Chapter 749: Dave (6)
“Ueek—!!”
Underneath the blackened sky, where a dragon swam through the air, breathing fire...
Someone, midway through drinking water, retched and vomited.
Drinking water itself wasn’t unusual. Humans needed water to survive, and in the capital, where an immense fire blazed, throats were parched simply from breathing, compelling everyone to drink.
What was unusual was the vomiting.
Why had they vomited? Did the water go down the wrong way?
That could have been it, but there was no sound of coughing, so it wasn’t from swallowing wrong.
The issue wasn’t with the method of drinking, but with the water itself.
“B-blood?”
Amidst the burning streets, a person waiting their turn to evacuate looked at the water they had just vomited and murmured.
It was unmistakably blood.
That thick crimson hue, that overpowering metallic stench that made the head spin, the sticky consistency...
The color, the smell, the texture—everything confirmed it was blood.
“B-blood…?”
The man who had retched stared around him with a dazed look, as if he couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
Just a few moments ago, it had clearly been water, but suddenly it had turned into blood.
This incomprehensible phenomenon left him feeling utterly foolish and made those around him cast strange glances his way.
“Come on now, stand up! We can’t be sitting around here—”
“—Blood! It turned into blood!?”
A scream laced with déjà vu cut through, interrupting the speaker. Everyone turned to see what was causing such an uproar.
And they understood immediately.
Despite the chaos of the fire and the riots, the fountain that had been continuously spraying water toward the sky had suddenly begun spewing forth dark red blood.
“Urgh…!”
The nauseating stench of blood erupted from the massive fountain, causing the surrounding crowd to cover their noses and mouths.
This wasn’t just the typical smell of blood.
It was so potent that it made one’s head reel, stripped away reason, and left only a wild, primal fear.
It was so utterly horrifying that it left people paralyzed, unable to think of what to do next. The sickening scent spread across the entire capital, and perhaps even beyond...
Ribbit.
But that was not the end.
From the fountain, where the sticky blood sprayed, a single green frog leapt out, followed by countless others tumbling forth in a cascade.
“…”
The sight was so surreal that people instinctively backed away, unable to believe what they were seeing.
Anyone would feel an instinctive sense of revulsion in the face of such a mass of frogs. But what was even stranger was the nature of these frogs.
They showed no survival instincts, something that all living things should possess.
Splat!
Some were crushed underfoot.
Bang!
Others were blasted apart by gunshots.
Yet, all the while, the frogs merely croaked, filling in any gaps in their ranks. They displayed none of the behaviors typical of living creatures.
Their grotesque presence filled everyone with fear, despite no immediate physical threat, freezing them in place.
Only one thought circled in their minds, blank as a sheet—danger.
Clack—!
Just then, the sound of something hard striking the ground echoed, breaking the crowd free from their paralysis.
People looked in the direction of the noise and saw a man standing against the solemn silence of the background—Woodcutter Dave.
'Wait... silence?'
Those who had been transfixed, staring at Dave, suddenly realized something and glanced around.
It was the frogs.
Despite having continued their advance even as they were crushed underfoot and shot at, the swarm had halted in its tracks and was now silently watching Dave.
And then, Dave spoke to the motionless mass of frogs.
“Return to where you came from. That is my command.”
Amazingly, the frogs, which had continued onward even in death, began turning back at his words, heading back into the blood-filled fountain.
Not only the fountain, but all across the capital, even beyond the reaches of sight, the frogs all returned to the place they had emerged from.
Croaking as they went.
Clack… clack… clack…
With a steady rhythm of his quarterstaff tapping the ground, Dave walked down the now-cleared street.
Clack… clack… clack… clunk.
The sound ceased as Dave stopped in front of the fountain.
Within the fountain, where the frogs had returned, blood still filled it to the brim.
The blood was so dark it appeared almost black, its stench so overwhelming that just smelling it made one’s stomach churn and vision blur.
It was a smell that could only be described as utterly unearthly.
Yet, standing before it, Dave didn’t so much as wrinkle his nose.
Was it because he was a Black Magician? Or because he was the capital's greatest Fixer?
But no—standing before the blood fountain, he almost seemed... sacred.
Shnk.
After staring intently at the fountain, Dave drew a dagger from behind his waist.
It was a simple, worn dagger, though the blade was tinged with a dark red, reminiscent of blood.
Setting his quarterstaff upright, Dave immediately ran the blade across his palm.
A red, smile-like wound appeared on his hand, and from it, blood began to flow.
Drip.
Without hesitation, Dave let his blood fall into the fountain.
“Return to your original state. That is my command.”
He issued the command again, this time to the calamity known as the Omen.
Miraculously, in response to Dave's words, the fountain's bloody hue cleared, returning to its original transparent state.
Not only the fountain but every body of water across the capital and beyond that had been tainted with blood reverted to its clear state.
Witnessing this, the crowd around him fell silent, their eyes wide with awe as they gazed up at Dave.
“Hoo…”
Dave let out a long, tired sigh.
“Ah… ah…”
Soft sounds of amazement drifted up from the crowd, almost like a trance.
These voices were filled with an emotion beyond rational thought, a mix of reverence and wonder.
Thud...
One by one, members of the crowd began to fall to their knees.
Some knelt with a gentle collapse, others with a fervent thud, as if shattering their knees, while others knelt with deep humility and devotion.
