Lucian followed the great road onward.
Before long, the way was blocked by a grim sight; a wrecked carriage-coffin, collapsed across the path. All its escorts and horses lay dead, their bodies now being torn apart by Monstrous Dogs.
The beasts devoured without pause, even though the corpses were steeped in Scarlet Rot.
Lucian dispatched them easily.
He rembered this place. Within that carriage-coffin, a weapon awaited.
Prying open the hidden compartnt, he found it; an oversized greatsword of iron, massive and brutal in form.
It was enormous, wide, heavy, and crude. To call it a sword seed absurd—it was closer to an iron slab than a weapon. Yet to call it a gravestone would be wrong as well—for it was too thin, incapable of holding the life story of the warrior who once swung it.
Handling it likely requires the wielder to have surpassed the realm of the rely human,
it is precisely for this reason the weapon is used to slaughter even inhuman foes.
Lucian lifted it in one hand and rested it upon his shoulder. With his strength now, it was not difficult to swing.
Silently, he felt the emotions carved into the steel, seeking the echoes of the warrior who had once raised it.
But unlike other weapons, no fragnts of mory, no battle arts, ca forth. Only pain.
Pain lifted this sword.
Suffering swung it.
And now, nothing remained. Its wielder was gone. The cause he had fought for—gone. All consud, rcilessly, by Scarlet Rot.
When the Rot invaded, life beca a nightmare. He swung and swung, yet it was useless. His blade could not cut down the true enemy.
And so, he fought on anyway. Again and again, until blood ran dry, until all things withered. Like a wild hound, running headlong until his body rotted away.
Lucian lowered his gaze, then sheathed the colossal sword away for safekeeping.
It reminded him of an old acquaintance. When the ti ca, he would draw it once more, and settle what remained unfinished.
Soon, ruins ca into view. This was the Forsaken Ruins of Caelid—Caelem Ruins.
Unlike the silent, empty ruins he had passed before, these were alive with activity. Fla Chariots prowled the streets, belching fire to burn away the Scarlet Rot.
Lucian chose not to disturb them. He simply lit the nearby Site of Grace and moved on.
From here, he could see it clearly at last—the Swamp of Aeonia.
A vast inland lake, yet filled not with water but with Scarlet Rot. The mire surged like a living tide, swelling and ebbing as though it breathed.
A wall of fire once encircled it—Caelid's earliest defense. When the Rot first descended, soldiers had set the barricades alight, hoping to hold back the corruption.
But the wall had long since been broken. The charred remnants bore scars of beasts that had ramd and battered it down. Around them lay the corpses of Redmane Knights, silent testant that they had not yielded easily.
Lucian looked along the swamp's edge. A broad road wound around Aeonia's mire. Once, it must have been a peaceful riverside path. Now it was only a highway of decay.
Mounting Torrent, Lucian followed the ring-road, the stench of the swamp ever at his side. As the Rot surged like a tide, he found himself wondering: how could this place ever be healed?
Ti passed swiftly as he pondered. Soon he had crossed a long distance, fending off more hounds and grotesquely large crows—both creatures vile enough to sicken even the hardiest soul. Their filthy feathers reeked, their wounds sward with flies, their very presence intolerable, like cockroaches that made the skin crawl.
At last, Lucian found the mark he sought.
On the trunk of a great dead tree, a crude sigil had been carved with a small knife. Hilbert's sign. Their agreed signal.
He looked around, confirming the place. From here, as Hilbert had once told him, one had only to descend along the left of the dead tree, facing the Scarlet Lake below.
And there, by the ruins, stood a wooden house. Hilbert's dwelling.
Torrent carried him swiftly down. Lucian dismounted, strode to the door, and knocked.
Thump thump.
Thud-thud-thud!
Hurried footsteps approached. The door swung open.
"You ca far faster than I expected."
Hildegard's eyes widened at the sight of him.
Indeed, Torrent's speed was unmatched. Except for his detour to aid Alexander and tangle briefly with Patches, Lucian had ridden hard without pause. What might take most travelers three or four days, or a month on foot, he had done in barely over a day.
Hildegard herself had changed. More fungi sprouted from her flesh, Scarlet Rot dripped like dew from her body, and her hands were still slick with the sli of so strange creature.
"You're a key player in curing Caelid," Lucian said simply. "I wanted to arrive early, before anything went wrong."
"…And your body?" He frowned.
Hildegard rely shrugged, wiping her face clean with a towel and rubbing away the sli from her hands.
"Oh, this? I just returned from the swamp. So wandering nobles wandered into Aeonia, seeking death. I collected samples for my research."
Tossing the towel aside, she beckoned him in. Then her eyes lit up with sudden excitent.
