Chapter 57
Tap– Tak–
The fierce flames had finally died down.
In the basement, a few faint embers remained on the ground, sending up black smoke.
“…Will you be all right, sir?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you, Young Master. Everyone’s completely exhausted—I don’t think anyone can help.”
Looking at Eric, who had stepped forward with determination, Malefica asked in a worried tone.
“That’s why I have to go. I’m the only one who’s still in decent shape.”
At her words, Eric just shrugged as if wondering why she was even asking.
There was nowhere to run anyway.
Whether he was fine or not didn’t matter anymore.
Whoever could still fight had to fight.
It wasn’t some foolish surge of heroism that made him volunteer.
If that were the case, he would have stepped in long ago—back when the soldiers first faced the Ratcatcher.
It was simply that, after Lillian’s magic had wiped out most of the rats,
the situation looked manageable enough for him to intervene.
He wasn’t the kind of idiot who charged in blindly without any chance of victory.
“Of course, just because the rats are gone doesn’t mean a named monster like Ratcatcher is going to be easy.”
“Huff… Young Master, it’s too dangerous. Let me go instead—”
“Sir Leona.”
As if to calm her worries, Eric smiled faintly and turned to leave.
But when he saw Leona gasping and calling after him, he spoke quietly.
“Go protect Sir Lillian. I hate to say it, but those soldiers aren’t exactly reliable.”
If she stayed with Lillian, defeating Ratcatcher would certainly be easier.
But taking down that thing meant nothing if the others died in the process.
If the remaining rats attacked Lillian, Malefica, or Gregory, what then?
The same went for the soldiers.
No matter how important it was to kill the monster behind the plague,
if the soldiers fell, getting back through the Aridus Plateau to the fortress would be impossible.
Ignoring a future problem just to reduce an immediate risk—that would be a mistake.
Besides…
“If I want to use a skill like <Frost Step> without anyone questioning me, it’s better to be alone.”
“But still, I—”
“Sir Gregory!”
“Huh? M-me?”
Even as Leona still clung to him with worry, Eric turned from her firmly and looked past.
“How long can you hold out?”
Gregory blinked for a moment, then let out a groan with a serious look.
Squeak… squeak!
“Well… even with the priest here, I’d say five minutes, at best. If this old man were a bit younger, maybe an hour.”
Most of the skeletons had crumbled under Lillian’s magic, and the rats had fled,
but their side was also heavily drained.
Even if he and Malefica were using holy magic to suppress the spread of the plague,
they couldn’t stop the infections from the soldiers’ previous wounds and battles.
“Please just hold on for five more minutes.”
“Ha! Easier said than done. Still… I’ll try.”
Five minutes, then another five.
Ten minutes.
Gregory scratched his head awkwardly at Eric’s request.
Holy power wasn’t infinite.
Even for a cardinal, sustaining spells for so long over hundreds of soldiers was enough to drain anyone dry.
But there was no choice but to try.
There was no other way.
“C-Cardinal! Are you sure we should let him go alone like that?”
As Eric strode toward the jester, Hector grabbed the old man anxiously.
“What else can we do? The boy volunteered. Are you going to take his place with the soldiers instead?”
Gregory sighed heavily at Hector’s worried face.
It wasn’t that he wanted to send that young hero off alone—
especially not the grand duke’s heir, the so-called “blessedless incompetent.”
But there was a reason for it.
“Of course I’m worried! We came here to stop the source of the plague—”
“Do the soldiers feel the same way?”
At Gregory’s words, Hector glanced around.
The soldiers nearby were on their last legs, barely staying upright.
They could collapse at any moment.
Seeing that, Hector could no longer protest.
“I know what you’re thinking. But there’s no need to push yourself too hard.”
Looking at Hector, who bowed his head in guilt and frustration, Gregory spoke softly.
“I haven’t known the lad for long, but he’s not the kind to rush in without a plan.”
In the short time he’d seen Eric, the young man had proven anything but careless.
He wasn’t one to cling to pride at the cost of reason—he made practical choices.
“I don’t know how those rumors started, but he’s more reliable than he looks.
Even if the church’s so-called ‘heroes’ sitting in the capital are a sorry lot,
the title itself isn’t something you win by luck.”
If Eric chose to fight alone, there had to be a reason.
And Eric was no ordinary “incompetent.”
Just recalling how he fought the Lizard Warriors on the plateau—
even seasoned knights wouldn’t dare face that head-on.
