Chapter 18 : Mask Of The Red Death – (4)

“My name is Hoover. I graduated from the medical school in Sapeli.”

The plague doctor’s name was Hoover.

He explained that he had formally graduated from medical school and, before opening his own practice, was traveling the continent to broaden his experience.

“In truth, this disease—what you call the Crimson Plague—is rather unusual. Most infectious diseases have either a moderate contagion rate or lethality, but rarely both at high levels. This is my first time seeing such a case.”

“Hm.”

“If this disease spreads beyond the city, the entire continent could be devastated. We must locate the source of the outbreak and examine the condition of the host.”

Hoover seemed to be someone with a strong sense of professional ethics.

However, according to what the undertaker had said earlier, the Crimson Plague only manifested near the vampire believed to be its origin, so the doomsday scenario Hoover feared was unlikely.

Still, regardless of the cause, the fact remained that Berrington had been thrown into a grave crisis by the schemes of the vampire viscount.

The undertaker and I began moving with Hoover deep into the old city center.

The further we went, the stronger the stench of burning corpses became.

“What should we do about Senior Camilla and Luerin? They said they’d be back before sunset.”

“It’s fine. Camilla’s quick-witted. If we’re late returning, she’ll come find us herself.”

“Hmm.”

While we were having this exchange, Hoover tilted his head slightly.

“Do you two have companions?”

“Well, you could say that.”

“May I ask about your identities? It’s not common to see people investigating a plague in a place like this without flinching.”

Hoover’s gaze naturally drifted to the massive scythe the undertaker carried on his back.

The undertaker’s weapon stood out in its own way—like an advertisement declaring, ‘I’m a hunter.’

“No need to know.”

But the undertaker dismissed him with a single sentence.

Hoover, perhaps daunted, didn’t ask further.

A few more minutes of walking brought us to our destination.

“More like a chapel than a cathedral.”

Just as the undertaker said, the place we arrived at was quite small—barely the size of a few houses joined together.

Calling it a chapel seemed more appropriate.

“Well, the old city isn’t exactly a place for grand cathedrals. Let’s go in.”

Hoover slowly opened the chapel doors.

A foul odor greeted us from within.

Unburned corpses were piled up inside.

Among the bodies covered in cloths marked with crosses, several nuns lay dead on the altar.

“…Someone went straight for the neck with a sharp blade.”

“Could it be that priest’s doing?”

“Probably.”

Unfazed by the stench of decay, the undertaker walked through the middle of the chapel, scanning the area.

No obvious evidence stood out.

But for me, it was different.

In my vision, vivid red traces stood out.

My nose reacted.

I picked up the holy book that had fallen on the altar.

The blood on it was bright red—not blackened or dried, but fresh and thin, as if just spilled.

“Undertaker, this is…”

“The bastard’s blood?”

“Yes.”

“Can you track it?”

“I think I can.”

Focusing my senses, I followed the traces of blood on the book.

They led out of the chapel.

I turned my head.

And then—

“…I knew something felt off.”

The undertaker drew his scythe.

The dozens of corpses lying in the chapel all raised their heads at once and fixed their gaze on us.

The undertaker glanced up at the pale moon rising beyond the stained glass and let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s night. Time for the minions to come out. Looks like that vampire was well-prepared for our arrival.”

“Are we fighting?”

“Think we’re not?”

At the undertaker’s words, I also unsheathed my sawblade sword.

Meanwhile, Hoover, the plague doctor, looked back and forth between us and the reanimated corpses.

His expression was hidden behind his mask, but he clearly seemed quite flustered.

“W-What is this?”

“I told you—it’d be dangerous.”

The undertaker gave Hoover a sharp poke in the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.

“Stay back. Unless you want to die.”

“D-Die?!”

[GROOOOOAAARRR!]

As if those words had been a signal, the minions began to charge.

There was no intelligence in them.

They had simply awakened with nightfall and were now acting on instinct—to feast on the intruders before them.

I swung my sawblade with all my strength.

That soft resistance—my blade ripped through one of the minions.

Thanks to the weeks of training with Sophia, I had learned to clean the remaining flesh off the sawblade smoothly and connect into the next strike without pause.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the undertaker fight.