"By the way, you haven't seen it yet, have you? The phenonon. You're just in ti—it's happening now. You must co and see. It's magnificent. Once you've witnessed it, you'll understand Caelid's ecology in a whole new light."
Lucian hesitated. "But the swamp's Rot is overwhelming. You may be immune, but shouldn't I have so protection?"
Hildegard laughed. "True enough. But don't worry. We won't go in—we'll only watch from afar. That much won't harm you."
Her enthusiasm was contagious. At last, Lucian nodded.
Led by Hildegard, he ca to the edge of the lake. From behind a massive withered branch, they gazed upon Aeonia's depths.
"…This is… astonishing."
The swamp seethed with life.
The creatures born from rot, imrsed in the mire, raised hands in prayer, or else staggered in patrols with rusted weapons in hand. Countless immortals trudged into the swamp's heart—toward the battlefield where Radahn and Malenia had once clashed. There, they sought the Demigods' lingering power to kill themselves.
Yet unseen creatures lurked below. So of the wanderers were dragged under, only to resurface mangled, missing limbs, yet still alive.
Their flesh sloughed away, leaving bare bone. Then fungi blood upon them, new grotesqueries taking root in living hosts.
Servant of Rot gathered on the branches, bowing toward the lake in worship.
Giant crows and hounds labored beside them, dragging corpses into the swamp. Flesh peeled from the cadavers, sinking as offerings to the Rot.
Above it all, great crimson buds swelled fat with nourishnt. At last, one blood.
Scarlet petals burst wide, shedding a storm of glowing pollen.
The lake's denizens writhed with ecstasy. The Rot-born raised insect eggs high, letting their young drink deep of the "blessing." Eggs split open, spilling fluid as larvae wriggled forth. The fungus-folk collapsed in rapture, soaking their mushrooms in pollen.
The crows and hounds inhaled greedily, swelling larger with every breath. So weaker beasts collapsed, dead. Yet the survivors ignored them, hungrier still, desperate for more.
One crow took flight, trying to reach the pollen clouds above. But a spray of silk and venom dragged it down.
The bloom closed. Its gift was gone.
And imdiately, the survivors turned upon the fallen, tearing at their flesh. A final chance to claim whatever pollen lingered in at.
The Servant of Rot paid no mind. Already, they were dispersing, their ritual complete.
Hildegard turned to Lucian. "This is Caelid. Welco… to the ecosystem of Scarlet Rot."
Lucian's eyes fixed on the crimson flower. "That pollen—what is it? Do these blooms follow a cycle?"
Hildegard nodded. "They do. Each blossom sheds pollen once per cycle. Their timings vary, but they always cluster within a day or two. The creatures here devote themselves to feeding the swamp. Corpses, carrion—everything becos nourishnt. The more they feed it, the more pollen will fall."
"The pollen infects, of course. But it also heightens emotion, driving creatures into frenzy. Rember the Rot Incense I gave you? Its base material was this pollen. Weakened poison, but far stronger in stimulus."
"As for the nobles… they strayed here by chance. Fortune, or misfortune, depending how you see it."
Lucian studied the blooms in silence. So even without a master, the Scarlet Rot expanded with instinctive will. Its branches and flowers grew vast, its followers multiplied. It would not stop until all was claid.
This was its law. This was its paradise.
Those who received its "blessing" beca both beneficiaries and sacrifices—always returning to nourish the Rot in the end.
And still, the beasts flocked, eager for more.
Back in Hildegard's hut, she busied herself preparing supplies. Lucian sat in a simple chair, eyeing the jars and vials scattered about. He had questions, but she was too absorbed in her work for him to ask.
In one corner, Jar Bairn peeked timidly at him. A wooden post beside the little jar bore dents and cracks from fists—training marks.
All seed orderly. Yet fate rarely allowed peace to last.
Torrent's ears flicked. He snorted toward Lucian.
At once, Lucian quieted, listening.
The faint rasp of countless limbs brushed against the walls. The house was surrounded.
He rose, stepping to the door, hand on his weapon. The Lesser Kindred of Rot had co.
Before he could open it, white strands punched through the wood.
Crack!
Two pallid bone-spears stabbed through, lancing for his chest.
But Lucian's Swordspear was faster.
Storm-wind surged around him, breaking the silk threads, and his weapon struck in return. The rotten door exploded outward. His sweeping strike cleaved through the ambushers, bodies splitting, leaking foul fluid across the ground.
And beyond them—an endless swarm. Pale limbs, countless, weaving together in grotesque mass.
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
That stench… that sli.
He had seen it before.
When Hildegard first greeted him, her hands had been slick with a strange secretion. She had said it was "fresh research material."
Now, it was all too clear where it had co from.
User Comments
0 comments from readers