A Dangerous Misunderstanding
"……."
Something felt off. Loki turned his gaze to the mercenaries. Their eyes held naked hostility mingled with fear.
Especially Alber, who had treated Loki kindly before they slept—he now gripped his sword with eyes burning with unyielding resolve, the complete opposite of before.
This is getting annoying.
He would have preferred to leave them be, but Loki wasn't one to tolerate swords pointed at him.
After all, hadn't he buried every foolish Nod who attacked him on that frozen wasteland?
"Wait, hold on a moment."
Just then, Pol stepped between Loki and the mercenaries, shouting at Alber.
"He's infected, but there's still hope—still hope!"
"……?"
"Just... just stay put for a bit."
At Pol's words, the mercenaries exchanged wary glances. For them, killing the thing in front of them was the safest bet, but the risk of infection made them hesitate to act.
Several tense minutes passed before Pol let out a sigh of relief.
"See? He's not dying. Infected people should drop dead and turn into Wights, but look—he's fine, mentally sharp too. I've heard of it: people with strong immunity get infected slower by the Worm Pest."
The mercenaries erupted in shock and murmurs.
"Immunity?"
"First time hearing that."
"Of course. It's rare, and it doesn't block infection completely."
Loki stared at Pol, utterly baffled. He couldn't make sense of the situation at all. Why had this freak show erupted? Why were the mercenaries treating him like a threat?
And infection? Does it spread just from skin contact?
But he felt no such thing. As Loki checked his body, something squirmed outside the door, drawing near.
Undead born from the plague—Wights, they were called.
Loki backed away at the sight.
"This is a problem."
...A real problem. I don't want to deal with those things.
Killing just one earlier had been filthy enough. The stench clung to him. More would make it unbearable.
Especially with those wriggling worms crawling on them.
Sure, I could kill them with my spear, no issue...
But the putrid smell upon death was the problem. Who avoids shit out of fear? It's the filth.
Loki had no desire to slaughter the monsters before him. Simply because they were disgusting.
The mercenaries, Alber, and Pol, unaware of this, mistook his reluctance for fear of the creatures.
They had no intention of approaching him either. Black blood and chunks of dead worms clung to his body.
"...Sir Alber. I have a favor to ask. Can you hold off the Wights?"
Alber glanced at Pol, eyes widening as Pol pulled a white vial from his robes.
"You... that's..."
"Holy water. Made by grand priests—it blocks Worm Pest infection."
At Pol's words, the mercenaries stared, entranced.
"Holy water?!"
"The stuff that cures the plague...!"
The blessed potion from the Holy Church, said to ward off the plague—only high priests could craft it. As the mercenaries lunged toward Pol, eyes wild, Alber drew his sword and slammed it into the stone floor.
The rock melted like tofu around the blade.
"...This old man's still got it, even in his age."
Alber swept his gaze over each mercenary with a kindly smile.
"Enough strength to take you all. Anyone who touches Pol loses a hand—no mercy."
His smile belied the icy threat. The mercenaries backed off.
Having cowed them with sheer presence, Alber turned to Pol.
"You plan to use it?"
"They helped us. We owe them that much."
"Heh, you're too kind for your own good. Truth be told, that ogre back then..."
"I can't just ignore it."
Pol approached Loki without hesitation.
"H-here... this."
Pol cautiously offered the holy water, face pale with fear of infection but mustering courage.
"……."
"Hurry! Or you'll die!"
"...Thank you."
As Loki reached out, Pol flinched but handed it over. The heavy atmosphere left Loki no choice but to accept.
In truth, the mercenaries' grim expressions and Loki's feelings were polar opposites.
This feels... so gross.
Learning these first acquaintances were cleaner than expected only burdened Loki more. Had they been ruthless betrayers, he'd know how to handle them.
But sharing their precious lifeline holy water...?
Interesting folk.
Rare gentle souls in this brutal world.
Misreading Loki's smile, Pol gave a wry one.
"No need to get emotional. We help each other. Stay still—I'll cleanse the 'curse' on you."
