8. Curse Plague (28)
8. Curse Plague (28)
Reaper's body collapsed backward.
The black curtain of the Abyss, billowing behind him, gently enfolded his form.
Nua-Zakanuba sank slowly into the darkness, a corpse lowered into a marsh.
In the same instant, the curse Reaper had set was broken.
One by one, the troupe members who had been thrashing on the ground in the grip of nightmares opened their eyes.
The dove and mouse warming their frozen bodies in their master's embrace coughed and came back to themselves.
The frostbitten lawn began to recover its original green.
Once she had assured herself everyone was unharmed, Ella turned back to Wonderstein.
He still stood rooted to the spot, watching Reaper vanish beyond the veil.
Looking at his back, she felt her expression grow complicated.
Normally, she would have dismissed it with a thought like, He saved us because he needs us.
She would have brushed off the kindness and goodwill he showed as nothing more than calculated artifice.
Not this time.
She recalled the words he'd spoken when he confronted Reaper.
That he didn't want to lose the memories he'd built up over the past few months.
That had been his honest feeling.
Of course, he was still a man who hid far more than he revealed.
His goal of reaching the Circus Grand Prix Finals, his reason for gathering monster performers, his connection to the Curse Plague, why he had slaughtered so many—everything about him remained riddled with questions.
Even so, he seemed a little different today from the man she'd known yesterday.
She smiled at him and spoke.
"Thank you. You worked hard, too...."
The words came out with her embarrassment barely veiled.
But Wonderstein stood still, as if he hadn't heard her.
She pouted, feigning anger.
"Ignoring me?"
She had been ready to keep grumbling until he reacted, but the words died in her throat.
His body pitched forward.
The blessing Yurakne's Devotion had granted him had run its course.
Pain and exhaustion crashed down onto his entire body.
A dizzying sensation of plummeting drove him to the edge of unconsciousness before he barely managed to claw his way back.
"Cough."
A single cough brought up a gush of blood.
Dark, clotted masses.
He had used Yurakne's Devotion over a thousand times, but this had never happened before.
It was because of how he'd used the ability this time.
Until now, even after drinking the tea, he had never done anything extraordinary with the enhanced power.
He had simply waited for the hour to pass, then drunk the next cup.
This time, he had pushed that doped strength to its absolute limit.
He'd trusted his toughness and absorbed impacts head-on, burning through regeneration like water.
The accumulated strain crashed down on his body all at once the moment the effect wore off.
Yurakne's Devotion was a buff that let a 6.0 body exert 12.0 power—not one that transformed it into a 12.0 body.
"Kh... ugh... hack, hack."
If he'd had any Devolut left, he could have at least managed a temporary fix.
He had none.
The instant his Devolut hit zero, the Sound Room chat linking him to Ella had cut off as well.
"H-hey, you?"
She called out to him with growing concern, but her voice didn't reach him.
Only then did she realize the connection between them had been severed.
Ella glanced around.
The other troupe members were barely managing to pull themselves together. The nun was busy tending to her companion, and the knight had gone off to fetch medical supplies from the community hall.
Right now, she was the only one who could look after him.
She sprinted toward him.
The closer she got, the clearer she could see him thrashing on the ground, vomiting blood.
"M-Miss Ella?"
He looked up at her between labored breaths.
Ella's face went pale.
She'd never seen this before.
Him showing such weakness.
"Heh heh... m-my body... it's running wild on its own...."
Having drawn on power beyond its limits, his muscles were tearing apart strand by strand, like a spool of thread shredded by scissors.
His body was breaking down faster than his regeneration could keep pace.
"Using that power... did this?"
"Yes, heh heh... I-I pushed too hard.... But...."
He looked at the object in her hand and smiled.
A dagger was clutched in her grip.
"Are you going to stab me?"
Startled, she hastily shoved it into her coat.
She'd drawn it during the standoff with Reaper and hadn't realized she was still holding it.
"L-like I'd ever do that!"
"Khah, heh heh... I thought you were going to kill me.... Heh, as you can see, it's a perfect opportunity, isn't it...?"
At his words, Ella glared at him.
This demon, what did he take her for?
Voice thick with emotion, she shouted.
"Shut up! I told you I have a lot of questions for you! I can't kill you before I get answers!"
"Heh heh, is that so...? Cough... ugh...."
She realized he was struggling to speak, even to breathe, because of the blood pooling in his mouth.
So she supported his body and helped him spit out what was there.
After vomiting up blood and fragments of organ tissue several times, he wore an expression of relief.
"I'm... a bit better now...."
"Sorry, I don't know what else to do for you."
His body was convulsing uncontrollably.
His skin tore open on its own, gushing blood in spurts. His muscles twisted at random, crushing the bones caught between them.
Even a seasoned doctor would be at a loss with a case like this.
"The spasms will... settle down in a bit. The problem is the bleeding...."
Just then.
From the distant village entrance, Ivanenko came running, his arms laden with supplies.
"Is everyone alright? I've brought bandages, ointment, emergency potions, frostbite salve—everything! Whoever needs urgent care—"
"Wait here. I'll grab what we need."
She laid him down on the ground with care and stood.
A brief, reassuring smile passed between them.
The two of them were reflected in Reaper's crimson eyes.
The black curtain of the Abyss rippled within the darkness.
Most of it had merged with the shadows—but one layer still remained, wavering.
Reaper gazed through that remaining gap.
Though most of his head had been destroyed, his consciousness lingered.
By pulling his body into the Chaos Passage the instant he was struck, he had miraculously survived.
The black aura enveloping him aided his recovery.
He watched Wonderstein thrashing on the ground.
