CHAPTER 58 — .The Rotten Breath of a Fallen King
Morning came softly—though in this plagued village, dawn looked no different from dusk. The sky was a dull grey, strangled beneath the ever-present fog that clung to the ground like a mourning veil. Sunlight tried to break through, yet only a sickly pale glow seeped across the rooftops, offering neither warmth nor hope.
While most slept, one person was already awake.
Vanessa moved through the infirmary hall with eyes heavy from exhaustion, yet hands steady and purposeful. Her apron was stained with herbs and dried potion residue, her hair tied messily behind her, dark strands escaping to brush against her cheeks. Fatigue weighed on her limbs, but she did not slow—not when innocent lives depended on her.
Bunk after bunk, she checked pulses, listened to steady breaths, and gently wiped sweat from foreheads burning with fever. Many lay unconscious, some tossing in delirious dreams. For the first time in a while, Children sleeping soundly without the cries of pain. Elders looking more vibrant than ever.
Beside each patient, small clay bowls of Zodac's enhanced healing potion lay half-empty. She lifted their heads with tender care, whispering encouragement as she dripped bitter liquid past trembling lips.
"Just a bit more… come on, breathe… good."
Her voice was tired, but still warm.
At sunrise, the cleric in white finally woke, his face weary but determined. He joined her wordlessly, handing out warm broth to those able to eat. The two worked side by side, maintaining a fragile line between life and death.
Hours passed.
The fog outside thickened ominously, pressing against walls and windows like an animal trying to enter. Shadows crawled across the wooden floorboards as if alive. People coughed, groaned. A baby cried, then fell silent again.
Vanessa paused only to draw breath.
Zodac still asleep in the abandoned house the cleric had shown him to and arranged for him the previous night, unaware of the morning's weight.
But **almost at noon**, footsteps echoed across the empty street.
Zodac awoke slowly, eyes snapping open the moment silence became too familiar. The abandoned house was cold, dust-filled, and creaked with every faint breeze. He sat up, feeling the lingering soreness from yesterday's exertion. His muscles protested, but his will remained firm.
He washed quickly using chilled water from a wooden basin, the shock helping clear his mind. Armor plates were strapped on with practiced ease—dark, polished metal that glinted beneath tattered robes. His weapons hung at his side like loyal companions.
The world outside was worse than last night.
Fog swirled thicker than mist should naturally be—twisting, slithering, brushing against his boots like curious serpents. It was dense enough that even midday light looked like twilight, shadows long and distorted.
Zodac stepped through the haze, each breath tasting faintly metallic.
Poison lingering thicker. Mana saturation rising. This is accelerating faster than expected.
When he reached the infirmary building, he reached for the door—but the moment he cracked it open, **the fog reacted**.
It surged forward like a predator sensing prey. The mist twisted unnaturally toward the entrance, tendrils coiling and stretching like fingers desperate to slip inside.
Zodac instinctively slammed the door shut, wood rattling violently.
The cleric rushed forward from within.
"Sir Zodac? Is something wrong?"
Zodac's voice hardened like steel.
"No matter what happens, do **not** open this door. Not for anyone. Keep every window shut. If the fog enters, the people would be in danger."
The cleric swallowed, but nodded firmly. "Understood."
Zodac turned, facing the silhouette of the hill looming beyond the village—tall, steep, crowned by swirling clouds.
"That's where I'm headed."
He began to walk, boots crunching against gravel softened with damp rot. The fog parted around him, reluctantly, as though wary of something within him. His Hector aura protected him slightly—but even he could feel a prickling at the edges of his lungs, a faint burning under his skin.
-
The journey grew brutal.
The higher he climbed, the thicker the fog became, turning the world ghostlike and drowned in silence. Trees stood like skeletal sentinels on either side of the path—once vibrant evergreens, now sickly and fading. Leaves curled brown, brittle, and some shimmered with unnatural shades of violet, as though tainted from within.
Hours dragged on. Sweat clung to Zodac's skin beneath his armor. His breath grew heavy.
"Damn… even I'm feeling it," he muttered, covering his mouth with his cloak.
The air stung his throat. A few sharp coughs escaped before he controlled himself.
He pushed forward.
Eventually, the fog became so dense he could barely see a step ahead. But through the murk, a faint silhouette appeared—large, imposing, unmoving.
"The corpse…" he whispered.
He approached slowly. The stench was heavy—rot, mana decay, ancient blood dried and corrupted. Even Zodac felt nausea coil in his gut.
He raised his left arm.
"Time to clear this fog."
He summoned his crest.
**Chronic Bat Crest**
**Raygust Crest**
**—Empty Slot—**
"Raygust," he commanded.
The mighty shield materialized in his right hand, humming with dormant power.
"Unify."
The crest fused, metal veins crawling across the shield. A faint aura swelled around him.
"Boost Gear—times three."
Blue radiance surged, flickering like lightning beneath his skin.
He planted his feet, gripped the shield tightly, and lifted it skyward.
"*SCREECH BLAST!*"
The bat emblem on the shield opened like the maw of a demon.
**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!!**
A sound like tearing steel and screaming wind shredded the air. Shockwaves rolled across the mountain. Stones trembled. Trees bent. Even Zodac clenched his teeth as pain lanced through his skull.
Fog evaporated in an instant.
The blast tore through the valley—scattering corrupted mana like frightened birds. The mountain breathed clear for the first time in weeks.
Silence crashed down.
Raygust vanished. The crest dimmed. Zodac collapsed to one knee, palms digging into cold rock.
Ringing filled his ears like swarming insects. His vision blurred. He tasted iron.
"Too… strong…" he breathed, forcing himself upright.
When he could finally see again, he looked around—and what he found chilled him deeper than the fog ever could.
The trees—the ones now visible—stood half-dead, bark blackened with corruption. Leaves that once might have been emerald now hung wilted, dull purple staining their veins like poison crawling inward.
He exhaled, frost fogging in the cold air.
Then he saw it.
Not twenty meters ahead lay the corpse of the dragon.
Or what remained of it.
Its scales, once vibrant azure, had dulled to ashy grey. Flesh peeled away in ribbons, revealing bone and torn muscle beneath. Wings were shredded, barely more than skeletal frames. Deep slashes carved across its body, each one a reminder of brutal battle. Its skull was cracked open where its eye once rested—empty, soulless.
"Doma really did a number on you," Zodac muttered.
He approached with caution, Kogestu materializing in his hand.
But something was wrong.
A faint glow pulsed beneath the dragon's sternum—soft at first, then brighter, a sickly purple hue. Veins of light crawled through its body like rotten roots awakening. Bones creaked. Muscles twitched. The ground trembled.
Pebbles danced around Zodac's feet.
"What…?"
He stepped back—and the corpse **moved**.
From torn flesh, purple mist seeped out like breath from hell itself. The fog converged, returning not as air—but as **spirit**.
The dragon's skull slowly lifted.
Its wings rose like broken curtains of bone.
Its empty socket turned toward him—and found him.
**RROOOAAAAARRRRRRR!!!**
A roar of death and hatred exploded from its maw. Wind blasted against Zodac, forcing him to skid back, cloak whipping violently.
He stared—frozen, heart thundering.
Before him stood a dragon not alive, yet not dead.
Animated by plague. Fueled by corruption.
An undead dragon.
Zodac tightened his grip on Kogestu, eyes narrowed.
"I'm…" he exhaled, a humorless smirk forming despite the dread standing before him.
"…so screwed."