Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Salasma's Darkness 3
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An arrow had whizzed past his head.
“Why shoot an arrow in such a tight space!”
“It’s fine! Don’t you trust my skills?”
“It’s not about trust… Agh!”
Tarki screamed. A were-rat had raked its claws across his breastplate. He’d dodged the handaxe swing, but the claws were another story.
He wasn’t hurt, but the horrific scraping sound against his breastplate and the ferocity of the were-rat transmitted through it made Tarki shriek.
“Kekeke! Humans are so frail! We, blessed by Mezzeri, are the true masters of this age!”
The were-rat crowed triumphantly as it unleashed a barrage on Tarki.
“Waaah!”
Tarki let out a cry that could’ve been a scream or a shout as he staggered backward again and again.
A were-rat’s reflexes were faster than any human’s. And the way it drooled like a rabid dog while flailing both hands left and right was utterly terrifying.
The relentless attacks kept Tarki on the defensive. He parried with his longsword, but the creature was so quick that he had to retreat with every blow. Each time its claws or the iron mace in its hand clashed against his blade, blood sprayed.
The were-rat wasn’t afraid to smash its own hands into the sword, letting its fingers get sliced or mangled like a mad dog.
“H-Help!”
Tarki screamed, but the alley was too narrow for anyone else to assist.
*Thwack!*
Tarki wasn’t a knight for nothing. He blocked the assault and countered with a thrust to the throat.
“Gurgle!”
Even in its frenzy, the were-rat couldn’t withstand a pierced windpipe. Clutching its neck, it collapsed. Minor scratches healed quickly with its regeneration, but a fatal wound like that turned the rapid healing into a source of agony.
The were-rat gasped and drowned in its own blood flowing into its lungs.
“Yes! I got it!”
Tarki cheered. But the were-rat didn’t die even then. The one that had taken Midiam’s arrow had clawed out the brain-piercing shaft and risen again.
“Impressive! Gotta finish it quick.”
To put down the were-rat choking on Tarki’s sword wound, he stabbed its nape with the longsword. The blade severed the spine and pierced through the front, but at that moment, the were-rat clamped down on it.
“Ugh?!”
It was heavy.
Caught off guard as the blade was seized, Tarki faced the other were-rat charging in after yanking out its arrow and regenerating.
That’s when it happened.
“Move.”
Azadin yanked Tarki back, hurling him aside, then leaped forward in his place and swung the handaxe.
*Thwack!*
The charging were-rat’s skull exploded from bottom to top, brains splattering backward. No amount of vitality could survive that; it died instantly.
“No….”
The were-rat still gripping the blade impaling its body stared in disbelief. A single small handaxe blow, yet its power was monstrous. And when Azadin gripped the longsword’s hilt in Tarki’s stead….
The were-rat’s knees buckled. Unable to withstand Azadin’s strength, it crumpled.
‘Ugh… what insane power? What the hell?’
The were-rat broke out in cold sweat.
“Now then… let’s talk. What did you do with the person you kidnapped? Where’d you stash this noblewoman?”
Azadin interrogated the were-rat holding Tarki’s sword.
“We ate her all up. Kekeke. If you wanna find someone, dig through our shit piles.”
“Useless answer.”
Without another word, Azadin gripped the hilt tighter and swung the sword upward. The were-rat’s throat tore open, fingers shearing off in chunks.
“Grk.”
A grotesque gurgle rose from the were-rat’s throat… and half its head sheared away. The wound was too severe for regeneration; it died on the spot.
“Y-You killed it? We need to ask about Lady’s whereabouts….”
“They wouldn’t tell us anything anyway. These are just grunts.”
Azadin handed the sword back to Tarki and pressed forward. Soon, an iron-barred gate came into view blocking the exit.
“Ah.”
Peering out through the bars revealed a dry riverbank. A trickle of water flowed along the bottom, merging into the river, surrounded by a refugee camp.
A familiar voice rang out from before.
“The day of reckoning approaches! When Jupiter draws near, its pull will stir the Netherstrom, awakening the ancient demon gods slumbering within! Demon gods older than Kurt’s divine kin—the day they rise, the boundary between living and dead shall blur, and all shall face judgment! Repent! Share your possessions with the poor and prepare for the trial!”
