Chapter 60
Chapter 60
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: The Reaper is Certain
-----------------------------------------------------------------
* * *
“The specialty of Brad Territory is the pureblood horse, raised on blood grass. They have high stamina, endurance, and exceptional intelligence, making them perfect for long journeys.”
Viscount Leighton had arranged for them so we could head straight to the capital once the matter was settled. He instructed the vampire from his merchant guild to prepare three pureblood horses, and the staff immediately carried out the order.
The power of dominion may have vanished, but the power of capital remained. Viscount Leighton still had plenty of money.
“If you need to go quickly, it’s better to ride horses directly rather than taking a carriage. Pureblood horses have great stamina, so they handle mountain paths well. But do you know how to ride?”
“I learned a long time ago. Roca, you don’t know how, right?”
“I know. Horses are everyday for plains-dwelling kin like us.”
That settled it—no problems there.
With the way to the capital sorted, it was time to handle the request. We headed to Viscount Leighton’s house and sensed the ominous aura lurking within the massive mansion.
Viscount Leighton swallowed hard, as if steeling himself. Ignoring the foreboding energy flowing beside me, I gripped the doorknob and opened the door.
Creeeak...
“It’s cleaner inside than I thought.”
The princess peered through the open door and muttered. Of course, once we walked down the hallway to the master bedroom, she clamped her mouth shut. Blood and brains had made the floor slick and sticky.
“Bellon, Cynthia, old man Azkada...”
Viscount Leighton quietly recited the names of the dead. Complex emotions flickered in his eyes.
Friends he’d been close to, foes he’d quarreled with—now there was no reason to bring up old grudges. That’s what death was. There was little the living could do for the already dead.
“First, let’s clean the floor and take care of the bodies.”
“I’ll handle the blood.”
Roca, hunching so her tail wouldn’t touch the floor, trotted over and gathered mana between her hands. Everyone gasped at the sight.
The queen who shone quietly in the night sky had taken form in Roca’s hands, even in broad daylight. A radiant full moon bloomed, sucking in the thick blood.
The pool of blood rippled, drawn into the moon by its pull. It seeped into the full moon, turning it into a crimson blood moon.
As the eerie blood-red moon floated in the air, bathing the room in red light, the people beside me swallowed hard. The aura it emitted was utterly bizarre.
“The first time I saw the wolf girl, I thought she was nothing without her solar mana,”
Viscount Leighton muttered, entranced by the moonlight.
“But while overcoming the sun, she overcame far more. I never imagined she’d progress this much in such a short time.”
“She’s already formed her mana into a shape? What kind of enlightenment did she gain...”
Even the princess’s gaze toward Roca was unusual, but the girl paid no mind to the admiration, as if it were someone else’s business. She pulled back the curtain and hurled the blood moon out the window.
The crimson moon charged toward the midday sun, shattering into ashes under its light and vanishing. The dead had failed to overcome the sun and perished, and the sun showed no mercy even to predators.
Roca, having finished, looked at me expectantly for praise.
Given the place, I just patted her head lightly. She seemed a bit disappointed, but I couldn’t very well dote on her in front of the dead.
Paaat!
I created the Baptizer’s Water Bottle and slowly poured it over the already deceased.
Their burst heads bubbled as wounds washed away, the ruptured parts sealing to restore their original appearances. Naturally, this wasn’t resurrection.
It killed maggots, repaired wounds, and embalmed the dead—that was all.
It restored corpses to their living likeness but couldn’t return lost life. Whether the Lord couldn’t do it or wouldn’t allow me to, I didn’t know, but I assumed the latter. After all, He had granted me the miracle of resurrection.
“Priest...”
I spared only brief attention to the others’ bodies before Viscount Leighton, who had rushed to the deepest part of the master bedroom, called me. From the emotion in his voice alone, I knew what he would ask.
“If... just if... the one you serve could revive the dead... I’d do anything...”