As he had predicted, the man's power had a time limit.
A pity.
Had he held out just a little longer, Reaper might have won.
The strength left to him was barely enough to move one arm.
He poured power into that arm.
The arm gripping his scythe.
His gaze fixed on the final gap, now slowly closing.
If he could land one blow through that opening....
Ella, who had just turned her back, caught the eyes of the people gathered around looking past her.
They were staring over her shoulder.
"Huh?"
Whirling around, Ella saw it thrusting through the curtain.
A blade of absolute black, as though it absorbed light itself.
Reaper's Scythe.
"Get away!"
Before Ella even screamed, Wonderstein had spotted it and tried to move.
If he could just roll to the side once....
In that instant, Reaper's single remaining eye flashed.
It was the Freezing Curse—a binding frost that locked everything his breath or gaze touched in icy shackles.
"Kh!"
Wonderstein's body was pinned fast to the ground.
Reaper's Scythe hurtled down upon him.
***
The old priest of Dvalchev Cathedral opened his eyes just as dawn was breaking the next day.
Recalling the events before he'd lost consciousness, he let out a sigh.
Disgraceful.
Collapsing after treating a mere twenty people.
He was, after all, a man who had once risen to the position of auxiliary bishop in a major archdiocese.
Today, he vowed, he would heal at least thirty—no, forty—people and prove himself.
Steeling his resolve with thoughts of the villagers who must be anxiously awaiting him alone, he opened the door and stepped out.
But the moment he entered the chapel, he froze.
No one was waiting for him.
Only one person.
The old sexton was there alone, sweeping the floor with a broom.
"H-here, my man?"
"Father!"
The sexton's face lit up with joy at the sight of him.
A bit excessively so, the priest thought.
Tears streaming down his face, the sexton prostrated himself and bowed his head low.
"Oh, Father!"
"Why—what's all this? Hm? What's the matter? What in the world happened? Where have all the patients gone?"
"W-well, you see...."
At that moment, the door to the church kitchen flew open.
A nun with pink hair poked her head out and called.
"Mister Sexton! It's time to go wake the Father—oh? Father, you're awake? Good! Please, join us for a meal!"
"A m-meal? J-just a moment. Who are you? What in the world is going on here?"
"The full story can wait until we eat! Please, come quickly!"
Baffled but with few alternatives, the old priest followed her into the dining hall.
Her companion brought out the food from the kitchen.
A timid-looking man whose eyes betrayed his nervousness.
As they ate, the two gave him a brief account of the previous day's events.
The transformation of the Curse Plague patients into monsters, the swarm of Abyss demons, and finally the appearance of Reaper.
The priest's face grew progressively paler as he listened, until by the end he looked ready to be sick.
"Th-then the villagers... most of them...."
"Not most. All... of them."
"All? What of the residents who remained here in the church?"
"Well... one of the slashes Reaper launched struck the church roof...."
Beside them, the sexton abruptly burst into sobs.
"Everyone but me was underneath it—crushed to death!"
"Ah."
The priest let out a breath and leaned back in his chair.
He closed his eyes for a moment and offered a prayer for the souls of the departed.
"I find it hard to keep my wits about me. My good man, go down to the church cellar and fetch some of the aged cheese and wine."
Having sent the sexton out of the dining hall, the priest regarded the man and woman before him and spoke.
"You must be that Black Magician Pursuit Squad."
"How did you know?"
"There is only one exorcist group I know of that can face a high-ranking demon like Reaper—and that travels with a Madosa and a nun paired together. I may look like this, but I was once an auxiliary bishop in a major archdiocese. I keep abreast of such news. So. You are here because of the information I passed along some time ago."
The intel he had sent up concerned a doctor in the village.
A man who had drifted into this place about a decade ago.
His skill had been exceptional, but he was suspiciously tight-lipped about his own past.
Then, not long ago, upon hearing news that the Circus Grand Prix was being held, the man had come rushing to the cathedral and made a confession.
"Seventeen years ago, he had participated in the Second Circus Grand Prix as a member of the medical team."
"A medical team at a major event like that... why would someone like that go into hiding as a village doctor in the countryside?"
"He claimed to have seen the Black Magician with his own eyes."
At the priest's words, a tense look passed between the two of them.
They had encountered a great many people who claimed to have witnessed the Black Magician.
But this was the first time they'd heard a story from someone not in a mental institution.
"After seeing it, it seems he cast aside his duty as a medical professional and fled the city. Ran right past the injured groaning in the aftermath of the terror attack, he said...."
"This man...?"
Vayer asked, his tone hesitant.
The priest gave them the answer they had already expected.
"He died in the early days of the plague."
"Ah... I see. Then, may we see the drawing he supposedly made?"
That, after all, was the reason they had come here.
The priest had notified the higher dioceses that he had obtained a sketch of the Black Magician.
The priest rose briefly, entered the confessional, and returned with a small, rolled parchment.
Vayer and Valentina unrolled the parchment he handed them.
"This is...?"
It depicted a grotesque shape—half human, half something else entirely.
Valentina, trained in demon extermination, had seen far more horrifying depictions of Abyss creatures.
What startled her was not the strangeness of its appearance.
It was the fact that several distinctive features of its body caught her eye.
Legs that extended like tentacles, ending in blades.
A spear of bone jutting from something resembling an arm.
The configuration matched exactly the form the Flesh Mass monster that had attacked the cathedral the night before had taken when it transformed.
Valentina recounted a detailed description of that monster.
Upon hearing it, Vayer and the priest exchanged glances.
The three of them arrived at the same conclusion.
The Black Magician.
He was connected to the Curse Plague.