Chapter 388 - 379: Holy Water and Worms

Chapter 388: Chapter 379: Holy Water and Worms

Silver Moon Earl’s Domain, Dusk Star Manor.

The air was filled with the rich fragrance of roses and desserts, but no one was truly in the mood to enjoy them. Even the splashing of the fountain and the string music from the band seemed cautiously subdued, as if afraid to disturb the false tranquility. The lavishly dressed noble guests held crystal glasses, their smiles stiff, their gazes inevitably drawn to the man in the center of the courtyard—the Marquis of Black Flame, Hector Este.

In the Duchy, the Marquis’s name was now more terrifying than the plague itself. It was rumored that wherever he went, heretics had nowhere to hide, yet the sheer cruelty of his methods sent a chill down the spine of all who heard of them.

The master of the manor, the Silver Moon Count, was currently right by Hector’s side. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he listened with a forced, plastered smile to Hector’s critique of a newly arrived sculpture. The Count’s back was already soaked with cold sweat, but he had to smile. For his domain, for his family, his only choice was to place his hope in this capricious "savior" before him.

"The lines are passable, and the emotion is adequate, but it’s too overwrought," Hector commented leisurely, as if he were discussing an ordinary piece of art, and the shadow of the plague outside the window didn’t exist.

Today was the day the Silver Moon Earl’s Domain would receive the "Blessing of Holy Water."

In the courtyard, the Count’s relatives, along with the Knights and guards under his command, stood in formation, their faces a mixture of piety and nervousness. The rumor that Marquis Hector’s own territory had remained untouched by the plague was already an open secret among the nobility. Everyone said that this Marquis, deeply favored by the Lord of Eternal Splendor, possessed a divinely granted power of protection.

At high noon, the ceremony began.

Hector, now changed into a flawless white ceremonial robe, stepped forward, personally carrying a golden basin. The water within was crystal clear under the sun, utterly immaculate.

"The light of the Lord of Eternal Splendor shall bless every devout soul, washing away all filth and heresy," he proclaimed, his voice loud and clear, his expression focused and holy.

The Silver Moon Count was the first to kneel on one knee. With trembling hands, he took a small silver cup and drank the "Holy Water" in one gulp.

Next were his relatives, Knights, and guards.

At the end of the line, a young guard named Peter nervously swallowed. Following the example of those before him, he drained the "Holy Water" from his cup in one go. The liquid was cool and tasteless.

But in the next second, a searing thread of heat shot up from his stomach, rushing straight for his throat! Peter felt as if his throat were being violently scrubbed back and forth with sandpaper, an itch so intense it was nearly suffocating. But what right did a lowly guard have to cause a commotion at an event like this? He tried to suppress the heart-wrenching urge to cough, but it was immediately followed by an overwhelming wave of nausea.

’I can’t hold it... I’m going to be sick...’

He could no longer hold back and bent over, dry-heaving violently. The surrounding crowd gasped and recoiled in panic.

"Heavens!" a noblewoman’s shriek pierced the air.

In Peter’s blurry vision, he could only see something moving within the filth he had vomited. It was several blood-streaked black threads, writhing and twitching madly on the ground!

’What is that?!’

Almost simultaneously, the groom, Hans, fell stiffly to the ground nearby. His limbs convulsed violently as black worms scrambled out from the corners of his mouth and his nostrils.

"AH—!"

Panic erupted instantly. The crowd scattered, screaming and fleeing. Some were tripped, while others collapsed to the ground in fear. The Silver Moon Count’s face turned from red to white, then from white to a ghastly green. He stood with his mouth agape, unable to utter a single word.

Only Hector remained where he stood, completely still. He even tilted his head slightly, as if admiring a painting composed of screams, panic, and death.

"They were hidden heretics," he concluded calmly, passing judgment on the sudden incident. "The Holy Water has purified their bodies, exposing the souls corrupted by an Evil God."

He didn’t even glance at the two people dying and struggling on the ground, merely turning his gaze to the stunned Captain of the Guard.

"Dispose of them."

The Captain of the Guard flinched. He met Hector’s emotionless gaze, which looked upon the men as if they were two pieces of troublesome trash. A shiver ran down his spine, and he abruptly drew his sword.

"Yes, My Lord Marquis!"

The blade fell, ending the convulsions of Peter and Hans. Fresh blood spattered the verdant lawn, its thick, metallic scent mingling with the fragrance of roses to create a bizarre harmony.

The commotion subsided. The people looked at the two corpses, then back at the unfazed Hector. Fear overwhelmed their doubt, and that doubt eventually transformed into a deeper awe.

After the ceremony, Hector returned to his guest room, where a man dressed as a merchant guild manager was already waiting.

"My Lord Marquis." The manager bowed and handed him a sealed letter.

Hector broke the seal. For the first time, the contents of the letter caused a subtle change in his elegant and composed expression.

"Blood Cough Potion? White Tower Territory?"

He murmured the two phrases, his eyebrows rising slightly. He wasn’t surprised that someone could cure the plague, but rather *who* it was. Velin Klein, the Pioneer Baron who should have been wallowing in the mud of Grey Marsh Territory. The Imperial Royal Mage Academy had guaranteed that for a plague enhanced by an alchemical curse like this, it was impossible for a Caster who didn’t understand the plague’s fundamental nature to create a remedy.

’How could a minor noble from the frontier possibly manage it?’

The manager added in a low voice, "Our intelligence indicates that Velin Klein not only developed the potion, but has also begun mass distribution to the Royal Capital through the Lorenzo family’s channels. They moved so quickly that our intelligence network didn’t even have time to react, so..."

"So, someone has thrown a bucket of dirty water on my meticulously painted scroll," Hector interrupted, his voice devoid of anger, containing only the extreme disgust of a perfectionist whose work has been sullied.

Velin Klein. Every time that name came up, it gave him the same feeling: a thorn in his side. Not fatal, but irritating.

"It seems I can no longer enjoy this process at a leisurely pace," Hector said, rising to his feet and walking to the window. Servants were covering the bloodstains on the lawn with sand, trying to erase what had just happened.

"Relay my orders," he said without turning back. "Accelerate the process. Within one month, all vassals who have accepted my ’goodwill’ must complete the ’blessing’ ceremony. Tell them the plague could mutate at any moment, and the god’s patience is limited."

"Yes."

"Also," Hector turned, the light from the window casting a grim shadow across his face, "send a message to the Empire. Say that the Duchy’s resistance has exceeded expectations, and the prey is more cunning than anticipated."

The manager’s breath hitched.

Hector uttered the final directive: "Request to initiate ’Phase Two’."

The manager didn’t dare ask further questions. He knew full well what "Phase Two" meant. He asked with a trembling voice, "My Lord Marquis, right now... isn’t it too soon?"

"Soon?" Hector laughed, a smile cold and devoid of warmth. "No. It is the Count of White Tower who has given me the perfect excuse."

He adjusted his cuffs with slow, deliberate movements.

"The best time to deliver the fatal blow is when the entire Duchy is immersed in the false joy of salvation."

A messenger raven took flight from the manor, soaring over fields and rivers like a black thunderbolt, speeding toward the Empire.