A Night That Favors the Undead

To the undead, it was a night of tremendous power—pitch-black, and deep beyond deep.

For the undead legion, what followed could only be called a stroke of good fortune.

A plague had begun to spread among the players.

Those infected transformed, without exception, into monsters, and the time it took was brutally short. Before anyone could mount a response, the plague had already devoured them whole. It was a calamity worse than any natural disaster.

"Graaaah!"

A player consumed by the plague attacked without distinguishing undead from player. There was no notion of ally or enemy—everyone was simply a foe. And once they became plague monsters, they grew far stronger than before, until the players had scarcely a more threatening enemy.

If anything, the plague monsters were harder to handle than the undead.

"Is that lich magic too? They can do something like that?"

"If a lich could pull that off, the undead would have ruled the Continent ages ago. There's someone else."

"Someone else?"

"I don't know exactly who, but there's a guy going around planting something in players' bodies. Pretty tall."

At the words of one sharp-eyed player, his party members nodded.

Caravan. He was the sort who never opened his mouth unless he was certain. If Caravan said it, it was fact.

And then Masare found them as well.

She was only spreading the plague in passing, tending to it on her way—but to Caravan and his party, it was no different from the karmic fires of the underworld and the calamities of the living world closing in at once.

The moment Caravan saw her, he snatched up his scramasax, that short sword with its broad blade, but the plague was already crawling through his body. His companions were no different. Before they could attempt a thing, they fell to Masare without even understanding why.

"Graaaa—!"

"Gahk! Khak!"

Caravan's party, turned to monsters. Grown a full measure stronger, they went about slaughtering players.

Masare was a disaster beyond what ordinary players could withstand—so much so that even Caravan's party, who had been performing admirably, was brought down in an instant. Her influence on the war was immense, and all the effort Yujun had poured in until now was dissolving into foam.

The morale that had surged with the Bone Dragon's death was rendered meaningless as the players' will began to scrape the bottom once more. One might wonder how hearts that had weathered every hardship could sway like reeds, but war had always been like that. It was not a fight fought alone, and so it was only natural to take on the color of those around you and be swayed by them.

How many could keep their composure when the comrade fighting at their side had turned into a monster? In a sense, it was fortunate the Holy Empire's players had not collapsed outright.

Nor was everyone sunk in despair.

"I heard reinforcements will be here soon! Everyone, hang on!"

"Yeah! Yeah! Just a little longer!"

There were no few players who, like these, still had fight left in them.

And then there was the Holy Empire's true strength. From the rear of the formation, the Papacy's players were putting on a dazzling performance. The air where they stood was altogether different from that of ordinary players, who had no great reason to keep fighting.

"Sweep them all away!"

"Primitive undead bastards."

"Shin Yujun killed the Bone Dragon, so there's no enemy left who can stop us! Give it everything you've got!"

At the very moment their momentum could not have been higher, a 10th-rank Devotee—among the lowest of the Papacy's players—brought word.

"The Root of Darkness has appeared!"

"W-wait. What did you just say...?"

"The Root of Darkness!"

"What stage?"

"...The final stage."

"That Masare?"

"Yes."

"Ah... of all things."

Masare was a famous existence within the Papacy. Famous—and more than that. It would not be wrong to call her the Papacy's greatest enemy. Next to the Demon God Worshippers, it was Masare who most threatened the peace of the Continent.

A Root of Darkness, one of the rare few whose very existence was a blight upon the Continent. And among the Roots of Darkness, Masare could be said to possess the greatest ability. The efforts the Papacy had made to kill her were too many to set down in words. Even so, the sight of her still alive made it easy enough to guess the scale of the damage she had inflicted upon them.

"If the Cardinal and the Pope aren't here, then Masare..."

"We can't stop her."

"...This is bad."

"What about making contact with Shin Yujun?"

"You want us to ask him for help?"

"Yes. This isn't the time to worry about saving face."

"Who said anything about face? Do you really think he'd grant our request? Someone that strong is bound to be arrogant beyond belief."

"That's probably true. But he did put an end to the plague that spread through the Kingdom of Sitahel once before. I don't think he's the sort to look the other way when the Continent is in crisis."

"Hmm... But won't he step in on his own?"

"You think so?"

"If he's the kind of person you described, he would. Whether we ask or not, Shin Yujun is going to make the choice himself."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"But he has to know first. What if that Masare ruins everything before then?"

"That's a fair point. Is anyone here registered as a messenger contact with Shin Yujun?"

At the words of Ledarang, a 6th-rank Devotee, no one answered.

"Figures. It'd be stranger if there were."

Not even half a year had passed since Shin Yujun was summoned to the Tower of Infinity, and he had spent all of it running himself ragged. This was his first time in the Holy Empire, and the Papacy's players rarely left the Empire unless it was a large-scale expedition. It was only natural that not one of them had so much as exchanged words with him.

