Iron Blooded Hound-Chapter 71 - 76: Shadows of Quarvadis

St. Mecca, a town of 160,000 people, nestled in thick woods with clean waters, is directly under the influence of House Quarvadis.

People walk solemnly and respectfully along the white marble-paved streets.

Whenever a bell rings from the tall clock tower, everyone stops abruptly and turns towards the sacred tablet atop the Quarvadis' distant home.

If a gold coin fell to the ground, it was not picked up, and order and security were strictly maintained by the citizens' own rituals.

"... Where could I stay unnoticed?"

Vikir stood atop a tall tower and looked down.

Women walked around with white cloths wrapped around their bodies, revealing only their eyes. The men did the same.

For religious reasons, desire and greed are completely controlled.

No nudity, no extravagance, it's all white and monochromatic.

It's a far different atmosphere from Balak village, a tribe that lives freely in the wilderness with much of their bodies exposed.

Having lived there for the past two years, Vikir found the atmosphere of St. Mecca stuffy and uncomfortable.

After waiting for darkness to fall, he made his way to a ghetto on the outskirts of the city, far from the center.

Broken windows, cracked walls, low-lying areas with stagnant water, and steep staircases.

Ghetto scenes are similar everywhere. It's the same in cities under the control of Quarvadis the Loyal.

People here are particularly harsh, as Saint Quarvadis banishes wrongdoers from the center of the city and sends them to the outskirts.

People who hadn't committed crimes deserving of jail time, but had committed offenses that wouldn't allow them to enter the center.

They were pushed out by the guards and paladins that patrolled the city's pathways.

Vikir climbed a steep stairwell and entered the ghettos on higher ground.

It was the most remote and darkest of the ghettos.

Meanwhile, from beyond the darkness, the bell rang three times, signaling midnight.

By now, few people were passing by, but those who remained in the streets generally paid homage to the ground to acknowledge the Quarvadis.

And when they did, only the Night Dogs didn't.

Navigating through the noise of the night, Vikir approached the well and took out a vial.

It was the Red Death, the essence of the plague, drawn from the labor of Ahul.

Vikir poured the liquid into the well.

He released the Red Death into the heart of the Quarvadis.

"It is an incredibly infectious plague, and eventually there will be a reaction."

The Red Death has an incubation time of up to ten days and a minimum of one day.

Once inside the body, it can take as little as a day to develop, three days if it comes into contact with mucous membranes, and generally a week if it is spread through breathing or skin contact.

'It's the realm of the loyal, so hopefully we can contain it before anyone dies.

Vikir pondered briefly on when to proceed to the next plan.

Then.

"...!"

Vikir locked eyes with a group of children approaching from the other side of the well.

They were on their way to catch bugs, carrying buckets, dragonfly traps, and sugar water.

The oldest child, the one before him, looked over and asked.

"Is anyone there?"

The children stopped before the well and shouted. They could barely see Vikir, who blended perfectly into the darkness.

It's a dark, moonless night, and Vikir is masked.

He'd never be recognized, but he must be cautious.

Then, Vikir's eyes gleamed with life.

A red glow burst through the gas mask's lenses.

[I will curse this well.]

The children shivered at Vikir's words and collapsed to the ground in a heap. They even wet themselves.

Vikir warned them sternly.

[Anyone who drinks from this well will surely die].

It's futile, but it's a thought.

He didn't want the children to get caught up in it.

"Eeeek! It's a ghost! It's a demon!"

"The well is cursed!"

"Ew! I'll never drink from it!"

The children scampered away while throwing a fit.

After Vikir made sure several times that all the noisy brats were gone, he buried something in the soil near the well.

It was a marker left by the infiltrators who had invaded some time ago.

It was the emblem of Leviathan the Radical.

Vikir knew immediately that the Leviathans were responsible for unleashing the Red Death on the surface.

"We'll see you guys fight to the bitter end."

The devout Quarvadis and the ultra-traditional Leviathan had been at odds for ages.