“But still—”
“Of course, we won’t just sit back and watch.”
For someone like Eric, there was only one thing they could do.
“The young hero took the heaviest burden.
At the very least, we’ll handle what’s left here.”
So they would endure—
for ten minutes, or however long it took—
without getting in his way.
“Hold the line.”
Step. Step.
In the pitch darkness below.
Ratcatcher, who had fled deep into the basement with the surviving rats,
was being pursued by Eric, who soon spotted a stairway descending further underground.
Thud.
At the bottom, beyond a flickering reddish candle,
sat the clown—curled up like a child in the corner.
“Decided to drop the ridiculous act, have you?”
Unlike the chaotic upper floor, where clown-costumed skeletons had been scattered,
this room was bare save for a towering pile of bones and a single desk and chair.
Drawing his sword, Eric advanced cautiously.
The jester muttered in a trembling voice.
“No… it’s not my fault. He—he said he’d come save us.
He told me to lead them… to guide them!”
Maybe he’d gone mad after losing most of his rats.
Or perhaps Eric’s words had struck some hidden trauma.
Either way, Eric stayed on guard.
Then, faintly, he saw the wandering spirits circling near the clown.
“…I only kept my promise.”
Whoosh—
Could they be the souls of the bones piled in the corner?
Before he could dwell on it, the candle suddenly flickered out,
and Ratcatcher slowly rose to his feet.
Squeak!
Squeak-squeak!
Rats began to gather around him.
Piiiii—
When the jester brought his flute to his lips with a tear-streaked face,
Eric lifted his foot swiftly.
Thud!
Crackle—!
A sharp sound echoed as frost spread like spiderwebs across the floor.
Squeak? Squeee…
The chilling cold consumed the rats instantly.
Ratcatcher froze mid-note, staring wide-eyed.
“This is…”
Magic? No. Not quite.
There was mana, yes—but so faint that one wouldn’t even notice it unless concentrating.
Yet the power it unleashed was overwhelming.
“Impossible! You—you’re supposed to be an incompetent!”
The clown’s eyes bulged as ice crawled up his legs.
It looked similar to a “miracle,” but it wasn’t quite that.
It resembled more the bewitchment used by monsters themselves.
“…What are you?”
Eric met his confused gaze calmly.
“An incompetent.”
Ratcatcher bit his lip, incredulous.
Liar.
No mere incompetent could do this.
‘First, I need to get rid of this damned ice—’
Crack—
The ice had already reached his chest.
As he struggled to break free, he heard the faint dripping of water and saw Eric.
“What… what are you doing?”
Eric pricked his fingertip with his blade, letting crimson blood fall onto the ice.
Squeak…
“P-poison?”
As the surviving rats touched the blood, they convulsed and died on the spot.
The clown screamed, enraged.
“Damn it! What kind of hero uses poison!
Why would he ever call someone like you a hero!?”
Eric gave a short, bitter laugh.
He wasn’t wrong.
Even the ice was questionable enough—but poison? That didn’t fit the church’s image of a “holy hero.”
If anyone saw this, he’d face punishment from the church instead of praise.
Maybe Isabella or the inquisitors would have his head.
“Don’t worry. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one will know.”
Not that it mattered.
Only he and this clown were here.
And if anyone found out later, he could always frame it as Ratcatcher’s doing.
Corpses don’t talk.
‘Perfect match.’
He hadn’t followed Ratcatcher here purely to fight alone.
With <Frost Step> and <Neurotoxin>,
two traits were all he needed to take down the so-called “Child Demon King,” Ratcatcher.
The plague-spreading rats might have been terrifying in swarms,
but stripped apart, they were just vermin—
and a few drops of toxic blood were more than enough.
Crack—
“Y-you bastard…”
Clang—
Just as Eric subdued the rats and raised his sword toward Ratcatcher,
the clown lifted his flute again—
but before he could play, something seized his wrist.
“What the—bones?”
A skeleton with hollow sockets burning red grabbed him.
Eric, having raised the pile of bones with necromancy,
watched as vengeful spirits swarmed the clown without needing any command.
He sheathed his sword.
The air was thick with murderous intent—
clearly, these spirits had unfinished business with the jester.
“No… it wasn’t me! It wasn’t my fault—”
Eric released his power and stepped back to watch the end.
Splash—
“Rudio!”
The sound of melting ice and water splashing echoed—
and from above, a familiar old voice rang out.
“…Uncle?”