The doomsayer they’d seen climbing the hill was still preaching with fervor.
“That’s the doomsayer, right?”
“Yeah.”
Azadin turned back to inspect the were-rat corpses he’d felled. In their pouches: a few coins, a dirty hide emblazoned with the Kurt divine emblem of ‘Rat King Mezzeri,’ and a key.
“This hide… it’s human skin, isn’t it?”
Azadin clicked his tongue at the were-rats’ vile hobby, took the key, and unlocked the gate.
“You said your lady went missing last night?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s hurry and search. She’s probably still alive, but by tonight, she’s in danger. If we had time to spare, we wouldn’t exit through here—we’d circle back….”
Stepping out exposed them to the eyes of enemies hiding among the refugees outside. The foes could blend into the crowd, but his group would stand out, so standard procedure would be retreating and approaching from the original path.
But dawdling risked the baroness becoming were-rat chow. To save time, Azadin burst through the gate.
*********
It was the dry riverbed under the bridge. Originally a flood-prone zone unfit for buildings, but with no spring rain and constant drought, the river had shrunk dramatically, leaving the bed bone-dry.
Refugees lay sprawled on haphazard blankets, catching and eating rats, moles, and scavenged beasts to survive. The air reeked of animal blood as people skinned and gutted rodents.
“Too many people. Hard to spot anyone.”
As knight Tarki emerged, the refugees eyed Azadin’s group with fear and hostility.
‘This is bad.’
With everyone radiating animosity and terror, distinguishing culprits from victims was impossible. Then Midiam spoke.
“The Relief Knights are aiding these refugees, right?”
“Probably. I see blankets with their emblem.”
“And they took child volunteers, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. Like how our kind needs priests, merchants, servants.”
A holy knight order required vast support staff underneath.
“So the Relief Knights would have the system to transport people from here?”
Midiam said, pointing to a building. Near the riverbank stood the Relief Knights’ church. Likely built to aid the poor in this flood zone, it was a decent wooden structure with roof and walls amid the blanketed masses.
“…….”
Perfect spot to hold or ship out a kidnapped baroness. Nothing else fit.
Unless every refugee was a were-rat or Kurt cultist, that building was the only place to hide from prying eyes.
“No, wait—you’re saying the Relief Knights’ outpost is actually a Kurt cult den? Hmm… no way….”
“……?”
“Huh?”
Midiam and Ismail were stunned by Azadin’s reaction.
“Are you serious?”
“I mean, logically you’re right, but it’s hard to swallow.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a Herald. Not a Relief Knight.”
“I know. It sounds ridiculous to me too.”
Azadin sighed and approached the doomsayer wandering among the refugees with his placard.
“Excuse me.”
“Oho! Repent, young one. Jupiter’s era draws near.”
“By chance, have you eaten?”
As Azadin pulled a biscuit from his pack, the doomsayer flinched.
“W-What’s that?”
“The world strays from virtue, and though the Three Great Archangels sacrifice themselves, hardship and calamity persist. In such times, your voice awakens consciences—so please, accept this humble offering as a chance for me to accrue merit.”
Azadin flawlessly mimicked—no, embodied—a faithful of the angelic faith. He was one, after all.
His sincerity was so convincing that the doomsayer felt ashamed instead.
“Ah, what an exemplary youth. So devout! You shame me!”
Azadin handed over a biscuit. In these days of drought and famine driving up food prices, receiving rations while being told *you’re* granting the giver merit moved the doomsayer deeply.
“May the Three Great Archangels bless you. You’ll go to a fine place in the afterlife.”
The Herald clan was despised by Hybris folk for slaying the divine king—a sin leaving them soulless, vanishing upon death without afterlife. Yet the doomsayer, oblivious to Azadin’s origins, blessed him even there.
“By the way, that relief station… is it still operating?”
“Ah, that one’s shuttered—the building’s too rundown. Volunteers from the parish warehouse district handle aid now.”
“I see. Have you been inside lately?”
“Ages ago, yes, but not recently. It looks like a wee shack outside, but it’s a converted liquor storehouse with tunnels dug underground. They stopped using it after toxic fumes rose from below.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
Azadin returned from the doomsayer and sighed.