Chapter 29: The Corrupt Priest - An Old Acquaintance
An old acquaintance...
An old acquaintance...
I gently peeled off the guard clinging to my arm and said, "Even if I go talk to them, nothing will change."
During my cemetery days, I'd interacted with 'Hornblowers of Rest' enough to know they weren't the type to stop their work because of a few words. The guard clung to me again with pleading eyes.
"But you're a priest too! Please, just try talking to them! My comrades are at their limit from the wandering dead every night! Me too!"
When someone begs this desperately...
"Fine, I'll try. But don't expect miracles."
The guard's face lit up. "Thank you! Thank you!"
We arrived late, twilight already staining the sky. "Where's this Hornblower?"
"Not far. Should I take you now?"
I glanced at my bewildered companions. "Wait a moment."
Turning to Dakia, I suggested, "Lady Dakia, why don't you secure lodgings first? I'll catch up after helping here."
Dakia smiled knowingly. "Go ahead."
After arranging my companions' stay, I followed the guard outside the city. "How long has the Hornblower been here?"
"Nearly two weeks."
No wonder they were desperate. Living beings instinctively recoil from the walking dead - prolonged exposure drives some to panic.
As the sun dipped behind snow-capped peaks, the guard lit a torch. "Just a little further." His voice trembled with barely contained dread.
The scraping sounds came first.
Then they appeared - corpses crawling onto the road, some walking, others dragging ruined limbs. All moving with single-minded purpose.
"P-priest..." The guard's black-rimmed eyes revealed his breaking point.
"Got an extra torch?"
He handed me his flame and lit another. "You should return to Eradico."
"Are... are you sure?"
"Yes." Better this than carrying his fainting body back later.
As the guard fled, Mother grumbled in my breast pocket: <Kill!>
"Mother, people fear moving meat-puppets. Imagine a headless chicken scrambling off your cutting board!"
She squirmed before retorting: <Kill...?>
Chuckling, I pushed through the corpse procession. "Honestly, I don't get it either."
<Kill!>
We found him at the horde's center - the Hornblower of Rest.
His ivory horn pressed against featureless white mask where no mouth could blow. Silent pantomime for silent audience. These horns weren't meant for living ears anyway.
Unique among divine servants, Hornblowers serve no congregation. Death's Trumpet chooses randomly - no priests, only sudden conduits who abandon names to guide the dead.
I shoved through the crowd. "Hello?"
No response from the funeral-black robes. Just that blank mask turning.
"Many must've asked you to leave. The dead unsettle the living." Silence. "Two weeks is long for your kind. Why stay?"
The mask tilted. After throat-clearing like rusted machinery, he rasped: "Evil god's worshippers."
He pointed at distant Eradico. "They'll bring death."
"You told others?"
"No."
"Why tell me?"
The mask stayed silent until: "...begun."
Purple light erupted, swallowing the city whole.
Left behind, the Hornblower muttered: "Truth delivered, O Death's Trumpet." His tattered robes swept toward Eradico as the dead followed.
BOOM!
The violet barrier wasn't divine - twisted magic warping natural laws. Breaking through physically would take too long.
But Mother's hand in my pocket pulsed.
"Your time to shine."
Her hand transformed into a girl who scowled: <Kill!>
"Because I want to."
Sighing, she led me through the barrier. <Kill!>
Eradico burned - again. Three figures stood amidst flames:
"WHERE IS HE?" screamed the purple-haired woman, shaking her redheaded companion. "You said he entered!"
"Found him," drawled the watching man, pointing at me.
"Marrnak!" The purple-haired one lit up.
Golden hair. Trim beard. Familiar smarmy face - Riverkel.
My Slaughterer roared to life.
<KILL!!!>
"MARRNAK!" She charged. "Show me your strength!"
Corruption tattoos flared across my skin. "Move."
"Waited too lon-"
My blade split her vertically.
Riverkel's dark barrier rose. I pressed Mother's hand against it - his eyes widened as steel sheared through.
He dodged the bisecting cut, losing an arm instead.
"Ah! The corpse-washer!" Riverkel laughed, holding his stump. "Funny seeing my old robe on you - though the original owner's arm was right, not left!"
He flourished his right arm. "Three good years with this!"
"Now," I growled, revving the Slaughterer, "I'll return the favor - slowly."
The blade screamed louder than my rage.
