Ch.462Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

# As Everything in the Sky Melts Away

Just as everything in the sky dissolves into nothingness and fruits wither and fall from trees, the fine crystals descending from the heavens scorched the earth.

A wasteland littered with monster corpses. The melted flesh that couldn’t be cleared in time has hardened stiffly, resembling wax.

A woman was walking amidst the grotesque faces of death—like half-burned candles—and the terrible stench emanating from the corpses.

As she climbed atop a quiet sand dune, her velvet-like purple hair fluttered in the breeze.

Following the movement of her hair, she turned her head to see what appeared to be a rock formation suddenly open its eyes with a flash!

From its sunken eye sockets, it oozed thick green fluid like mush.

-Crack!

The hideous head, melting and writhing, splits diagonally. With a thud, its movement ceases, and one step behind, a leisurely death pushes the severed head onto the sand.

The monster’s head rolls away, revealing a clean cut surface. Blue magical energy rises like a mirage from the blade. Strange runes are engraved along the rough surface.

“…Hmm.”

Francesca, having dispatched the monster with a single stroke, shook the blood from her rune blade with a wide swing.

“A-Are you alright, Commander?”

“Yes~ I’m fine. As you can see.”

The mages from the magic tower sent worried glances her way after the sudden attack, but Francesca didn’t show any concern.

The residual magic on the blade burns away blood and contamination, and the sword naturally returns to its sheath after completing a full circle. Having dispatched the monster as if it were routine, Francesca quickly took follow-up measures as the commander of the magic tower delegation.

“Neutralize any remaining alchemical compounds for large monsters in the bombing area, and quickly purify any contaminated locations.”

“Most monsters were eliminated during the two government airstrikes, but it seems a few still remain. The peacekeeping forces should stand guard, and administrators should communicate precautions and supervise before beginning the extraction of byproducts.”

“According to recent news from the Ugarusian Embassy, refugees from various regions are passing through where we are now to reach refugee camps. If you spot any groups that appear to be refugees, you must hand them over to the peacekeeping forces. While regulations allow handing them over to government forces, for the sake of the refugees’ lives, it would be better to go through the peacekeeping forces.”

## Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Among the quartet centered around Camilla, the title most commonly used by the public to refer to Francesca is “Alchemist.”

There were several reasons for this.

First, her ancestry had a significant influence.

The founder of the Ranieri family, like his colleague the Grand Duke of the North, was not only a master of elemental magic but also the father of alchemy who laid the foundation for modern alchemy, a great alchemist respected by all intellectuals exploring the field.

Although the founder of Ranieri did not establish an alchemy school himself, he was a founding member and executive of the Magic Tower’s Alchemy School, achieving the brilliant feat of advancing alchemy. It was natural that the ancestor’s halo would influence the public’s perception of his distant descendant.

And above all, wasn’t she herself an alchemist?

Though she was registered with the Elemental School, no one failed to recognize her talent.

Whether she inherited her ancestor’s blood strongly or was simply born with exceptional skill and talent, she was a prodigy who could make even the seasoned professors of the Magic Tower and the noble scholars of the ivory tower buzz with excitement like teenage boys and girls.

Even the dignified alchemists of the Red Desert, who firmly believed that “the alchemy of the Magic Tower is a distorted discipline called magical engineering, and we must return to the roots to pursue pure alchemy,” acknowledged her.

And what about her personal prowess? From testimonies of fighting monster armies with a blue magic-infused sword to joining forces with her companions to vanquish a demon that had descended upon the mortal world.

The merit of demon subjugation was a military achievement personally proclaimed by the Pope and the Imperial Crown Prince, so there was no need to question its authenticity—it was clear reality.

She had saved tens of millions of citizens in the north from the demon’s clutches and developed weapons capable of annihilating the monsters of Moritania, which even international organizations had half given up on.

“What is the Alchemist doing? Does she have something on her mind?”

“Judging by her serious expression, it must be something extremely important.”

“Would she be worried about something ordinary?”

It was only natural that everyone sent expectant gazes toward her, whom they all called “Alchemist.”

Of course, Francesca wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.

“Yawn.”

She stepped onto the terrace, stretching like a cat as she enjoyed the warm, dry wind embracing her skin. Extending her body languidly with her back straight, Francesca took a deep breath and rested her weight on her arms placed on the railing.

Though she merely leaned against the railing, even that made for quite a picture.

Her pose of resting her chin gently, intoxicated with drowsiness, was strangely elegant, and her slightly drooping eyelids from fatigue appeared delicately frail and flexible.