“That’s not possible. It’s not that I won’t—it’s that I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help with that.”
A female vampire who had hanged herself. Likely Viscount Leighton’s wife.
Even though he’d been told she was dead and had prepared himself, the sight of her made him break down sobbing. He wailed openly, unable to hold back tears.
I couldn’t resurrect others from death, but I could resurrect myself.
No one knew that secret but me. Not even Yurinel or Panel. I’d never told them and had hidden it from the start. It was the one thing I kept from everyone.
If they knew, others would inevitably bring their dead to me for resurrection.
Those who lost loved ones would do anything to get them back—I knew that. But I lacked the power to help, and even if I had it, it couldn’t be done.
No matter how tragic the end,
no matter how much regret and attachment lingered in their lives,
no matter how many grieving souls remained in this world, the dead couldn’t be brought back. All I could do was pray for their peace in the afterlife.
“They have departed. Whether they go to the Lord’s side, I do not know.”
I pressed my hands together and offered a quiet prayer. I placed a single candle before me and clasped my hands in prayer.
I didn’t know their sins or merits. I didn’t know what remained after death.
“Guide their path with love and grace. Lead them with the hand of love to salvation. Illuminate their hearts with the Holy Spirit and forgive even sinners.”
“Fill their hearts with grace and blessings, comfort those who grieve in weakness of the flesh. Grant rest to the departed and lift the eyes of the despairing to behold new heavens and new earth. In the Lord’s name, I pray.”
I did my utmost as a priest.
As each body was placed in its coffin, I touched their forehead and prayed. For Viscount Leighton’s wife, with the noose removed and the mark on her neck, I did the same.
Only after all the prayers ended did Viscount Leighton approach me. He’d seemed eager to speak earlier but hadn’t wanted to interrupt.
“My son... my son is missing. Zig, where could Zig be... Did the one who did this kidnap my son? And who could have done this... Was it the demons? Or...”
“There’s no doubt now. This is the work of the Reaper.”
Ominous, evil, dark energy. Fierce, foreboding darkness.
A condensed grudge that could only be called resentment. It permeated the mansion. Not mana, but another lineage of power—divine power, without question.
“The Reaper... That thing is really the one who harmed my wife and son?”
“It’s hard to believe, but that’s likely the truth.”
It was so dense with divinity that any other priest would recognize it.
The Reaper. It had to be. The worst had come to pass—a god had been born.
The bigger problem was that the Reaper had already left. If it had appeared here, we could have subdued or exorcised it with the princess’s help.
“Before the divinity here disperses, summon priests from the Triune Church as quickly as possible and show them the mansion. We don’t know where the Reaper is now—we’ll need their help.”
The Triune Church’s influence spanned the continent, so they could respond wherever it appeared. Of course, they first had to notice its existence.
Viscount Leighton nodded. His face trembled.
“Why would such a thing appear in this territory...”
“We’ll know when we check Meso Mountain.”
“Meso Mountain...? No way?!”
Viscount Leighton’s face paled. Probably exactly that.
A god had directly sought vengeance on them. There must have been some grudge tying it to the dead. An outsider Reaper might have toyed with them like playthings, but there’d be no need to kill with such resentment.
“Let’s head to Meso Mountain first. If that’s truly the Reaper’s birthplace...”
We might glean more information there.
*****
Long live Her Majesty the Demon Empress! Eternal be the Mage Empire! Long live Empress Harma El! Long live! Long live! Long live forever!
In the vision through the crystal, the masked figure prostrated dramatically, worshipping like a fanatic.
Harma El saw through the pretense but remained impassive inwardly—emperors couldn’t show such things. She nodded as if pleased by the praise.
“Lich Albatross, new lord of the Underground Citadel. Your pledge of loyalty on behalf of the citadel brings me great joy.”
Your Majesty, after my master fell to the hero party, our Underground Citadel was in turmoil for a time. I apologize for the delay in my audience now that I’ve become the new lord and offer my loyalty.
