Chapter 22
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: A Village Gone Mad
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“The yellow hand is madness, the red hand is self-harm, the black hand is decay, and the one in whom they entwine shall be our king.”
Amella, who had been muttering under her breath, added.
“It’s a passage I learned while chasing Salvator. Do you remember the symbol on his forehead?”
As Luon nodded at her words, a memory flashed through his mind, and he asked in return.
“The armor his whip touched rotted in an instant. Is it related to that?”
“That’s right. The power of decay.”
Kyle subtly chimed in.
“...What about the one who controlled beasts?”
“Strictly speaking, I believe it might be an ability derived from the power of madness, but it’s not set in stone like a formula, so I can’t be sure. What’s important isn’t that, but whether Belducias is connected to the deaths in the village beyond the road.”
While the old gravedigger stared blankly at the faces of the group, Luon answered with an indifferent expression.
“This is actually for the best.”
He tossed a potato, skin and all, into his mouth and continued speaking as he chewed.
“If we can’t be sure whether the fragment’s essence will return within a few days, it seems a better decision to confront it beforehand.”
Amella nodded with a serious expression.
“Good. We can’t let this damned stone control us forever. Let’s head to the village at dawn. If this is really related to Belducias, we’d better smash it to pieces.”
Kyle took a deep breath and exhaled just as roughly, adding a word.
“I’ll lend a hand, too. It’s time I earned my keep.”
The old gravedigger, completely lost in the conversation, mumbled.
“W-what is all this about?”
Luon replied.
“You just carry on as usual, old man. Don’t worry about it.”
**
The rural village, with its small huts clustered together, seemed to be steeped in the sorrow born of successive deaths.
Not a trace of life.
Luon said, watching the hollow eyes of a woman carrying a water jug on her head.
“Let’s head to the inn first.”
As the group tied their horses in an empty stable and entered the inn, the innkeeper, who was wiping a beer mug, looked up.
“Welcome.”
The innkeeper walked over to the table where the group was sitting and said.
“The butcher died a week ago, so I must inform you that it’s difficult to prepare any meat dishes besides chicken.”
Luon, easily guessing that the person who had hacked himself to pieces with a pig-slaughtering knife was the butcher, nodded.
“Whatever food you have now is fine. We don’t need alcohol, but if you have warm milk or tea, we’ll have that.”
Watching the innkeeper head to the kitchen, Kyle muttered quietly.
“The atmosphere in this village is definitely rotten.”
Luon nodded lightly and asked Amella, who was sitting across from him.
“Amella, you said you tracked Salvator for quite a long time. Were the places he passed through like this?”
Amella shook her head.
“No, he wasn’t the type to draw things out like this. The monastery was a bit of an exception, of course, but he usually did his work overnight. The only difference is that the killings, which started with a single family, have now expanded to the whole village.”
“Is that so.”
*I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.*
As Luon was thinking this, the innkeeper approached and placed food and drinks on the table.
It was a modest meal consisting of dry rye bread, stew, and warm milk.
“Wow... looks delicious.”
Just as Kyle, with a soulless exclamation, was about to put his spoon into the watery stew, the inn door burst open with a bang.
“Bring us some ale!”
A group of young men and women, led by a man who had shouted thunderously before even sitting down, stormed into the inn.
Some of them even spat phlegm on the floor for all to see, cackling.
Luon’s eyes narrowed as he watched them.
*What’s this?*
To dismiss them as mere thugs, they seemed far too agitated. Their beast-like, gleaming eyes amplified his suspicion.
Displeased by their rude behavior, Kyle growled under his breath.
“Those damn, ill-mannered bastards.”
Meanwhile, the man who had shouted first spoke to the innkeeper as he placed beer mugs on the table.
“Bilbo, bring us a whole roasted pig, too.”
Despite the young whelp, who looked at least twenty years his junior, speaking so informally, the innkeeper replied gently with a bitter smile.
“That’s impossible. You know that.”
“Bullshit.”
The man suddenly shot to his feet and poked the innkeeper’s chest with his index finger.
“You’re doing this because you think we don’t have money, right? Huh? Tell me, Bilbo. Do we look like a bunch of beggars?”
The innkeeper took a step back and replied.
“...Jerry, do you remember that the butcher... is dead?”
At the trembling question, the man called Jerry’s eyes rolled around. Then he turned around.
“Hey, who was the butcher again?”
“How should I know, you bastard.”
“Who gives a shit, you idiot.”
“I’m hungry! Jerry!”
Jerry giggled at the squawking replies and looked at the innkeeper.
“Who gives a shit. We’re just hungry.”
“The butcher... was your father. Jerry, not you too. If even the young ones act like this...”
Just then, Kyle muttered.
“So they’re all a bunch of crazy bastards.”
The sound was loud enough for Jerry to whip his head around. Staring straight into the man’s gleaming eyes, Kyle said.
“What are you glaring at, you bastard?”
Luon watched him and tilted his head. *What’s gotten into him now?*
Jerry, who had been blinking for a moment, grinned and reached behind him. A seated woman placed a short, wide-bladed knife in his hand.