Francesca released a breath—whether a sigh or a lament—mixing it with the clouds. Then, supporting her chin with her hand, she murmured:

“I wonder if they’re doing well…”

It had already been four days since the military officer and the hero left. Considering the time required for travel and resolving complex business matters, it would take no small amount of time.

Four days is enough to start something, but far too short to resolve anything. So the days of filling the void left by those who had departed would likely be extended.

Thus, Francesca’s recently increased fatigue was a byproduct of her efforts to fill the void left by the two.

For the past year, the diplomatic, military, and security international cooperation essential for the group’s activities had mostly been handled by Frederick.

Of course, she wasn’t ignorant about international cooperation, but when people have their own strengths, there was no need to burden one person with all the work.

He was affiliated with the Ministry of Defense while also being a diplomat. Above all, Frederick was an intelligence agency person, so he had access to much more diverse information than she did.

Even if it involved somewhat illegal and diplomatically problematic issues.

“…”

But now that he, who had been in charge of such important work, was absent, there were numerous headaches.

Border patrol teams secretly abandoning refugees in uninhabited areas because they didn’t want to accept them, nomads entering military operation areas despite controls and demanding compensation for dead livestock, people throwing tantrums at quarantined refugee camps asking why they weren’t being let in, and so on.

Some were human and some were non-human races, but they were all troublesome nonetheless. Add to this serious corruption and the leisurely attitude of local officials, and it was absolute chaos.

In a way, this was a bigger problem than the absence of the hero, a pillar of military might. Wars don’t happen every day, but incidents and accidents occur with every breath.

And she couldn’t ask for help from Saint Lucia, who cares for nearly 1,000 patients a day. What could she do? When there are no teeth, use the gums; when water is scarce, wring even a dry towel.

“Hah…”

Another worried sigh escaped, but it wasn’t a lament about her situation.

No matter how tired she was from work, it couldn’t compare to those risking their lives.

So Francesca’s sigh was tinged with worry rather than complaint. She wondered if they might be in a difficult situation.

However.

“…”

Looking at the crystal that hadn’t rung for four days, she felt somewhat irritated.

But today was different somehow.

-Blink.

The gray crystal brightened, taking on a blue hue, and Francesca’s lips parted slightly as she let out a small sigh of indecipherable meaning.

They say speak of the wolf and he appears. This person must not be much different.

“Yes, I’ve answered the call.”

-‘Oh, Francesca. You haven’t left work yet?’

“I still have some work left. What about you, Officer?”

-‘I just got back-‘

At that moment, there was a commotion on the other end of the call.

Ah shit, stay still! Barbarian, barbarian—you’re really acting like a barbarian. Stop the racism! D’ bula-eu ta!

Hurry up and shoulder the white man’s burden! Why do you keep making racist jokes? That poem wasn’t even written by an Englishman but an American! Wasn’t America an English colony?

Anyway, you probably had ancestors who exploited colonies too, so how can someone born into a hardcore Conservative Party supporting family keep cosplaying as a Labour Party supporter? Camilla, were you a socialist? Historically, famous reds were from bourgeois backgrounds. So you’re one of them too!

Who are you calling bourgeois?! And I’m not a communist! Lies! How dare you lie!

It’s true. There’s a place called Art Center, which used to be a big construction company and now does underwater ballet—want to go there? Everyone figures it out once they taste the water.

Actually, I’m not a communist but a Luxatist who supports Luxatism.

What the hell is that, you weeb?

“…”

Francesca’s eyes blinked repeatedly at the sudden noise.

“…Officer?”

-‘Ah, sorry. There’s a bit of a problem… Anyway, I can’t talk long. Just grab your coat and come down. I’m heading your way now.’

*

After a brief conversation, a shabby van appeared before Francesca, who had put on her coat.

It was me who drove this rusty, dilapidated four-wheeled killing machine that would make even a junkyard owner recoil.

“Whew. I thought I was going to die driving this piece of crap…”

Francesca’s face upon seeing the wrecked van was worth watching. It was the kind of expression a noble lady who lived in a mansion might make when visiting a cramped urban gosiwon.

She, who maintained composure at every moment, couldn’t hide her shock as she approached me.

“…Where did you get this?”

I kicked the van and replied:

“The branch next door gave it to us.”

The original plan was for people dispatched by the Order and Al-Yabud to receive Akande as soon as we arrived on land.

“Whether it was a sea monster going berserk or some mystical event, the dock was destroyed. About 1,400 people died.”

Due to an unexpected tsunami that flooded part of the coastal city, we had to quickly change plans to cross the border.

“I heard about the tsunami that hit the Denari coastal area. It was powerful enough to push back some of the breakwaters.”