Apologize, indeed. They’d simply been watching and waiting. These were latecomers who bowed only after realizing she held true power.
The Elder Lich Balzac, ultimate archmage and seeker of death, might have commanded respect, but his disciple was irrelevant.
Still, she treated them carefully—they were needed now.
To hunt the hero party, she needed the undead’s help.
The Flesh Underground Citadel. A gathering of madmen even demons shunned. Fools who evaded death by becoming corpses, rejected necromancers from across the continent. Reviled by the continent and Triune Church alike, they weren’t welcome among demons either.
Demons, made of flesh, wouldn’t embrace those who raised dead kin and friends.
Still, the enemy of my enemy is my friend—they’d allied covertly against the temples. Now that Harma El unified the demon realm, they finally bowed to her.
Her pleasure wasn’t entirely feigned.
She’d secured the submission of the Flesh Underground Citadel, unprecedented among demons. It bolstered her authority and eased the hero party hunt.
Your Majesty, the hero party is our mortal enemies in the Underground Citadel. Just give the word, and our corpse legions will march on them anytime.
“After suffering defeat once, aren’t you underestimating them too much?”
Harma El’s eyes sharpened. Had their brains rotted too?
Albatross must have forgotten to preserve his brain upon lichdom.
Even at full strength—thousands of Death Knights, lich legions, and intact leader Balzac—they’d failed against the hero party. She couldn’t fathom the remnants’ confidence.
Your Majesty, we had no choice then. But for our honor, allow me one point: my master didn’t fall to the holy sword. The citadel’s legions never even clashed with the hero party.
Lich Albatross ground his false teeth.
But this time is different. We’ve confirmed that priest is no longer with them.
The previous battle barely qualified as one. Like a vampire versus the sun, it was a one-sided display of power.
Hope God’s divinity usually healed, but on undead, it forced nirvana—returning to mere corpses from their unliving state.
Like vampires and sun, one was the utter predator.
Even a graze of divinity—or mere touch of light—couldn’t be evaded or resisted. The citadel’s proud 400,000 corpse army reverted to lifeless piles. The moment the sanctuary’s beacon rose, it was over.
Albatross survived because he hadn’t yet turned himself into a lich. Only a few pre-undead necromancers escaped alive.
Everyone was dumbfounded, tears unshed. How could such a thing happen?
Centuries of lords’ efforts, amassed legions—scattered like autumn leaves by one miracle. They fell like leaves, became fertilizer like leaves. The soil near the old citadel became fertile.
They rebuilt elsewhere but dreamed not of revenge. Kyle’s single miracle crushed them.
Only after he left did corpses stir again. Vengeance targeted the hero party, not that terrifying man who’d departed on his own.
Sadly, undead were selfish calculators. Master-disciple bonds meant little. With his master dead, Albatross became lord—revenge held no real attachment.
This was a chance to owe Harma El a debt, solidify power under revenge’s pretext. Their political calculations aligned perfectly. If not a holographic conference, they’d have shaken hands.
Your Majesty, until we meet again.
“I look forward to seeing you again.”
Satisfied with the meeting, Harma El stretched on her jade throne and instructed her aide, Sharon. Albatross hadn’t detailed their dark history to her, but that “priest” mention nagged.
If only Albatross mentioned it, she’d ignore, but
Grimudo, the ancient demon king, had referenced the hero party’s priest too?
It stuck in her mind unavoidably.
“Sharon, look into that priest a bit.”
“Our records show nothing remarkable...”
“Once is coincidence. Twice is not.”
She rose slowly. Duke Schumira was already forgotten amid empire-building tasks. Who could remember every braggart?
She’d never expected their “flank attack” promise during the imperial invasion. The Empire maybe, but the temples? Holy knights as jokes? If it worked, good; if not, irrelevant—no need to track.
“So look into it. There might be info we don’t have.”
Soon, the priest would fade from mind too. Unless someone mentioned him a third time.
* * *