Chapter 2
Despite Ella’s departure, the afternoon was no different from any other, and sunlight warmly embraced the village.
At the village’s only bakery, the smell of burning wood mingled with the savory scent of grain.
Even so, unlike usual, few people came and went, and the village was eerily quiet, as though deserted.
“Cough, cough”
Only the incessant sounds of coughing filled the empty streets.
“Wife, are you all right? Your cough has gotten worse.”
“I’m… fine, cough!”
Jang, who ran the small bakery, wanted to believe it was nothing more than a common cold.
That she was merely suffering more severely because she was physically frail.
His faint hope was shattered by the fishy smell of blood brushing his nostrils.
Blood came gushing out with her cough.
“W... Wife!”
He saw the hand covering her mouth grow stained red before his eyes.
She could do nothing to stop the blood pouring out.
At first, he had thought it was merely a cold.
Until just days ago, the streets had rung painfully loud with the bargaining voices of women.
The fields had been filled with the sounds of sturdy men at work.
But now, all that could be heard in every alley was coughing.
His hand, reaching toward her, came to a stop.
His wife was shaking her head desperately, as if telling him not to come any closer.
At that moment, an itch rose deep in his throat, as though scraped by a needle.
The trembling that began in his hand soon spread up his arm and over his body.
Even the sound of him swallowing against the sudden terror felt deafeningly clear.
The cough forcing its way up his throat made him realize it.
That he, too, was no different.
And he desperately held his breath so no one would notice.
Yet he did not know that someone was hiding nearby, watching them.
_____
“Cough, cough, keh… Mom…”
It had only been a few days since her daughter and husband had left, yet time seemed to pass more and more slowly.
Normally, she would have been busy with farmwork and housework, but she could not bring herself to leave her son’s side as his breathing grew weaker.
The cough that had seemed so ordinary had since taken on a metallic rasp.
Each time Alex’s back arched like a bow with his cough, she felt as though her heart would stop.
His hand lay limp and powerless.
It felt like a corpse’s hand, so she hurriedly grasped it.
Though she kept replacing the damp cloth, his body was still burning hot.
“It’s all right… Everything will be all right. Alex… my baby. Your sister and Dad will be back soon. Just wait a little longer. You’ll get better, I promise.”
But the child’s eyes were already losing focus, and her whispered voice merely echoed hollowly.
Everything had been fine until her husband left.
It was only that many people had caught colds because of the sudden rains over the past few days.
That was what she had thought.
But within hours of her husband’s departure, the village’s atmosphere changed drastically.
It began with Jang’s wife, who ran the bakery.
Though she had always been frail, black boils had broken out all over her body only hours after she began vomiting blood.
The mark of a demon.
Someone saw it and cried out those words.
That one phrase quickly spread throughout the village.
People barred every door and hid themselves from an unseen terror.
Suspicion filled the village.
“Darling… Ella… You both have to stay safe…”
_____
Starting with Jang’s wife, death swept through the village in an instant.
Though it had been only a few days since people in the village first began coughing, it was already filled with the sound of coughing.
“Chief! Since last night, the number of people covered in black boils has grown too large to count on two hands! Shouldn’t we send a messenger to the church?”
The door flew open without so much as a knock, and an old man with a head full of white hair turned.
The room was bleak, with countless sheets of paper strewn across the floor.
In the midst of it all, the old man sat clutching his head, carefully writing each character one by one.
The uninvited visitor who broke the room’s silence was one of the village’s young men.
“Ah, Jack. I was waiting for you.”
The old man turned his head back toward the table.
He continued writing a letter.
As though the cheap stationery were more precious than anything else in the world.
His hands slipped the letter into an envelope with a touch that was gentle yet firm.
“I called for you because you’re the best rider in this village.”
“Then that means—!”
Hearing the young man’s excited cry, he gave a bitter smile.
“Yes. Deliver this letter to the church in the domain capital. They’ll send clergy.”
“I’ll deliver it, no matter what, for everyone’s sake.”
Unlike the young man’s resolute voice, the old man’s thoughts were in turmoil.
He was the wisest person in the village.
And so, he knew reality all too well.
The church.
Those granted divine power by God.
With that tremendous supernatural power, the popes of each denomination wielded authority equal to the king’s.
The chance that people who showed no interest in anything that did not turn a profit would save his village was slim.
But even so, he could not simply sit on his hands.
He had to do something.