The wealthy and the poor, laborers and nobility, men, women, children, and the elderly—all knelt, united and equal in reverence.
From their lips rose murmurs from the depths of their souls.
“Ah.”
“Ahh…”
“Aah… aah!”
Then, some pressed their foreheads to the ground, while others raised tear-streaked faces toward Dave, hands clasped in worship or pressed to the earth in humility, even holding their hands up to the sky as if to exalt his presence.
Those whose arms were broken pressed their faces and bodies to the soot-covered ground, expressing their devotion with every fiber of their being.
It was a raw, fervent display of faith.
The only sound was the reverent, humble murmurs of the devotees.
In that moment, even the fierce flames seemed to quiet, as if bestowing a silent blessing upon this sacred act of worship.
“Stop it.”
A voice colder than ice shattered the sacred silence.
It was a profane act, but no one could rebuke him.
For it was Dave, the master of that silence, who had spoken.
“Haa… please, everyone, that’s enough,” he said, speaking once more to the crowd.
This man, who had calmed the city’s chaos and reversed an Omen on his own, was now humbly asking ordinary people to stop.
The crowd shuddered, filled with an unnamable fear.
Even though the storm and tide bore no malice, people trembled.
“I am not someone to be worshipped, nor did I come here to see such displays. I am merely here to lend you a small helping hand.”
Looking at the bowed figures, Dave repeated his words.
He was not a being to be revered, only one who had come to help.
In his expression lay a hint of sadness and resolve, and seeing this, the people began to calm down.
“So, everyone, please rise and move your legs. The reason God gave humans a mind was to allow them to think for themselves, and legs so they could act on their own. Do not pray. Move on your own.”
Clack!
With that, Dave struck his quarterstaff against the ground once more.
Suddenly, a strange discomfort spread across the crowd, and as they checked their clothes, they found lice crawling within, disintegrating into dust in an instant.
“Go now!” Dave shouted as he turned the lice back to dust.
Startled, the kneeling crowd quickly got to their feet and, with newfound resolve, resumed their escape along the path of flame that Dave had pointed out.
Still, they would need more time.
Whirrr…
Just as they started to move, a piercing noise echoed from above, where the dragon scorched the black sky.
Whirrrrr…
An endless swarm of flies descended, undeterred even by the dragon’s flames.
Raising a hand toward the sky, Dave issued another command.
“Return. That is my command.”
...
“This way!”
Deep beneath the royal palace, in a labyrinth of underground passageways.
A Holy Knight, sweating profusely, shouted urgently.
Normally, they would have moved in silence to avoid detection, but the situation was far too dire for that. It didn't matter if they were seen or not—they just had to move quickly.
Not only was time running out, but the conditions were hostile.
“Are you all right?” Joanna, surrounded by a protective barrier imbued with Sacred Blood, asked the Holy Knight leading them.
He was positioned right at the edge of the barrier, guiding their way.
“Yes, please don’t worry about me.”
But Joanna was concerned.
The area around the royal palace was engulfed in a strange heat, making it impossible for anyone to survive without protection. Even Holy Knights, stripped of their holy powers, were no exception.
They could remain there only because of Joanna’s protective barrier, which meant that any slip out of its range would turn them into nothing but kindling.
Just like the Crown Prince and the others beyond the wall of unknown heat.
“There’s... a way underground…” one of the Capital's Holy Knights had stammered, a haunted look on his face after witnessing the Crown Prince and his entourage burned alive.
He had muttered something about there being something underground, that if anything was going on, it had to be there.
“The palace's underground has long been at the center of many conspiracies throughout its history.”
“How do you know that?”
“…I apologize.”
The knight had offered no further explanation, only an apology.
But Joanna, herself a knight, could guess at his meaning.
Being a Holy Knight involved more than just protection duties; it sometimes required forging close ties with influential leaders, turning a blind eye to secrets and sins, and covertly reporting to the Holy See.
Joanna had engaged in similar questionable acts back in Landa.
And she knew the same was likely true here in the capital.
The man, the former head of the capital’s Holy Knights branch, was probably risking everything now to cleanse his own guilt.
Brazen, yes, but Joanna wanted to encourage him. As someone who had committed her own shameful deeds, she wanted to understand him.
“Here it is!”
Without warning, the Holy Knight shouted, kicking open a shadowy entrance to the underground, deep below the palace.
Though stripped of his holy powers, his trained body easily smashed down the old door, revealing what lay within.
Corpses lay inside.
From the ancient remains bearing signs of torture and ritual, to the bodies of women and children who seemed to have died only recently, likely victims of the city's recent riots.
"Victims of the past and present."
As she looked upon the bodies, all dressed in ceremonial robes and ornaments, a single word came to Joanna’s mind.
Victims of the world, both past and present.
Every victim was staring in one direction.
Toward a wooden throne on a raised dais, where a figure in red sat, and before them, a woman holding a crown of thorns.
Horrifyingly, the woman’s lips were sewn shut.
“White Swan Princess?”
One of the knights whispered her moniker with a trembling voice.
Hearing her name, the woman turned her head in their direction. Forcing her stitched lips to move, she managed to utter a single word.
A drop of blood fell each time her lips moved.
“You’re… too late.”
With that, she placed the crown of thorns on the head of the red figure seated on the throne.