He wielded his nearly man-length scythe effortlessly, and with each swing, two or three minion heads flew off.

Though the standard weapon for a hunter was the sawblade, veteran hunters didn’t need to rely on it.

If you could take the head in one strike, not even a vampire could survive.

Silently impressed, I continued cutting down the minions in front of me.

Smack!

Blood splattered from a severed minion and hit my lips.

A sharp thrill, mixed with a faint herbal aroma, tingled on my tongue.

And in that moment—I felt something odd.

Herbal scent.

Why did the blood of these minions smell like herbs?

I stabbed another one, just to test it.

Same scent.

“Hey, rookie! What the hell are you doing?!”

The undertaker looked appalled as he saw me tasting the minions’ blood.

Vampire blood was lethal to normal people.

That’s something we were taught in the Positive Nature Theory lectures.

But I’m different.

I carry the blood of a progenitor—Lily’s minion.

I can identify vampires by the taste of their blood.

When I caught Jursach, blood had entered my mouth after he killed those villagers.

That was how I had tracked him down.

This was the same.

“…Heh.”

I thought so.

Back in Stormgate, anyone who walked around with their face hidden was almost always a criminal—or about to become one.

I kicked a minion away and used the recoil to spin my body.

There—

The plague doctor, who had been quietly observing our fight from the altar, was drawing out a long, threadlike stream of blood, aiming it stealthily at our backs.

Clang!

My blade cut through the blood stream.

At the same moment, the undertaker—who had also sensed the threat—turned and slashed with his scythe, slicing into the bastard’s flesh.

“Kh!”

Hoover stumbled back, and I dashed forward, swinging my greatsword in a horizontal arc.

My blade tore the crimson mask of death from his face.

“Urgh!”

Though he dodged the blow just in time, the long snout of his mask split clean in half, revealing part of his face.

Pale skin, burst capillaries, and fangs protruding far beyond his lips.

The unmistakable face of a vampire.

“Got you, you filthy rat.”

I steeled my expression and lunged at him.

Hoover—no, the vampire viscount—grimaced as he barely dodged my sawblade.

“You—how did you…?!”

Because he had packed incense into his mask, I hadn’t noticed at first, but now I could smell it—his overwhelming blood scent.

I’d thought it had clung to him from treating patients.

But I was wrong.

“Did you enjoy playing both doctor and dealer of death?”

He must’ve blended in naturally as a physician, waiting patiently for vampire hunters to appear.

Then he planned to lure us into this hellhole and wipe us all out at once.

The vampire viscount scowled and leapt down from the altar.

My blade slashed deep into his shoulder, but in the same instant, he dissolved into mist and darted toward the window.

“Did we lose him?”

The undertaker frowned, glaring at the window where Hoover had vanished.

“You knew too, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Why bother asking something so obvious?”

“How did you figure it out?”

“In this filthy world, no one does good without a reason—especially not a doctor.”

It was an extremely cynical answer, but I couldn’t say he was wrong.

“Either way, he’s on the run. Can you track him?”

“Yes. I’ve already caught his scent. No matter where he goes, I can follow.”

Just as I said that, a scythe was suddenly lowered right in front of my neck.

The undertaker was aiming his blade at me.

His eyes no longer held the gaze of someone looking at another human being.

It was the same look he had given the vampire viscount—cold, sharpened, a hunter’s gaze.

“Why is a vampire’s minion pretending to be human?”

He tilted his scythe and asked.

Should I tell him the truth?

Over the past couple of months living at the training center, I’d realized one thing.

To hunters, progenitors are the stuff of nightmares.

And the queen among them—a living catastrophe.

If I revealed that I carried the blood of such a progenitor, how would he react?

Hunters all harbor deep hatred for vampires.

The undertaker would be no different.

What if he cut my throat without a second thought?

I wrestled with that thought for a moment, then shook my head.

The truth was already known to the priest, to Camilla, and even to the guild master.

And the undertaker—he was a seasoned veteran.

Surely, he could make a rational judgment.

“I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Speak.”

I took a deep breath and said it all at once.

“I’m a minion of the progenitor. And my younger sister, Lily, is the next Vampire Queen.”

The undertaker’s mouth slowly fell open.