Chapter 385: The Death Lord (5k)
“Hu hu hu~”
In the Healing Rot Church of the McDowell Furnace Village, within the borders of the Kingdom of Sardinia, Fisher slowly shifted his gaze away from the narrow confessional booth after hanging up the phone.
At this moment, because of the pursuit of death, his body had become exceedingly weak, like a terminally ill patient lying on a hospital bed waiting for the inevitable. In reality, his situation was even worse than that of a terminally ill patient; death was not only consuming his vitality but was also accelerating this process in every possible way.
Seven days ago, he left the Parasol Tree and went to the Troll Tribe’s camp. He informed Daliwu, Kokoliah, and the Slime tribe, who were waiting for news, about the curse being lifted from the Parasol Tree and Valentina falling into a deep sleep with the true blood of the Phoenix. They decided to continue waiting for Valentina, the last of the Phoenix tribe, to awaken. They hadn’t forgotten their loyalty to the Phoenix, and what happened afterward would have to wait until Valentina awoke.
Upon hearing about Fisher’s current state, the two Troll elders and Emhart reviewed every book they could access, but none contained any clues regarding “death.” So far, Fisher was still unclear on how the demon god Ag, imprisoned in the abyss, created the Death Rune and how it actually functioned.
After struggling for several days, Fisher truly felt that he might be destined to not escape this calamity.
Before departing, the Slimes, in gratitude for Fisher’s past help, decided to gift him three opportunities for free teleportation. Fisher had roughly planned it out: one trip to Pirate Harbor, one return to Saint Nali, and the last to the Southern Continent for a final meeting with those he cared about; then he could calmly welcome death.
The Slimes agreed to his request, but before that, he needed to confirm a bit of what had been left behind in the Northern Region. He first went to the Snow Fox Tribe’s camp, where he saw the Snow Fox, who had been rescued by Erwind, along with Balzak, Felis, and Selti, who were preparing to leave the camp. He briefly explained the situation at the Parasol Tree.
Felis planned to go elsewhere to continue her mercenary work and was not ready to leave the Northern Region for the time being; Selti intended to return to the Western Continent to continue her studies. She was very young and would surely make contributions to mechanical studies in the future.
Balzak did not reach the Parasol Tree and therefore could not write an academic paper on it, but he had developed another research topic, which was about “the evolutional impetus of panaceas on diseases.” This research stemmed from a conversation between the Snow Fox Tribe chief and Erwind. He wasn’t sure if it counted as academic plagiarism, but if it succeeded, his chances of returning to Shivali would be significantly high.
In any case, everything in the Northern Region seemed to be on the rise except for Fisher. He smoothly arrived at the last stop in the North, the Healing Rot Church in McDowell located at the southern end of the Kingdom of Sardinia, where he still had his last friend in the North, Sister Ilos of the Moon Rabbit Tribe.
The Slimes were now waiting for him in the city of McDowell. If he decided to leave the Northern Region, he would go find them, and they would teleport Fisher to his desired destination. Here, Fisher met Ilos, who had previously fixed the church with Valentina’s help and had installed a cross-border phone, supposedly for contacting friends met along the journey. Fisher then impulsively decided to call Elizabeth first.
At the confession booth, Fisher let out a breath, holding onto the phone for a long time. In his arms, Emhart was pressed against him, apparently having already exhausted all means to help Fisher earlier. Such efforts rendered futile transformed that hope into despair.
After a long time, Fisher finally put down the phone and patted Emhart’s book cover with his now gaunt hand, whispering, “Where’s Ilos?”
“She’s outside. Who told you to be so annoying? Finally, the news you bring after a long absence is that you’re dying. She’s probably sad too, right?”
“I don’t want it this way either. You know I like ladies. Leaving all of a sudden leaves me unsatisfied. But sometimes, things just can’t be helped. Right now, I can only think of the good things that’ll happen after I die to ease my own tension.”
Emhart glanced at him, saying quietly, “Only now do you admit you’re a jerk? Really late.”
Fisher smiled slightly without denying it, instead recalling Heidi Lin, who had disappeared among the Snow Fox Tribe. During this time, Emhart had informed Fisher about Heidi Lin being Baemon, and Fisher suspected she had some plans for the Northern Region. However, her level was far too high; even if she had objectives, he would not know, let alone the current rapidly changing circumstances.
He shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it any longer. A week had passed since the one-month period defined by Erwind, and although he could still live for about three more weeks, he could clearly feel his physical condition deteriorating daily. He estimated that by the end, he would be unable to move at all, and he needed to seize the time to meet the people he wanted to see.