What would happen if the Red Death spread to Quarvadisgar's headquarters?

Since it's Quarvadisgar's headquarters, containing it would be quick, but after that would be the problem.

"We need to move fast."

I can already see a few people approaching to draw water from the well.

We need to get the Quarvadis out before there are any innocent civilian casualties.

The sooner I can fulfill my promise to Aiyen

The Night Dogs worked tirelessly, visiting the official residence of the Holy Prophet Quarvadis in the heart of Saint Mecca.

Despite the late hour, several carriages were parked before the compound.

It's true what they say, chaos doesn't rest at night.

Even at this hour, there were many people who wished to visit the holy man to seek healing.

Most of them were aristocrats and wealthy individuals who had arrived in fancy carriages, and they were all knocking on the saint's door, their well-groomed attire contrasting with their sickly faces.

"We heard that you are on retreat here! Please open the door for us, we wish to greet you!"

"Oh saint, I knew you were here, and I have come to ask that you look into my illness just this once!"

"Please, let me see him, saint!"

It seems that news has spread that Saint Dolores, the direct descendant of Quarvadis and the owner of a small household, is currently here in Saint Mecca.

Saint Dolores, the pride of the Quarvadis family, is currently a sophomore at the Royal Academy, where she is the vice president of the Student Council.

Rumors that she was staying here during the academy's vacation period had attracted aristocrats and nobles from far and wide.

They were all noble aristocrats, wealthy men with loads of money.

Amidst the clamor of knocking and shouting, a voice came from inside the door.

"... Who are you and what brings you to me at such a late hour?"

The voice was soft and feminine, yet with a hint of authority.

The voice of a saint, perhaps.

The aristocrats and the wealthy were thrilled to hear the voice of the famous Saint Dolores herself.

But it didn't last long, and they quickly replied.

"I am the son-in-law of the House of Alpons, the eldest son of the House of Jonathan, which has produced knights of great distinction from one generation to another, and the son-in-law of the House of Dortmund, and I have the House of Dotte as my brother above, and the House of Franz as my sister below...!"

"I am the CEO of the Ipsen Company Association, which is a subcontractor to the Civil family, and I am in my fifth year as president of the Ipsen City Council, and I am also an honorary knight, having recently been knighted by the Empire and having served for two years as an aide to the esteemed Count Les Baskervilles, a boston terrier...!"

"If I may introduce myself, I am the second son of House Childs, and if you can cure me of my ailments, I can offer you the entirety of the rich warehouse lands far from the main house of the Quarvadis, as well as a mansion on the warm shores of the south and a fleet of private carriages...!"

But.

No man, no matter how powerful, no matter how wealthy, could open the gates of Quarvadisgar.

Saint Dolores kept the door firmly shut and would not open it to anyone.

"I fail to see how your status and wealth are any reason for me to make way for your ambitious desires."

Not the noble, not the wealthy. They all went home, exhausted, after proclaiming as loudly as possible how great they were and how much they could pay for a cure.

And then, as the night wore on. The line had disappeared and Vikir was the sole remaining person at the door of the government office.

It was so quiet you couldn't tell if anyone was behind the door.

Standing before it, Vikir knocked politely.

Sure enough, this time he heard the saint's voice.

"Who are you, and what brings you to me at such a late hour?"

Vikir thought for a moment.

The men who had been boasting their identities just moments before had all come up empty.

"That's not the tone of a saint."

Vikir knows who Saint Dolores is.

He'd seen her on the frontlines, on the bloodiest of battlefields, before he was turned around.

The intense look of treating the wounded covered in blood.

Her white robes stained with blood, her white sacred power emanating from her.

The sight, even from a distance, was sacred and glorious.

Finally, Vikir spoke briefly.

"... It's just a lost sheep."

For a moment, there was silence beyond the door.

Vikir waited.

And then.

A click.

The door to the Quarvadis of the Loyal, which had been firmly closed and opened to no one, opened.

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