Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: My Old Friend
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Fernandez sat in the cathedral for a while, waiting for his strength to return. After two sleepless nights and the decisive battle with the ancient lich, his condition was beyond abysmal.
“I’m gonna die like this.”
-You’ve died once already.
Fernandez fiddled with the censer as he sank into thought. Should he report this? Honestly, the smart move right now seemed to be pulling back immediately and heading to Inquisition Keep.
Now that he’d confirmed Merlinport had been corrupted by the lich, they’d need far more support...
-Kyaaaack!
-Save me!!!
-Ughhh!!! Mom! Mom!!
“...?”
What was all this commotion...? Fernandez flinched and gripped his sword.
-Shatter...
“This isn’t working...”
The moment he clutched the hilt, the full saint-metal longsword crumbled to pieces. Blackened iron dust scattered in the air. It must have corroded when he pierced the lich’s heart.
“Sigh, I’m exhausted.”
Fernandez slowly rose to his feet and stepped out of the cathedral. Whatever this chaos was, it didn’t look good—especially not hearing those sounds from the All-Gods’ District right in the heart of the city.
-Creeeak...
The instant he opened the door, a Walker lunged straight at his face.
“Hup, shit!”
-Boom!
Fernandez snapped a short jab with his fist, smashing the Walker’s forehead. Its neck vertebrae shattered, and it collapsed.
“What the hell? Is this a Walker?”
-Look around.
At Feizashi’s voice, Fernandez cautiously scanned his surroundings. Merlinport was burning. Flames engulfed everything, and people ran in terror. No—some were terrified, others mad with frenzy.
“Goddamn it, a Walker outbreak?”
Out of nowhere?!
Walkers: plague victims consumed by endless hatred and hunger, compelled to hunt and devour the uninfected. Exposure to a victim’s bodily fluids turned you into one in minutes at best, hours at worst.
Spread through blood, filth, saliva—the transmission was lightning-fast.
No cure existed. The Walker Plague wasn’t a mere disease. It was the Bronze Scales’ secret art, born from the fatal refinement rites and forbidden spells of the Asias High Council fused with demonic black magic!
-Creeak.
Fernandez shut the door first and leaned against it, collecting his thoughts. Screams echoed nonstop from outside.
“Why the hell now? Merlinport doesn’t fall for another forty years... And I’ve never even seen a Walker at this point in time!”
-What could’ve changed from your past life?
“Too many suspects, that’s the problem. Demdrizad’s downfall? Could be that.”
-One more thing.
Did Demdrizad’s failure in Gloridein City provoke the Bronze Scales? As Fernandez groaned, Feizashi peered out the window and spoke.
-Zephys Shiradast. He might’ve done something.
“Fairn royal family...? That was just a smokescreen.”
-High chance someone from the real royal family’s hiding there. And if Zephys poked that hornet’s nest, causing this ripple now? Perfectly plausible.
“This is hitting me with some guilt.”
Meaning Fernandez bore at least partial responsibility for this horrific Walker outbreak. He approached the lich’s corpse. Ash and a crimson robe lay scattered on the floor.
Fernandez tore strips from the robe and wrapped his fists. No antidote for the Walker Plague. Demonica serum granted immunity to most plagues, but avoidance was still best.
“Only one bastard could spread the Walker Plague this ‘suddenly.’”
-Right. Dale Pertus. He’s here himself.
“Lucky me.”
Fernandez stretched lightly and gripped the door handle. That’s when he sensed movement at the window. He checked cautiously... and locked eyes.
With the murky pupil of a frenzy-mad Walker.
-Crash!!
“Huh?”
The window shattered, and Walkers started crawling in. Fernandez grinned and raised his fists.
His soul and body were soaked in fatigue, not wanting to take a single step. He felt like collapsing into sleep right then. Yet Fernandez staggered forward and smashed the Walker’s crown.
He had never been one to settle for the status quo.
*
“Block it there, you fucking bastards!”
“How the fuck are we supposed to block it, you prick?! With your mom’s cunt?!”
Kirhas Hearttaker watched the mercenaries hack axes into Walker skulls while spewing vulgar curses. The Red Axe Company. They’d charged into the city the moment the outbreak hit.
“Sis, quit standing there like an idiot and help the fucker!”
“Sigh...”
She had no clue why Fernandez wanted her to sway this lot. They were just your run-of-the-mill rough, savage mercenaries—no whiff of heresy.
‘That mouth’s heretical enough.’
But Kirhas wasn’t some priestess burning with faith in Beitasser. Her devotion leaned more toward Fernandez.
A man with a lion’s savagery and a civet’s wisdom. The very image of the great heroes from her tribal myths! As she stabbed a blade into a Walker’s forehead, she thought of him.
She’d gone out to recruit the mercenaries, only for the Walker outbreak to erupt in the city core. Amid the chaos, the mercs swarmed in to profit off the port city’s ruin... and she’d gotten swept up with them.
In short, Kirhas had entered the city as a looter!
‘My benefactor, where are you...?’
“Arrrgh! Fuck! Stop! Please!!!!”
“Shit! Fuck! Hey! Naysun got bit!”
“Fuck! Naysun! You bastard! I told you not to grab weapons barehanded!”
One mercenary guarding the warehouse entrance barricade clutched his hand and burst into tears—not from the pain, but terror of death—as he fended off the horde.
From the rear, the mercenary captain Jereil—who’d been poring over maps to devise a plan—raised his axe.