“Let’s do this then. We should prepare to set off. Staying here only adds trouble for Ilos. By the way, Emhart, I’m still curious about where you will go after I die. You haven’t mentioned it to me before.”
“.Why does it matter to you?”
While Emhart was being snarky, he burrowed into Fisher’s arms, shrinking back into the pocket he usually liked to stay in.
Just as Fisher raised an eyebrow to continue questioning, the sound of hurried footsteps suddenly came from the direction of the church hall. He looked up to see Ilos, dressed in her nun’s robe and slightly red-eyed, approaching. Fisher opened his mouth to say something but unexpectedly, she spoke first,
“Mr. Fisher, it seems someone is outside, saying they want to see you.”
“See me? Is it the Slimes?”
Fisher thought for a moment in confusion. He had discussed with the Slimes to wait in McDowell for him, so they shouldn’t be in such a hurry. But if it was someone else, who could be looking for him?
Emhart, hidden in his arms, peeked out an eye. After a moment of silence, Fisher nodded to Ilos, who was secretly wiping her tears, and while walking toward the hall, replied,
“I understand. Thank you.”
At the end of the hall, a statue of the Mother God, bathed in the sunlight of the sky, quietly watched Fisher, who was coughing and slowly making his way to the door. Ilos wanted to come forward to help but was blocked. At the church door before him, a massive door opened slightly, revealing the icy world outside as well as a strange figure.
It was a tall young man who seemed quite odd; his height was about 1.9 meters, with long limbs and a pronounced hunchback. He had black hair and black eyes, a typical image of a Cardu person. His black hair was oily and disheveled, appearing as if it hadn’t been washed in a long time, while a few snowflakes landed on him, staining his pure black leather outfit with contrasting colors.
The man’s complexion was pale, his eyes had dark bags underneath, making him look lifeless and drained of energy. The cold wind blowing in from outside made Fisher cough, and he recognized a strong smell of alcohol wafting from the man. He had no idea how much alcohol this man had consumed.
“Cough cough.”
As Fisher coughed, the man standing at the church door also noticed him. He knocked on the big door, asking in a drunken voice, “Am I allowed in?”
“Who are you?”
Without waiting for Fisher’s consent, he squeezed through the door, burping from the heat, and slowly closed the door behind him.
“It’s too cold outside. Let me in to warm up, blessed by the Mother God. By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Fisher Benavides, and my name is Holland Dionysius. Just call me ‘Holland’. Of course, you can also refer to me as a member of the Creation Association.”
His hunched body slowly turned around, half his face was covered by very obvious shadows, and he smiled darkly at Fisher.
“’The Death Lord.’”
Fisher’s brow furrowed slightly. His left hand unconsciously moved toward the hilt of the Fluid Sword at his waist. But now he was weak from the torment of death, in a state worse than a zero rank. If the Creation Association had sent someone to reclaim the three Completion Manuals on him, he would have no strength to resist.
However, he did not panic. While keeping a vigilant eye on the slender, tall figure of the Death Lord before him, he quietly turned to Ilos, who was puzzled, and said,
“Ilos, go to the second floor. No matter what happens, do not come down, and forget everything you have heard.”
“But—”
“There’s no but. Go now!”
Ilos was startled by Fisher’s sudden raised voice. She cautiously glanced at him, who could barely speak from his efforts, and at the strange man dressed in black before her. She bit her lip, nodded reluctantly, and turned to leave.
The Death Lord yawned, watching Ilos leave without moving, instead sitting on a nearby wooden bench as if tired. Under the Mother God’s loving gaze, he burped disrespectfully and propped his feet up on the front bench.
“There’s no need to be so nervous, Mr. Fisher. I am the second person deployed by the Fate Lord after the Mechanism to assist you. We are not enemies.”
Fisher let out a cold laugh, coughing as he sat down not far across from him.
“Support? After I’ve already defeated Erwind? Your timing is impeccable.”
The Death Lord rolled his eyes, shrugging innocently at Fisher and explaining,
“Can you blame me? I just arrived in the Northern Region two weeks ago and chased all the way from the Kingdom to Miya. You all went up the snow mountain, climbing faster than monkeys! I’m just a human; I don’t have those divine powers like you, so I had to come down when I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t help you at all.”
“I don’t know what the Fate Lord was thinking, sending a novice like me—someone who just joined the Association—to do this job. I’m as much a zero-rank human as you are. If we really have to fight, I figure you can take me down in one hit. I haven’t even had a chance to pay homage at the grave of my predecessor, the Soul Lord, before you took him down; I haven’t even had the opportunity to meet the other bigwig, the Life Lord, before you took him down as well. Shouldn’t I be the one afraid of you?”
