Chapter 2
1.
“Ugh…”
Groans of pain echoed from every direction. They weren’t cries of acute agony—more like fearful whimpers from people awaiting a grim end that could come at any moment.
This crumbling, half-collapsed village was home to people wrapped head to toe in cloth and bandages. Not just their hands, feet, and torsos, but their faces too were thickly bound, leaving only hollow eyes peering through the wrappings and parched, cracked lips exposed. Even beneath their loose outer garments, not an inch of bare skin showed.
Walking among them was a young man—the only one without bandages. He was dressed entirely in black, from his hood down to his carefully crafted animal-hide boots. He stood in stark contrast to the villagers in their yellowed, nearly-white wrappings and cloth.
When the villagers spotted this obvious outsider, they tensed, hunching deeper into their bandages. Most eyes held wariness and fear, though a few gazed enviously at the pale skin visible beneath his hood. Given the unbearable state of their own skin beneath the bandages, it was only natural they’d envy his unblemished flesh.
A middle-aged village chief walked ahead, guiding him. The chief moistened his rough, exposed lips and stopped in front of a wooden house.
“Hnh, ungh… urgh…”
The sounds from inside were different from the whimpers throughout the village. Even through the door, you could hear someone desperately trying to endure unbearable pain.
The village chief glanced sideways at the young man in black before knocking. A woman’s voice came from inside—”Come in”—with barely suppressed sobbing woven through the words.
Creaaak—
The ancient door let out an eerie groan as it scraped open.
Inside the dim, shabby house, everything looked worn and broken. In the center, a man lay flat on his back on what appeared to be a roughly tanned animal hide serving as bedding. Beside him, a small woman hunched over, weeping. Not just around her eyes, but the bandages on her cheeks were soaked through—she’d clearly been crying for hours.
The man, who’d been stifling agonized groans with a cloth bundle between his teeth, looked toward the entrance. His tear-filled, lifeless eyes trembled, then slowly filled with something like hope.
When he tried to speak, the woman quickly pulled the cloth from his mouth.
“Please… hurry…”
His lips moved pitifully, gaze fixed on the young man standing behind the village chief. A faint voice, barely more than a whisper, reached across the room.
“Kill me…”
Hearing this, the woman finally broke down completely, wailing. Meanwhile, the man’s lips kept forming the same words. Kill me.
Numinel Disease.
A bizarre, incurable contagion that caused skin all over the body to dry out and crack hideously. If it were just a matter of parched, splitting skin, it might not seem so terrible—but the real problem came when that damaged skin was injured. Any wound deep enough to bleed would necrotize rapidly from that point, following the bloodstream to dry out the body’s interior.
Once you bled, it was over. After writhing in the agony of your insides slowly desiccating, you’d be dead within days.
The pain of drying from the inside out—cells and blood vessels hardening—was truly horrific. Combined with the agony of barely being able to breathe and the terrible fear of impending death, it was impossible to stay sane.
Many chose suicide when they couldn’t take it anymore, but the pain from bacteria invading their wounds made even simple movement impossible. And even if they begged other villagers to end it, they’d be refused—not just out of guilt, but from fear of being scratched and suffering the same fate.
To such people, the young man in black was like a lifeline dangling over an abyss of pain.
“Ple…ase…”
The young man approached the pitifully pleading man, pulling back his hood as he moved. Pale, glass-like skin was revealed, along with contrasting black eyes that gazed down at the man with complete indifference.
He knelt beside the man and silently placed his hand on the man’s right arm. As he slowly removed the glove that extended to his elbow, a black hand was revealed—as if it had taken on the color of his hair and eyes rather than any normal skin tone. The air in the house instantly turned cold.
Seeing the slightly pointed fingernails and the black palm engraved with a red magic circle, the man’s eyes trembled with what looked like fear. Surely the ancient demons depicted in history books must have had hands like these.
But soon the man’s eyes settled, as if in relief. Taking that as his cue, the young man’s black hand moved toward the man’s head.
The moment his palm touched the man’s forehead—
Instead of a pain-filled groan, a long, sustained breath flowed from between the man’s parched lips. That breath contained no trace of suffering. Instead, it held an air of comfort beyond anything in this world.
The man’s final breath faded away peacefully.
“Sob… uhh-huhhh…”
All that remained was the fragile sobbing of the woman who now had to fully accept his death.
About ten minutes passed while they waited outside the shabby house.
The woman finally emerged, tears wiped away, composure regained, carrying a small sack. She bowed deeply to the young man—his hood making it difficult to even meet his eyes—and held out what she’d brought.
“Thank you. It’s not much, but… please accept it.”
The young man took the sack without a word. Through the slightly open mouth of the bag came a faint smell of earth and dried vegetables.
The village chief watched the young man’s departing figure with a bitter expression, then turned to comfort the woman who’d collapsed to the ground.
The young man with the sack stood before a dark forest not far from the village.
It was an ominous place covered in dead grass and lifeless thorny trees. There was no trace of animals—not even the sounds of insects.
The black thorny forest, nicknamed the “Forest of Death,” emanated a gloomy, cold energy, as if rejecting all living things.
The young man stepped into the black forest without hesitation, though anyone else would have balked at the entrance. A chill unlike the temperature outside seeped through his clothes, and the forest’s shadow fell across the pale skin exposed beneath his hood.
Crunch—
The sound of his footsteps on dry leaves echoed faintly.
After briefly glancing up at the sky—obscured by dense thorny branches that blocked out all sunlight—he finally pulled back the hood he’d been wearing low, as if to avoid the light.
Walking deeper into the forest, he opened the sack. Inside were several dirt-covered, dried potatoes and two small, withered cabbages.
They were in such poor condition you had to wonder if they were even edible. A ridiculously inadequate payment for traveling to a village no one wanted to enter because of the contagious disease.
Still, the young man showed no particular displeasure. Whether he thought such payment was normal, or simply didn’t know how to judge value…
He pulled out a small potato from the sack. Then, without bothering to brush off the dirt, he brought it straight to his mouth.
With a dry crunch—
“Help me—!”
A child’s cry rang out from far away.
The young man turned toward the sound with emotionless eyes. He’d thought he heard faint footsteps on dry leaves besides his own—sure enough, it seemed someone had entered the forest.
He had no intention of responding to cries for help. After all, thanks to today’s “meal,” he wouldn’t need to eat again for a while.
“Hey, you!”
But the small boy who came running desperately toward him—as if he were a lifeline—clung to the young man with a tear-streaked face. The sudden impact made the dried potato slip from his hand and fall to the damp soil.
Only then did the young man’s eyes twitch slightly.
“Please, please help me!”
The boy had bright blonde hair that seemed completely out of place in the sunless black forest. He looked about ten years old, with an innocent face, kind eyes, and delicate skin that drew attention. His feet were cut in various places by thorny branches, and his clothes were torn here and there—all of it speaking to the boy’s desperate state.
“Help me, I said!”
As the boy grabbed the young man’s waist and shook him vigorously, his foot came down on the potato that had fallen to the ground. With a crunch, the brittle potato crumbled helplessly. Looking down at the shattered potato, the young man’s eyes instantly turned cold.
