizen, Redit reached out to him. Encrid did not brace himself. In the end, Redit's hand touched Encrid's arm.
*
"I ask the Apostle of the God of War. Is it true that you let a heretic go without punishment? Surely you did not do this without knowing that it is no different from declaring yourself a heretic as well?"
Audin was dreaming.
It was a scene from the past. The face of the person speaking to him distorted, turning into a monster molded from mud.
The monster crawled along, dragging two lumps that were shameful to even call feet. Just watching it, one could feel that it had traveled a very long way. The monster crawled closer and closer, then clung to a person, melting and crushing him.
Looking closely at the crushed person, Audin realized it was his Brother General.
'The Lord...?'
Audin realized this was a precognitive dream. Though he did not know the true identity of the mud monster, the approach of some grave danger felt like an absolute certainty.
Opening his eyes, Audin realized he had dozed off for a moment while sitting in the bright daylight. God must have arranged it to deliver a revelation.
In Audin's sight, the crazy barbarian came into view.
"Where did Brother General go?"
"He went to the city to meet the blacksmith."
Rem had just received his new axe and was swinging it to get used to its feel. It was different from the weapons he had used until now, yet it felt strangely familiar to the weapons of his past. Adapting wouldn't be difficult.
Audin let out a sigh and spoke. "If we are late, it is because Father was lazy."
Audin moved his body, uttering words of resentment toward God—something that would normally be unimaginable for him. Rem wondered what had suddenly gotten into the priest.
*
What is an ill omen?
Encrid anticipated—no, waited for—the ill omen the Ferryman had spoken of. But there was no news. Even so, he was not anxious. He simply repeated his daily routine.
"Let's spar once I get used to it," Rem had said earlier, holding his new axe. The Mount Lewis steel gleamed softly in the sunlight. Anyone could see it was no ordinary weapon.
"How much time do you need to adapt?"
"About a day should do. Why are you so damn eager to get beaten up?"
It was their usual trivial banter.
"Ah, and the blacksmith said he had something to give you. He wanted to deliver it in person."
Encrid had nodded. The blacksmith sent by the royal palace wanted to personally deliver his creation. Being able to understand another's pride and intentions was probably the biggest difference between himself and Rem.
"Sure, why not."
What was the big deal about a quick trip? Becoming a general had not changed his daily life. If anything, only the attitudes of the other commanders had changed.
Battalion Commander Graham maintained a polite attitude. The same went for the Vengeance Platoon Leader and Squad Leader Bell. Besides them, the number of gazes filled with admiration had increased.
Of course, some things stayed the same. His subordinates and Sinar were exactly as they had always been.
As Encrid walked with these idle thoughts, he spotted Audin sleeping while sitting to one side. It was fascinating how his posture remained perfectly upright even while asleep.
Leaving him be, Encrid walked down to the market and headed for the forge.
The day was hot. It was truly the season of the Salamander. The Salamander, a flame-spitting monster, was often used to describe seasons of excessive heat.
The summer sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the ground. As he walked, Encrid pondered new techniques, thinking about how to train them and how to employ them in battle.
If he received what he was owed and returned to spar with Rem, today would be another rewarding day.
Arriving at the forge, the artisan, dripping with perspiration, welcomed Encrid.
"The steel of the sword you used before was quite excellent. The core was ruined, so I couldn't forge it into a sword again, but instead..."
The artisan, a man of extraordinary pride, held out the gauntlets he had crafted. They were made by melting down Silver, the sword Encrid had used before.
The metal gauntlets were lined with leather and several layers of cotton to absorb shock. The exterior was finely polished, forming smooth curves perfect for deflecting or parrying weapons.
"Your craftsmanship is magnificent," Encrid praised. He thought it was an excellent gift.
He was just turning around after receiving the item when someone recognized him.
"Lord Encrid!"
It was the Shoemaker. A certain mage had once been hiding beneath his shop, and that was when Encrid had opened the Gate of the Sixth Sense. It was an unforgettable event.
"Ah, well, I was just so glad to see you..." The Shoemaker's tone was polite as never before. Everything was different between the Encrid of then and the Encrid of today.
As they exchanged brief pleasantries, a wretched-looking man approached.
"I-It is an honor," the man said, reaching out his hand.
Encrid didn't think much of it. There were many people like this—some who came to gawk and others who just wanted to touch the hand of a hero. He could not have imagined that this person was the source of the ill omen.
Aside from his shabby appearance, the man seemed incapable of wielding physical force. From his posture to his aura, Encrid could tell the man would likely be beaten by a fifteen-year-old boy.
The man's hand touched his arm.
"How dare you touch him?" the Shoemaker snapped in anger.
Encrid waved his hand, signaling that it was fine.
The moment the man's hand touched him, he felt something, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Only an indefinable sensation remained.
"W-What... is this?" the man's voice trembled. He seemed incredibly shocked.
Encrid blinked at the man's sudden shift in emotion.
'He seems very ill.'
Encrid reached out and clasped the man's hand in return. Was it right to rebuke someone just because their appearance was wretched? Surely not.
*
"What a dumbass."
Even the Ferryman could not see everything. If a day were to repeat, he would see most of it, but just because an ill omen was approaching did not mean he knew its exact identity.
In other words, he had never expected that fool to try a curse.
The Ferryman felt a rare sense of embarrassment. He had spent days warning that an ill omen was coming, and of all things, it was a curse.
Nothing in the world could possibly inflict a curse upon this crazy bastard. For several reasons, the Ferryman knew very well that the Apostle's curse would simply fade away into nothingness.
'Fucking dumbass.'
The Ferryman cursed the group that had sent the Apostle. He didn't even know who they were, but he cursed them repeatedly.
'Brainless bastards.'