The Death Lord smiled slightly, pointing at the coughing Fisher before him, then took out a small flask from his chest and gulped down some liquor.
It was then that Fisher noticed the Death Lord’s words and narrowed his eyes, pondering deeply, yet his hand still remained gripping the hilt of the Fluid Sword at his waist.
“I haven’t been able to help you at all, and while my condition is somewhat dire, I still feel a bit guilty. Moreover, I have a rough idea about the true purpose the Fate Lord has in sending me here. So, here’s the deal: If you have any questions about our association or any matters regarding the Completion Manuals, feel free to ask. After that, could you do me a favor? Then this thing will belong to you.”
As he spoke, the Death Lord took out a square book from his robe. The title “Death Completion Manual” was boldly printed on the antique cover, and Fisher indeed felt that this was the genuine Completion Manual.
“Death… Completion Manual?”
“Exactly. This is also the reason for my title as the Death Lord and the solid evidence of my deception by that old, unkillable Fate Lord. This thing is useless to me, but for you, it could be something else. ‘Death’ has locked onto you, and even an incomplete death is not something easily escaped. There could be a solution hidden inside. So, what do you say? Are you in?”
“.What do you need help with?”
The Death Lord took another swig from the flask, appearing somewhat tipsy as he pointed to his own head, saying, “Kill me.”
“Are you drunk?”
“I’m not! And you should know that if the previous master does not die, this thing cannot circulate at all. So stop stalling, sever my head and kill me, and you’ll grasp the hope of survival.”
“The Fate Lord sends you to give me a death sentence; did she expect that I would be struck by the Death Rune?”
“Uh-huh. You can interpret it that way. Come on, give it a try.”
Fisher remained silent, scrutinizing the peculiarly behaving Death Lord, unable to grasp his or even the Fate Lord’s true intentions.
The Death Lord waited for a long time, but Fisher made no move. Growing somewhat impatient, he clicked his tongue and then reached into his robe, whispering,
“Well then, don’t blame me.”
Fisher raised an eyebrow, watching as he suddenly prepared to draw something from his robe. In his hand emerged a short firearm. At the moment the weapon appeared, Fisher’s body remained motionless while the front end of the Fluid Sword he held came to life, suddenly slicing forward in a broad arc.
“Pffft!”
The blade effortlessly pierced the Death Lord’s neck. With a flash of silver light, the gun he was holding dropped to the ground, and he pressed his hand on his bleeding neck, trembling twice before staggering to the floor.
“Cough cough.”
Fisher coughed again, observing the Death Lord convulsing on the ground. Blood was gushing forth rapidly from the artery, and before long, a pool of blood formed beneath him.
But a second later, something miraculous happened. It was as if some irresistible force was acting upon him; the blood that was flowing away began to retract swiftly into his body. The flesh severed by the Fluid Sword eerily flew back and reorganized, returning to his body.
The Death Lord’s pale face, once drained of color from blood loss, soon regained its hue. The white of his eyes returned to normal as well. Without much surprise, he reached out to touch his neck and, feeling it restored, let out a sigh as he sat upright from the toppled bench.
“Looks like it still doesn’t work. Mr. Fisher, if you hadn’t used the Death Rune when dealing with the Life Lord, I would have been counting on that thing for my death.”
Observing the bizarre scene of death and revival playing out before him, Fisher’s keen senses flared as he scanned the Death Lord’s body, arriving at the conclusion that, just as he said, he was completely just an ordinary human; he had poor physical qualities and no signs of having practiced magic, nor did he exhibit any of that mad feeling from having read a Completion Manual.
Was the Death Lord really a normal human?
“Are you questioning if I have read the Death Completion Manual? Don’t worry; it’s crap. If it weren’t for my death being the only way for it to be transferred to you, I’d be more than willing to give it to you right now.”
Sensing Fisher’s scrutiny, the Death Lord brushed off dust from his black leather coat and cast a disgusted glance at the Death Completion Manual resting on the table, saying.
“How did you manage to do that?”
“Hehe, you should have a basic understanding of the various gods in this world, right? Like the God of All Forms or the Gate and others.”
Upon hearing this, Fisher coughed and followed up with his words.
“Yeah, I know there are a few others.”
“Good to know. Now, have you ever heard of the god who governs ‘death’? A deity that holds equal authority as any other god, governing all rules related to demise in this world.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
The Death Lord, having propped up the fallen bench caused by the Fluid Sword strike, took another gulp from his flask and spoke to Fisher.
“That’s fine. Starting today, you’ll know. He is the god governing death: Heya, the God of Unconsciousness, the Lord of Fated Death, the Ultimate of All Things. He is also the root cause of the calamity we face today.”