Pol raised his staff, muttering an arcane incantation. Streams of water materialized, washing away the black blood and worms.
"Curse?"
"Those worms? I've studied them. Born from black magic 'curses'."
...So that's why I sensed mana.
"There! Drink up quick. See? It's working!"
Loki eyed the holy water and drank. It slid cool down his throat, oddly tingling—like carbonated water.
...Come to think of it, Loki's affinities are fire and darkness, right? Holy water must be light-aligned.
That explained the unique sensation.
"How's it feel? Better?"
"Like cool soda."
As Pol tilted his head, a roar echoed.
The Wight lunged at the door. Alber charged, slashing upward with full force.
The tough Wight split in a flash of light, black blood and worms spraying everywhere upon death.
Alber calmly dodged. Tension etched his face.
Sparks flew from worms on his blade, incinerating them—Alber's Divine Gift: Thunder, channeling lightning through his sword.
...Attack's my specialty, but for defense, Rapilta with her shield would be ideal. Wonder how long this old man's got.
"Hmph... Where's that knight when you need him? Ah, guarding the gates."
Alber shook his head.
Good at running away... probably fine.
He glanced back. The mercenaries cowered in corners, stared slack-jawed at the empty holy water vial, or gaped at Alber in awe.
"What're you gaping at, whelps? Slow on the uptake! Fetch something to barricade the door!"
"Y-yes! Right!"
"Move it!"
They hauled heavy furniture to block the entrance. But it wasn't enough—the pounding grew fiercer, furniture shuddering, dust and debris flying with each superhuman impact.
The Worm Pest terrified not just for contagion and lethality, but because the revived dead—Wights—gained impossible strength and speed. Ordinary blades and spears couldn't pierce their hides.
As Pol examined him, Loki eyed the door. More Wights? It shook violently. Minutes at best.
"What about windows?"
"...Wights don't notice them much. Covering helps, but not foolproof."
"You know your stuff."
Pol smiled bitterly.
"It broke out in our kingdom. Mages, alchemists, healers, pharmacists... everyone researched cures. Me too. All failed, gave up from infection risk..."
He bit his lip in frustration.
"……."
"Stay still. Checking your condition."
Pol took Loki's hand, murmuring an incantation. Light seeped in, activating a diagnostic spell—but it fizzled quickly.
Pol stared at Loki's hand in shock.
"...Why won't the spell manifest?"
"……."
Loki smiled awkwardly. His Loki avatar had magic resistance—bouncing most spells, even low-tier. It allowed heals and buffs but repelled intrusions.
Unable to scan magically, Pol asked gravely.
"How do you feel?"
Truly concerned, checking meticulously.
Loki waved it off.
"No worries. I know my body best. Don't know this Worm Pest, but your holy water fixed it."
"Phew... thank goodness. Really..."
Pol sighed in relief. His sincerity impressed Loki.
"So, what's next? All entrances barricaded?"
Alber approached. Pol scanned the room thoughtfully.
"First... find a secret passage."
Secret passage?
Loki, Alber, and the mercenaries stared at Pol.
"Even in the sticks, this is a lord's castle. Must have an escape route for emergencies."
"Right! So I can live?!"
Azar rushed over. He'd been trembling at "Worm Pest" but now sprang up hopeful.
He pointed at the mercenaries.
"Hey! Find the entrance quick! Secret passage exists!"
They scattered to search.
Loki entered the noble's room where Azar had been.
He scanned around.
Lord's chambers usually have hidden passages.
"Where could it be?"
Feeling like a detective, Loki checked walls, ceiling, floor, bed.
Confirming no slaves about, he lifted the bed one-handed to check underneath.
"Nope."
He smacked his lips. No obvious doors. Naturally hidden.
In RPGs, pulling a book from a shelf reveals them.
He yanked every book. Nothing.
As Loki turned away disappointed, a faint wind whistled from the shelf.
"...I see. Not a secret door—just concealed."
Loki kicked the shelf mercilessly. It collapsed, revealing a stone-walled secret passage behind.