It was ironic that he couldn’t remember his father was the butcher, yet the knife in his hand was one used for butchering.
“Say that again. What did you say?”
Kyle shot to his feet to face the man who was striding toward him threateningly.
“I said you’re a crazy bastard. Why? Want me to say it again?”
Just then, Luon’s large hand grabbed Kyle’s collar and pulled.
“Ugh!”
Overpowered by the immense force, Kyle flopped back into his chair and turned his head.
“Luon?”
“You’re agitated.”
“Huh?”
“Grab your shield.”
At those words, Kyle snapped to his senses and gripped the shield that had been leaning against the wall. Then he exhaled raggedly.
“Shit, what was that?”
Watching Kyle catch his breath, Amella spoke.
“It’s magic. Something that seeps into the mind? Considering it’s spread throughout the village...”
Luon cut her off.
“Explanations later.”
He stood up leisurely, grabbed the charging Jerry’s wrist, and twisted it behind his back.
“Kuaagh!”
At Jerry’s scream, his companions drew crude weapons and began to charge all at once.
Meanwhile, Luon pulled on the twisted wrist and slammed his shoulder into Jerry’s face, then kicked the staggering man in the chest.
As one of the charging men collided with the flying Jerry and they both tumbled to the floor, Luon threw a light punch at the face of a man swinging a dagger with clumsy form.
Behind the man who crumbled, spattering blood, another man appeared and swung a sickle.
Luon sighed softly at the sight of the shabby blade, then grabbed his opponent’s wrist and squeezed.
“Aaargh!”
After slapping the cheek of the struggling man who had dropped the sickle, he turned his head at a dull thud from his side.
He saw Kyle shaking out his wrist after knocking down a man much larger than himself.
Luon smirked and spoke coldly to the woman who was trembling while clutching the butcher knife.
“How about you just leave instead of doing something foolish.”
With the woman hastily fleeing the inn at his calm warning, a lull fell over the scene.
Looking at the inn, which had become a complete mess in an instant, the innkeeper lamented.
“Ah, our village is surely cursed.”
Luon approached the staggering innkeeper and said.
“Do you have any rope?”
“Rope? Why...”
“To tie these bastards up.”
“I’ll go look.”
The innkeeper ran to the kitchen.
“What’s Amella doing?”
Luon asked, looking at Amella who was sitting on the floor with her eyes closed. Kyle shook his head.
“I don’t know either. I looked over after the fight and she was like this.”
“Is that so?”
Knowing she wouldn’t do something useless, Luon didn’t pay it much mind and, along with the innkeeper who returned with rope, tied the hands and feet of the fallen men.
“Since when did people start flipping out like this?”
“W-what have you heard?”
“I heard what’s been going on from the old gravedigger near the village.”
The innkeeper, Bilbo, slowly nodded.
“I see. That old man has been collecting the bodies of those who’ve been dying every two days lately...”
Bilbo said, looking down at the unconscious men with a gloomy expression.
“I don’t know the details myself. Suddenly, everyone started screaming and talking nonsense, and in the end, they kept hurting themselves until they died.”
Luon nodded at the explanation, which wasn’t much different from the gravedigger’s story. It seemed safe to assume the villagers had no idea what was happening.
Just then, Amella’s voice was heard.
“I’ve found the source of the magical wavelength.”
Having risen to her feet at some point, she dusted off her dirt-stained robes and said.
“Let’s hurry.”
The group immediately left the inn.
Perhaps having heard the screams from the inn, the villagers had bolted their doors and were watching the group pass by through their windows.
Amidst those anxious gazes, Kyle spoke.
“Amella? The explanation you didn’t get to finish...”
Amella, walking in the lead, spoke without turning back.
“There’s something in this village emitting a wave that corrupts the mind. It seems the more impulsive one is, the greater the effect.”
Her steps came to a halt at a small church located on one side of the village.
*Why do these bastards always set up camp in places like this?*
As if reading Luon’s mind as he frowned, Amella said.
“The Great Demons wish to place their authority above that of the ancient gods. Their underlings faithfully try to carry out that vile desire. Like Salvator at the monastery.”
Luon scoffed.
“Not even a grand cathedral, but a tiny rural church like this? How impressive.”
The moment he finished speaking, he pushed open the church door and went inside.
A man in black priestly robes with a gentle appearance smiled warmly at Luon.
“Have you come to pray to Torsh?”
At that moment, Luon felt the low thrum of the holy sword at his waist. At the same time, Amella’s voice came from behind him.
“That’s him.”
Without hesitation, Luon pulled a dagger from his coat and threw it with all his might.
The man, his forehead pierced in an instant, crumbled to the ground. He twitched and convulsed, then his pupils dilated, and soon, his movements ceased.
A startled Kyle shouted.
“Luon!”
“What.”
At the nonchalant reply, Kyle stammered.
“Y-you should have at least confirmed it! What are we supposed to do if you just kill him like that?”
“He’s not dead.”
“Huh?”
Leaving the dumbfounded Kyle to ask again, Luon said.
“I didn’t get any experience points.”