"Then you go."

Ledarang said it to the 10th-rank Devotee as if it were nothing.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me? You go tell Shin Yujun. Ask him to stop Masare."

"I-I could die on the way..."

"Then you'll have to try your hardest not to, won't you? And if you die, you won't be the only one who suffers. The entire Continent will be in danger. I hereby charge you with a grave mission."

"Why me, of all people..."

"Enough talk. Go and come back."

"Yes."

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There was no 10th-rank Devotee in the Papacy who could defy the word of a 6th-rank.

Shin Yujun's location was impossible to miss. The place where the most brilliant magic unfolded. The place the undead surrounded, only to collapse within moments.

Can I even get there alive?

Hamaline, a 10th-rank Devotee of the Papacy, broke into a run, his face bloodless and pale. Among the Papacy's players he was a rarity—one who fought with his body rather than with magic—but that hardly sent his odds of survival soaring.

The camp of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠undead legion, thick with the aura of death. Finding Shin Yujun there was anything but easy. But he had to. If he saw the mission Ledarang had given him through to the end, he would be rewarded one way or another. Ledarang might look as if he dumped work on people without a second thought, but he was a superior who never failed to answer with proper thanks and proper compensation.

And there was a reason he had asked Hamaline in particular. Low-ranking though he was, his physical ability was the best among them, and—unlike any newcomer—he had lived through war after war since childhood. His real combat experience was anything but slight. Set against the other Papacy players present, he was a seasoned veteran. Which meant Hamaline had the highest chance of reaching Shin Yujun.

Undead clung to him as he ran beneath that crushing weight. Hamaline never struck back. He only dodged, and pressed on. Even with a physical ability that stood out among the Papacy's players like an awl in a sack, the situation turned razor-thin more than once.

The one mercy was that the closer he drew to Shin Yujun, the more the undead's attention fixed entirely on the man ahead. Thanks to that, Hamaline reached his destination relatively intact.

Yujun, having swept the undead aside, was quietly waiting for the man who had come running as if his life depended on it. That he was no enemy was plain at a glance from his appearance alone.

"What's the matter?"

"It's... huff, hah!"

Something urgent enough to demand an all-out sprint. Yujun had a fair idea what it was.

"Th-the plague is spreading!"

"The plague...?"

"A plague has broken out because of a Root of Darkness named Masare. It's extremely contagious—the front line is nearly paralyzed. You must know what a Root of Darkness is."

A plague, on top of all this war. Yujun let out a sigh.

He had known Masare was on the move, but not that she was a Root of Darkness. And that she would spread a plague, of all things. It could not have been five minutes since she had started. He had been so absorbed in stacking Peace Contribution that he had given her time to work, and the thought left a sour taste. Still, his Peace Contribution had climbed to an absurd height because of it.

"Where is she? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Never mind. I'll find her."

"L-let me come with you!"

As Yujun moved to go, Hamaline cried out in a rush.

"What?"

"Let's go together!"

"Keep up if you can."

Yujun's figure vanished. Hamaline clenched his teeth and tried to follow, but Yujun was gone in an instant, and he lost him.

Yujun had already realized that the Root of Darkness's final destination was where he himself stood. The path of the presence he judged to be hers was unsteady, wandering without aim as if she were circling him. The plague was something she scattered as she went, nothing more.

He stood still and drew up his mana. In the next moment, Masare, the Root of Darkness, stood a good distance before him.

"Hello."

"Not spraying the plague on me?"

"I know it wouldn't work. Let me introduce myself first. I'm Masare."

Yujun said nothing.

"I don't usually introduce myself. But I will, for you. I've acknowledged not just your power—I've acknowledged you."

"And what do I get out of being acknowledged by you?"

"Not the least bit afraid, even in front of me?"

Masare did not answer the question. She said only what she wanted to say.

"Humans are usually full of fear. You're not. Interesting."

"You've committed the fallacy of hasty generalization."

"Committed? Committed what?"

Masare tilted her head.

"I heard the Root of Darkness was a rare race. And this is already the second."

"So you met one of my kind? Well, it's not like I'd hold a grudge over it, so don't worry."

"You talk a lot."

Yujun had already finished preparing for battle. There was nothing to gain from a long conversation with this Root of Darkness called Masare. The surest way to lift the plague from the players was to kill the host spreading it, and he knew that well. He had killed a Root of Darkness before.

Yujun moved.

"In a hurry, aren't you."

Masare smiled, bright and brief. Her body scattered like smoke. Even her presence vanished.

Masare was smoke itself. She had dispersed into the air until the eye could no longer see her, but that dispersion was her true body.

A petty trick.

Yujun drew the Absolute Sealing Orb from his inventory. If sealing her alone was enough to resolve the plague, there was no need to kill a Root of Darkness. The more powerful the enemy, the sweeter the fruit of turning them into a subordinate.