“Anyway… our meeting point was at a hotel near that coast, but how could we meet in this situation?”

I went to check when I heard someone had come to pick us up, but all I saw was ruins swept away by the tsunami.

The hotel’s first-floor cafe was filled with debris washed in by the tide, slates and bricks that had fallen from somewhere. As soon as I confirmed this, I abandoned the rendezvous.

In the meantime, I checked with the embassy and was told that they had also lost contact with the people they had dispatched, and that I should quickly leave the area as security might rapidly deteriorate.

So for various reasons, including needing ordinary transportation to move to the border and avoid looters’ eyes, they provided this van that was about to be scrapped.

It seemed inappropriate even for such a run-down neighborhood, so I requested a rental car instead, but their answer was ridiculous. They said they got this piece of junk from a rental car company.

They claimed they had no choice but to use such cars themselves, and that maintenance had been completed so there “shouldn’t” be any problems for now. They also mentioned they had put an air freshener in because of the strong smell, but that was bullshit.

The stench—which Camilla described as “Auschwitz”—that rivaled summer farm fertilizer assaulted our noses, forcing both Camilla and me to vomit.

“Anyway, this is quite a problematic neighborhood, isn’t it?”

“…It seems more than just problematic.”

Seeing Francesca’s disgruntled expression as she looked around the car, I couldn’t help but smirk.

“I. Get. Out. Now!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you out, just come out slowly.”

“Smell. Very serious.”

The trunk opened wide. Akande, whose enormous frame had occupied more than half of the back seat, frowned deeply as he covered his nose and got out of the van.

“The smell is quite terrible…!”

“Oh, oh no.”

“Ugh!”

“The bag! Use the bag, quick!”

Camilla, who seemed to be getting out of the passenger seat calmly, buried her face in a bag, and I patted her back.

After the storm-like aftermath and barely regaining her strength, Camilla and I, having finished cleaning up, along with Francesca, who was sending confused but somewhat interested glances our way.

With the three of us gathered, a proper conversation finally began.

“Let me introduce you. This is Shamir Akande. Akande is his name, and Shamir is like a title. I met him in Necropolis and brought him along for work.”

While tapping his muscular build, Akande lightly hit me back.

When I asked why he hit me, he said he was retaliating because I hit him first.

“Heritage. Show. Hurry.”

“Alright, let’s wait a bit and then go, okay?”

Despite the appearance of an unfamiliar woman, Akande didn’t even glance at her. Since getting out of the van, he had been looking around, insisting that he needed to check if the cedar coffin was safe.

No matter how much I assured him it was fine, he stubbornly insisted on seeing it with his own eyes.

I tried to probe what was in the coffin that he cherished so much, but Akande never gave a proper answer. However, after observing him for nearly 24 hours, it was clear that Akande knew about the coffin’s identity.

And in great detail.

“I’ll show you soon, just wait. We need permission to move, so wait 30 minutes.”

“Understood.”

I plan to take him to the facility where the cedar coffin is stored.

It seemed best to show him that the coffin was safe first, then interrogate him properly once he was relaxed.

As I finished bickering with him, Francesca, who had been watching our conversation, finally asked a question.

“Mr. Akande. How did you two meet?”

The expression “how” carried many meanings.

Where did such a muscular man come from? If the connection was made in Necropolis, isn’t it likely not a good one? Why did you bring him?

I answered honestly.

“Caught him red-handed breaking into our lodging.”

“What?”

“But the important thing is that this guy—”

Camilla interrupted in the middle.

“Mind your language!”

“…This friend broke into our lodging for a reason.”

“Hmm… In my opinion, you should tell that reason to the police rather than me. But since you insist, please continue.”

Francesca crossed her arms and began nodding her head slightly. She seemed to be saying, “This is interesting, go on.”

Conscious of Camilla’s gaze for a moment, I emphasized my sentence.

“You remember the item we found in Necropolis before. In the basement.”

No sooner had those words ended than a strange light flashed in her violet eyes.

Taking a slight breath, Francesca calmly continued the conversation without showing any particular reaction.

“Yes. I remember.”

“This friend was originally guarding that item. It was stored in a temple in his homeland, but someone stole it. He was trying to find it when he ran into me.”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

With a resolute nod, she began searching her pocket. Then she took out a crystal with a jade hue and brought it to her lips.

“Let’s inform Saint Veronica.”

*

Cedar coffin, tribal temple, saint’s blood, Al-Khair, vampire.

A bundle that would blow away all the worries that had been making everyone anxious had rolled in on its own. To be precise, it didn’t roll in but broke in.

“We’ll definitely be able to find important clues. We just need to secure that friend’s testimony.”

