Taming the Dark Lord

Chapter 86 – Her Only Chance (2)

In the dark dungeon, rainwater seeped through the cracks of the dilapidated room, snaking through the floor’s fissures making the place damp and swampy. The stonewalls were cold to the touch from the onslaught of the storm.

The shriveled witch, who was only dressed in thin, worn-out garments, trembled on her spot as she bunched a pile of straws to her chest in an attempt to keep warm. Her limbs were shaking profusely and she could barely keep herself awake.

“What are you doing here?” She piped hoarsely at the unexpected visitor.

Amelia stood on the stone steps and brought several clean quilts with her. She used her magic to float the fabrics toward the witch where it squeezed through the gap of the iron fence, and covered the witch into a warm bundle.

The witch’s hands and feet finally stopped from trembling, free from the unforgiving cold as she exhaled a sigh of relief.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” The witch muttered, all the while clenching the quilts tightly to herself. She was hidden beneath the shadows and one could only hear the sound of her grim voice, her face completely obscured in the dark.

“You’d freeze to death if I didn’t come.” Amelia bit her lips to prevent her teeth from chattering. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep her from shaking further. “I know you can fend for yourself, but you haven’t eaten much these days…” Her words stopped, hesitating for a brief moment before continuing. “Do you by any chance know about a plague characterized by black spots?”

“Plague?” The witch repeated. “There’s a plague? Right now?”

“Yes.” Amelia responded.

The witch suddenly stood up, dropping the quilts atop the straw pile. Her hands made its way to the iron railings and clenched it as if her life depended on it, ignoring the icy feeling of the metal bars, cold enough to burn. “What about it? Are they still alive?”

Amelia was silent for a brief moment before she nodded her head.

The witch’s fingers clenched the bars more tightly that her knuckles turned white. She shivered now that she was no longer wrapped in quilts, regarding Amelia with a look so worrying that Amelia avoided her eyes. “Be careful. The plague is very contagious. You can tell me anything.” The witch prodded.

Unable to face the concern in the witch’s eyes, Amelia turned around and left the dungeon as if she was being chased down.

The guard standing in front of the door had a troubled expression pasted on his face, and he was rubbing and scratching his neck with his right hand.

Amelia knew exactly what he felt since she could feel the same irritating itch on her shoulder blade, which was also accompanied by a dull-aching pain. As much as she wanted to scratch the prickling itch, she couldn’t since it would be really painful.

Accidentally grazing it with a fingernail would render pus to come oozing out of the spot instantly, and it happened to a believer earlier when they were at the conference room, unintentionally scratching it that the pungent smell of pus gushed out like a tide— like the blood of those people who were assimilated by the plague. It would be difficult to put an end to the streaming pus once it was ripped open.

From then on, small pustules would develop in the sickening pus, like maggots forming on weeks-old meat. The itching would amplify into a scorching, blistering pain in a matter of seconds, so unbearable that he or she would want to die instead.

The infection rate only took a day to infect all of the civilians, the result of having too many surging cases in the treatment center.

So if one had black spots on his body, the next day could only guarantee his looming death. And it was a rapid, tortuous path one unfortunately had to go through before succumbing to his deathbed.

Amelia blinked her sleepy eyes that somehow grew dry, trying to ignore the itch that she could feel drilling all the way to her bone marrow. She quickly left the crowded space and went to the warehouse.

While she was in the conference room earlier, she was suddenly reminded of Bella, the witch of divination, who said that they would be facing a crisis that was fatal— Could it be that the crisis she was referring to was the plague they’re currently dealing with?

Whether that was the case or not, she still needed to go on.

The believers all busied themselves; others were still fruitlessly trying to contact the sanctuary to no avail, a few went to the library and read books and a lot of them also fell to the ground wailing desperately.

Only the warehouse where the treasure was kept was empty. A huge lock was unfastened as it hung by the door.

Here we go again. Amelia thought.  She saw the familiar cover in front of her, and the golden handwritings started to squirm and crawled towards her.

“Don’t move. I’m here.” She lifted the glass cover, and the black book trembled in its place.  “I don’t have much time.” Amelia said. “How do we get past this plague?”

The black book opened and flipped its pages maddeningly like it was waiting for Amelia all this time. After finding the page it seemed to be looking for, a page full of handwriting was revealed in front of her and Amelia quickly scanned the texts.

Plague?

This is the last cursed spell of a powerful necromancer… one that he casted as he was dying. He was tortured, his mind collapsed and the last ounce of purity in him annihilated his soul. He cursed that the pain he felt should be inflicted on numerous people.

Especially the shameless saint who bewitched the gods.

His curse had been embedded in every person, even to those who only had a small trace of the thief’s soul, like gangrene attached to bones.

There would be no cure for anyone.

And there was no doubt that all of them would die.

Amelia stopped reading for a second, and the fingers clutched on the book’s spine was pale as paper.

But

The page turned.

She still has the chance to live.

The dark elf who is with her was the only way she could continue living.

God is such a great and loving being that he even shined on a tiny human.

Go, pray to the gods.

And you won’t be disappointed, his favorite believer.