Even if the rope was rotten, he had to grasp it for the sake of those who trusted him.
Clack.
With the sound of the door closing, he sank weakly to the floor.
Dear God, please bless us.
All he could do was place his faith in what he had spent the night writing and erasing over and over,
tearing at his hair again and again because he could not decide which words to choose, and pray.
_____
At last, the towering church came into view.
A building surrounded by dazzling white materials that looked extraordinarily expensive.
A cross entwined with grapevines hung above the building.
A symbol of prayers for abundance.
Only when his destination finally came within reach did fatigue wash over him.
Perhaps it was because he had raced there in a straight line, without taking so much as a rest, along a road rarely used.
Though the sun had not yet set, he had managed to reach the church.
The horse’s gasping breaths, as though it might collapse, pierced his ears.
But he had no time to tend to it, so he leapt down and ran toward the church.
“May abundance be with you, brother. What brings you here?”
“A demonic curse has appeared in Liam Village! The village chief asked me to deliver this letter!”
At Jack’s scream, the priest recoiled—but only for a moment.
“You there. Come here.”
He called over a shabby-looking boy who had been sweeping the floor.
“Take the letter and follow me. You wait here for a moment. I’ll inform the bishop and return.”
“Here it is.”
Though Jack hesitated briefly at the priest’s suspicious behavior, his body was already at its limit, leaving him no strength to think deeply.
Relieved that he had delivered the letter safely, his strength gradually gave out.
Father Marcus soon brought the boy before a huge, gold-adorned door, cleared his throat, and spoke.
“Ahem, ahem. Bishop Nelson, this is Father Marcus. It seems a plague is spreading in the remote village of Liam.”
“A plague? Open the door. I’ll have to hear the details.”
At the sound of that deep voice, the massive, immaculately maintained door opened smoothly without a sound.
The bishop’s office was lavishly decorated with all manner of ornaments.
Bishop Nelson had a sturdy build unusual for a priest and was gazing out the window.
Even so, the sunlight cast across the marble floor lent him a devout appearance.
“The village chief sent a letter. To be safe, I avoided direct contact.”
Father Marcus bowed deeply toward him.
The old letter in the boy’s hands beside him trembled precariously.
“So, you’re saying you didn’t receive the letter yourself, but entrusted it to that child?”
At the bishop’s low yet powerful voice, Marcus barely managed to move his stiff hand and wipe away the cold sweat.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. However, according to the messenger who brought it, the plague seemed to be raging throughout the village… It was an unavoidable measure to prevent the contagion from spreading.”
The bishop turned his head toward him.
His gaze moved past Marcus to the boy and gleamed with interest.
“Then read the letter, Marcus. I need to know what it says.”
“B… but, Your Grace. It’s contaminated…”
He let his words trail off as he looked at the boy.
Seeing Marcus trying to shift the blame, the bishop’s lips curled into a faint sneer.
“Can you not hear me?”
“… I shall obey your command, Bishop. Boy, open the letter.”
The boy did not dare raise his head. He fidgeted before opening the letter with trembling hands.
“To the revered Bishop, representative of the Light. I am Bazal, the lowly village chief of Liam Village. I take up my pen to beg for mercy, for a terrible calamity has befallen our village. On the bodies of the victims, black boils too dreadful to even speak of have bloomed like the curse of a demon.”
Father Marcus’s voice trembled faintly, but the bishop merely gazed out the window, listening to the reading without so much as a twitch.
“If this continues, before long this little village will have not even a single handful of wheat to offer God, much less a sacrifice—”
“That is enough.”
With his throat parched with thirst, Marcus ran his tongue over his lips once and stood motionless, as if nailed in place.
How long did the silence last?
The bishop spoke quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, Bishop.”
“Burn that letter at once, and confine the messenger and that boy in the basement for a week. You, too, are forbidden from contacting anyone else during that time.”
“… Yes? Then what will become of the village?”
The bishop remained silent for a long while, until the sunlight from outside brushed past him.
His face seemed peaceful, but Marcus did not miss the moment when the fingertips drawing the sign of the cross faltered.
His gray eyes passed over Marcus and stopped on the men guarding the door.
“To prevent a greater evil… to stop a greater blaze… the firewood must be removed. God will recognize our devotion as well.”
His voice held no emotion.
It sounded as though he were merely repeating the words to himself.
“Summon the inquisitors. Begin the purification.”