“Naysun! You worthless dogshit! Thanks to that shield you held, at least five of our brothers survived! Fuck you! Got any last words!”
“F-Fuck... Please, captain. I’m still fine.”
“That’s pathetically long-winded for a last statement, Naysun.”
-Boom!
Jereil hefted his axe, ominous red aura billowing like smoke from the flames, then cleaved down. Naysun offered no resistance, just stared blankly at the blade.
-Splatter.
The axe plunged from crown to solar plexus. Splitting a man vertically wasn’t human strength! Kirhas swallowed hard, eyeing Jereil.
‘If they find out, you’re dead.’
Fernandez’s voice echoed in her mind. She approached Jereil cautiously.
“You’ve got experience with Walker outbreaks, huh?”
“Mercs gotta merc. Pay us, and we’ll chop Walkers or nuns alike.”
Jereil chuckled, jabbing at spots on the map.
“From the rooftop earlier, I saw Walkers swarming here. Here. And that market alley. Means survivors there. They sniff out living flesh like bloodhounds.”
“We have to rescue them now!”
Kirhas shot to her feet indignantly. Her benefactor might be among them. Sure, he had a lion’s sinew, a bear’s muscle, and a civet’s wisdom... but this city was overrun beyond saving.
“What bullshit. Look here.”
Jereil tapped a corner of the map.
“This? Central Admin District. Banks, offices—all clustered. That’s why we’re here. You know what’s in Merlinport?”
“...No?”
“You brain-dead wandering knight fucks. Tsk. Look at this.”
Jereil fished a grimy silver coin from his pocket.
“A silver?”
“‘Merlin’ silver! Fairn kingdom standard coinage! Why d’you think it’s named Merlin? This is where Merlinport’s mint is!”
That’s when Kirhas grasped the truth behind the outbreak.
As her benefactor had said, the Walker Plague was the Bronze Scales’ forbidden art.
Not far from the Inquisition, and closely guarded by the Fairn royals. What the cult targeted in Merlinport, resorting to heresy.
The kingdom’s collapse via currency market meltdown!
The survivors left in the city—excluding civilians now mostly doomed—meant the Merlin City Guards and Town Guards faced two enemy types.
Walkers and the Bronze Scales.
Plus the vultures—mercenaries stationed here or passing through.
Merlinport would fall. The Fairn royals would plunge into economic panic for a while. The continent’s mightiest eastern kingdom, Fairn, would lose national function temporarily.
‘But then they’d surely eradicate the Bronze Scales...?’
In a crisis tied to national fate, would the royals spare the underground cult turned state terrorists?
It looked like a massive coup on the surface, but it was a miscalculation. The enraged royals still had the Royal Griffin Knights. An elite group ranking in the world’s top tier.
‘Why?’
*
“For sea and glory!”
“Aye!”
“Multiple hostiles at three o’clock! Looks like Walkers!”
“7th Squad! Defend 12th Gate! Execute!”
“For sea and glory!”
Even amid chaos, Merlin City Guard’s field HQ maintained iron discipline. The City Guard General dispatched a messenger, then sighed deeply, glaring at the map.
The situation was dire. They’d secured the admin district, but officials inside were panicking.
No drills had prepared for a Walker Plague erupting downtown.
City nobles demanded rescues for their families; the guards mobilized instantly, seizing the admin zone.
Mindless charging Walkers were easy prey—save they’d once been people.
Human jaws couldn’t pierce chainmail. Not even leather armor.
With solid formations, stabbing from barricades, shoving with shields—defending the admin district was feasible.
The issues? Vulture mercenaries lunging in, nobles freaking out over families, and citizens fighting for survival somewhere. They had to protect those citizens.
“Captain! Distress signal from the market district!”
“Numbers?”
“Unknown! Major Walker swarm concentrating on market district.”
“Damn it. Damn it!”
Defensive troops remained, but they were for holding admin and slowly expanding the front.
No spare manpower for detachments.
Then someone entered the tent. A shadow fell across the flap. A young man lifted it and stepped in.
“Who are you?”
“Inquisitor Angelo.”
“...Inquisitor? Bad timing... Seeking protection?”
“Requesting troop support.”
“Have you lost your mind? Can’t you see the situation?”
The man—Fernandez—stared at the map.
“I request a detachment. We must apprehend the Walker outbreak culprits.”
“Catch the culprits and the Walkers kill themselves? Solve what’s happening first!”
“Let them escape, and other cities face this. Fairn’s done.”
Fernandez rubbed his fatigue-lined eyes. Part of him wanted to just threaten them.
But tied down by Walkers, he couldn’t let them slip. Couldn’t solo through to nab the Bronze Scales.
Too many potential spots. He’d marked suspects, but couldn’t search them alone.
‘Need to link up with Kirhas...’
Every man counted now.
Then a man emerged from the tent’s interior.
“Long time no see, Lord Angelo.”
“...Karl?”
“Proper introduction: Carlo Mano Pavilos. Professor at Fairn Royal Hunting School. Join us?”
“You know their location?”
Carlo smiled.
“Turns out they’re the ones I was tracking. We head to the suburban communal graveyard.”
“Fits them perfectly...”
Fernandez stroked his chin, eyeing the map. One Carlo outweighed a dozen City Guards.
A lone wolf who’d exterminated a great vampire noble house, after all.
The end was in sight. Among the Bronze Scales, only one could trigger the Walker Plague so explosively, so widely.
Dale Pertus. Come here yourself, have you? Must be desperate.
My old friend... wait for me. Fernandez smiled slowly, deeply.