It’s uncertain how much Akande knows about the cult group Al-Khair, but it’s clear that at least one piece of information is in his head.

Especially about the identity of the cedar coffin.

“What could be in that coffin that cultists would try to steal it?”

“They might have wanted to feed it Saint Lucia’s blood. From what I heard in Necropolis, they wished to be reborn as something… Maybe they wanted to offer blood and become vampires.”

While waiting for the connection to be established, touching the crystal, a brief conversation continued.

Francesca, who had raised the topic of why the coffin was stolen, began explaining with a solemn voice.

“I once read a book stored in my family’s vault. It was a book passed down from my ancestor’s mentor, and from the mentor’s mentor, during a time when my ancestor had not yet reached the level of an archmage.”

She followed with an explanation that it was an ancient text containing knowledge about undead and black magic, along with some countermeasures.

It’s clearly a forbidden book, both by ancient standards and modern ones. While knowledge about the undead might be acceptable, information about black magic can only be disclosed in a limited way after control and censorship by the Magic Department, even today.

However, it’s different when it comes to the heritage of magicians who have been evading inquisitors since ancient times to pass down knowledge and vision. The heritage of magicians is always kept where the watchful eye cannot reach.

If it had been spotted even once, the Magic Department would have paid a bounty and nationalized it, or if it were in ancient times, it would have been burned by inquisitors.

“Was the method for humans to become vampires also in there?”

I threw out the question, and Francesca nodded slightly.

“Even ordinary humans can become vassals if they receive true blood.”

“Isn’t it becoming a vampire when bitten on the neck?”

“That’s werewolves. Vampires kill when they bite. People bitten by werewolves also die from bleeding if transformation doesn’t occur.”

One needs to receive true blood to transform into a vampire. I focused on this part.

“If Al-Khair’s intention was really to become vampires, wouldn’t they have attempted a deal?”

The logic is simple.

Vampires suck blood.

The blood of a religious figure with divine power can cause miracles.

Lucia is one of only two saints in the order.

Unless Lucia’s blood has the power to repel evil, from a vampire’s perspective, she would appear to be a highly satisfactory offering.

After hearing this series of speculations, Francesca nodded with a calm demeanor.

“That makes sense.”

I can’t access information related to the undead, and it’s not my department, so I don’t know what true blood is, but if it can create vampires, it’s certainly a valuable commodity.

This was indirectly revealed through Francesca’s explanation.

“There’s no clear criterion for when a vampire bestows true blood, but records indicate that if there was a vassal who achieved outstanding merit, they were always given true blood.”

“If it’s bestowed for achievements, is it a kind of honor? Or does it grant some ability?”

“True blood is the blood of the ‘progenitor,’ the first vampire. Vampires struggle to get even a drop more of it, that’s how valuable it is. That’s all I know. Even in the ancient text, details about true blood were sparse.”

“That’s enough to hear.”

If magicians who have passed down knowledge since ancient times recorded it this way, it’s likely factual.

“Of course, there’s also the method where vampires kill all the cultists and extort blood. But that’s too far-fetched, so let’s set it aside.”

“Even in ancient times, the organs, body parts, and blood of clergy were main ingredients for black magic. There’s a record from 1300 years ago of a group trying to summon a demon using a bishop’s remains, who were caught and beheaded on the spot just as they were about to succeed.”

“Then a saint’s blood must be of considerable value.”

“If it’s Saint Lucia’s blood… it could make even a demon’s bottom in hell wiggle.”

A demon’s bottom wiggling.

It’s an unexpected image, but suddenly I imagined a demon twerking and crawling up from sulfur flames.

“Well… that’s certainly a terrible thing.”

“Yes, it’s a serious matter.”

Though we were discussing a serious topic, it didn’t really matter. Whatever the cultists’ plan was, it failed.

The group that infiltrated Necropolis was all killed, and Lucia’s blood was safely stored in the Vatican’s secret vault. Not to mention the cedar coffin. We even secured Akande, who introduced himself as a Shamir (guardian) who had been protecting the cedar coffin, so there was nothing they could do.

The conversation was coming to an end.

A dry, warm breeze tickled our skin, and through the refreshing air, the crystal’s light spread. It was Veronica’s contact.

When the crystal was completely dyed blue, Francesca brought it closer with a bright expression. But the person who started speaking first wasn’t her but Veronica.

-‘Damn…’

A voice like a low groan hit our eardrums.

A chilling sensation ran down my spine.

“Veronica? It’s me. I’m going to send someone over, and I was wondering if…”

-‘Don’t come.’

Before we could ask what was happening, Veronica’s warning came through.

-‘The coffin just opened.’