Chapter 93: Ch93 Melting Corpses
Luther wanted to curse.
Oh no, he couldn’t just have one day of adventure without having to meet cursed or completely stupid situation.
He was now dreading why he didn’t just take the mercenaries orders to go to the capital with them.
He could have just left gone home.
Luther wanted to face palmed.
The air was thick—almost solid. The smell of burnt iron and wet ash pressed against Luther’s lungs as he yanked Alina back by the wrist. The crimson rain hissed where it fell, and when one droplet grazed the flickering barrier he’d raised, it sizzled like acid on metal.
What the hell is this now...? Luther thought, his eyes narrowing as the old elder’s face seemed to melt into nothingness. The man’s features dripped like candle wax, sliding off bone until there was only a dark hollow where eyes and a smile had been. His face gone completely.
Alina trembled, about to scream, but Luther quickly covered her eyes with his palm. "Don’t," he said sharply. "You’ll regret looking at that face for the rest of your life."
Alina sniffed as she tried to wipe the tears that stinged like eyes.
The shield flickered again. He could feel the heat against his fingers as another bead of red landed on it and spat steam into the air. Luther hissed between his teeth. "Perfect. Melting people, red acid weather, and screaming apprentices. What next? Angels dancing in lava?"
The demonic sword, still strapped to his waist like an oversized ornament, suddenly snickered.
"You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you, Boy?"
Luther’s expression barely moved. "I thought you were going to continue sleeping."
"Sleep? During a horror show like this? Never. You humans have such wonderful ways of dying."
Luther ignored it and focused on the scene ahead. The merchant, stood beside the dissolving elder. His body—half flesh, half liquid—bubbled grotesquely, but the man laughed, his voice a giddy tremor that echoed like madness.
"Oh, what a joyful thing!" the merchant cried. His teeth were stained red; his eyes wide and glassy. "The land rejoices! It gives us what we asked for! Blood, blood from the sky! Praise the red blessing!"
He lifted his arms, skin peeling like paper, as if drunk on his own demise.
Luther’s jaw tightened. "I’ve seen idiots," he muttered, "but this... this is peak insanity."
The sword hummed, its crimson glow faint. "You sure it’s insanity? Maybe they’re the sane ones, Boy. Maybe you’re just slow to the revelation."
"Shut it, blade-for-brains." Luther snapped. "You’re lucky I haven’t melted you too."
The sword chuckled darkly. "Oh, I’d like to see you try. You need me, remember?"
He didn’t respond, but Alina noticed the strain in his eyes. The tent they had been ushered into earlier stood still behind them. The red rain hit its roof, but didn’t eat through. Luther realized the material wasn’t normal—wood, coated with something divine, maybe.
"The tent’s still intact," he muttered, scanning the surroundings. "So the rain eats flesh, not objects. Typical cursed territory."
He glanced down at his hand—his skin shimmered faintly with golden light, resisting the rain’s touch. So it’s selective, he thought grimly. It doesn’t harm divine magic. Only living tissue.
Before he could think further, a voice like a cracked bell rang out beside him.
"Do you want to leave?"
Luther froze. Slowly, he looked down—and nearly stumbled back.
A little girl clung to his cloak. Her face was young, her expression eerily serene, but her left shoulder—no, half her arm—was nothing but half-melted skin. He could see bone gleaming faintly beneath, and yet she smiled, her teeth small and white.
Alina gagged, turning away and covering her mouth, but Luther didn’t move. His eyes met the girl’s.
"Do you want to leave?" she repeated softly.
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
The sword whispered, its tone now void of humor. "She’s not human anymore."
The girl’s smile trembled when he didn’t answer. Her eyes watered, and the corners of her mouth twitched into a frown. Then—she screamed.
"You don’t want to stay with us!"
The words rang like a curse. The red rain thickened instantly, pouring faster, slamming into the earth like a bloody storm. Every body on the ground—those half-melted villagers, the twisted puppets—began to move.
Their twitching limbs scraped against the soaked dirt. Bones popped, muscles snapped back into place in grotesque jerks.
"They didn’t want us again," one muttered, its jaw half-gone.
"The Saint doesn’t want to stay," another groaned.
"Why? Why won’t he play with us?"
The chorus of voices was soft, childlike, wrong. Luther felt a chill crawl up his spine, the first genuine shiver he’d had in years.
He whispered, "They think I’m their friend?"
Alina whimpered. "S-Saint, what’s happening?"
He clenched his jaw, pulling her behind him. "Something that makes me wish I’d stayed in bed this morning."
The demonic sword vibrated violently, its red glow brightening until it nearly blinded.
It chuckled.
The merchant’s laughter broke through the downpour again. His voice was now cracked, gurgling with blood, but jubilant. "The land rejoices! You see, Saint? It has accepted you!"
"Accepted my—oh, wonderful. Exactly what I needed. A maniac cult of acid-melting fanatics worshipping me."
The sword made a dry noise that sounded like a snort. "You always did have a way with people."
Luther’s hand twitched. He wanted to punch something—or someone. Preferably both.
The merchant began to move, his steps unsteady but deliberate. Each time his foot hit the ground, red water splashed around it. His skin was barely holding to his bones now, but his smile never faltered.
"Stay with us," he crooned. "Become one with the red. It’ll make you pure."
Luther tilted his head. "Pure? I’ve seen cleaner puddles in a gutter."
The sword let out a soft laugh. "You mock a melting corpse. Admirable."
He sighed. "I mock everything equally. Fair treatment."
But as he spoke, his golden aura flickered—something was draining his magic. The red rain was trying to corrode his barrier, eating away at divine power the way it ate flesh.
"Great," he muttered. "Even the rain hates me."
"Maybe it’s personal," the sword said smoothly. "Everything seems to hate you lately."
"Not as much as I hate everything right now."
The merchant’s voice suddenly shifted, becoming lower—inhuman. "You will not leave, Saint. You belong to the land. You will serve the blood."
He faced Alina, but Luther pulled her behind him.
Luther exhaled slowly, drawing the demonic sword. The weapon pulsed in his hand, red veins crawling up his arm like glowing cracks.
"I told you before," he said quietly, "we serve no one."
The girl’s voice echoed again, louder, angrier. "You’ll stay! You’ll stay with us forever!"
The corpses convulsed, twitching faster, their limbs jerking like marionettes. A few fell apart mid-movement, skin peeling from bone. The sound was wet, heavy, and disgusting.
Alina gagged again, trembling. "Saint—please—"
He moved his hand slightly, signaling her to stay quiet. "Don’t move. Don’t breathe too loud. They’re still half in the illusion. If they fully wake—"
"Too late," the sword said grimly. "They’re already awake."
A sudden silence fell, thick and absolute.
Then came the whisper of dozens of feet dragging through the mud.
The merchant raised his head. Half his face was gone now, but his single remaining eye gleamed crimson. He grinned wider.
"The Saint stays!"
The entire mob screamed with him, a sound that tore through the rain like a thunderclap.
The red droplets began to spiral upward instead of down, reversing in motion, gathering in the air like smoke.
Luther frowned. "That’s new."
"He’s drawing power," the sword said quickly. "This is no ordinary curse. It’s a ritual."
"Oh, good," Luther sighed. "Because I was just thinking how bored I was."
The merchant’s skin burst open like an overripe fruit. Streams of glowing blood poured out, twisting into shapes—arms, claws, faces. The rain around him formed a monstrous body, his human form barely visible inside the mass.
"Saint! Come join us!" the abomination roared.
Luther’s gaze hardened. "...You really want to die twice, don’t you?"
He raised the sword. It glowed with both red and gold light now, the two forces snarling against each other.
"Careful," the sword hissed. "You’re tapping both sides again. That’s how saints go mad."
"I’ve already gone mad," Luther replied. "I’m just choosing where to aim it."
The merchant-creature lunged forward, a wave of red crashing behind it. Luther’s boots sank into the mud as he prepared to counter. Alina clutched the barrier tighter, praying it would hold.
And then—
The sword muttered, half amused, half exasperated. "You do realize you attract this kind of chaos, right?"
"Yeah," Luther said flatly. "Must be my charming personality."
The ground shook as the creature charged. Luther’s grip tightened—his golden magic surged—and in that very moment, before blade met flesh—
The sky darken like a fury furnace.
A slash, and the red monstrosity screamed.