The originally prostrate Krul slowly rose, then raised his hands. What met his eyes were two severely wounded arms. One had been severed by the knight's halberd; filthy black tendrils sprouted from the cross-section, forming a new limb.
No, looking at its form, that thing could hardly be called an arm. At best, it was a "forelimb," or a "clawed appendage."
"...Why have I become like this?"
"When did I become like this?"
"Who... am I?"
Krul examined his own body in disbelief, intermittently uttering fragmented, chaotic mutterings.
"You are Krul, the navigator of the Fenrir."
Davis, keenly noticing Krul's wavering and confusion, responded to his soliloquy.
"Remember? At the Wenlanta undersea ruins... we struggled to survive together in that desperate place. When we encountered the ocean storm, we lost all our supplies, and in the end, we could only rely on the corpses of our companions to stay alive."
He had mentioned before that during the exploration of the Wenlanta undersea ruins, only two of the sailors accompanying him survived... and Krul was one of them.
That experience constituted a kind of bond between them. It was precisely because of this that in the later shipwreck, during the drawing of lots to decide who would die, the one who drew the death lot was Professor Dusan, not Davis.
Drawing lots was a tradition among sailors in desperate situations, also a kind of skill. In many past shipwrecks, situations where lots were drawn to decide who died were not uncommon... However, it never happened that the captain drew the death lot.
Yes, who would die was decided before the lots were even drawn...
"Krul..."
Hearing the familiar yet strange name, fragmented memories gradually surfaced, and his expression grew increasingly peculiar.
"But I am clearly the chef of Hanover Manor! Only... how could I be? I'm even here for the first time..."
Thinking this far, the initial question also became the answer.
"I'm already dead? The current me is a 'malicious spirit'?"
Krul felt his thoughts were clearer than ever before, while at the same time, a ridiculous sense of sorrow welled up in his chest.
"To die inexplicably in a place like this... what a fucking joke..."
His body went slack. The previously agitated corrupt flesh now curled in on itself, as if having lost all vitality.
"Lawyer, if you can grant me peace, do it quickly."
"If the night grows any deeper, the 'chef' entrenched in my body will fully awaken. By then, it won't be something a mere pistol can handle..."
When Krul could survive, he would resort to any means to cling to life. But now that he had already become this monster of corruption, there was no point in prolonging this wretched existence.
"Hmm."
Themis raised her hand and placed it on his forehead.
The alchemical formula [Dissolve and Reconstruct Bone and Blood] took effect immediately. Within a few breaths, Krul's tall and burly frame began to collapse and dissolve at an extremely rapid pace.
Just before completely turning into mush, he glanced dazedly at the folklorist beside him.
Hey, I always thought that Davis kid's luck was strange back on the ship. Never thought that even here, he'd still be the hardest one to kill...
A flash of thought ignited and then extinguished. Krul's consciousness completely faded into darkness.
Thud.
A book fell out from within his chef's uniform. Fran stepped forward, picked it up, and casually patted off the bloodstains on it.
This time, Themis didn't leave any hidden dangers. She took out a small can of gasoline from her ever-present briefcase, poured it over Krul's paste-like corpse, then struck a match and tossed it over.
Flames rose, blazing brightly.
Watching the heat-wrapped flames dancing over the corpse, Davis narrowed his eyes slightly.
He had thought earlier when Themis mentioned burning it, she was just making an offhand joke. He never expected she actually carried gasoline with her. From this perspective, this disciple and her teacher indeed shared some similarities in certain aspects...
"Teacher Fran, that book is?"
Themis saw the book that had fallen out and asked curiously.
Fran flipped through the diary, answering rather casually.
"A diary. The signature on the title page is 'Tom Angus.' But it's still unclear who exactly he is."
Hearing this, Themis gave a slight nod, lightly touching her chin as if remembering something.
"Tom... I've heard that name. He was the previous head chef of Hanover Manor, but no one knows where he went after resigning."
And on the first page of this diary was written the missing third stanza of that poem.
[The kitchen hand stepping into the kitchen, his eyes spreading with veins of terror.]
[The meat placed on the cutting board still pulses, accompanied by a rhythm gone gracefully awry.]
[Billowing steam curls around the boiling soup pot, the scent of delicacy taking shape tempts the appetite.]
[Carved and plated with flowing grace, the kitchen hand's skill is tempered a thousand times over!]
[—This evening's feast is just like yesterday's, no different. No, different.]
At first glance, this poem doesn't seem to describe any particularly bizarre scenes. However, some of its descriptions are hard to ignore.
If nothing had happened, why specifically emphasize "This evening's feast is just like yesterday's, no different"?
Fran casually flipped the diary to the next page and discovered that this head chef's diary was different from the one in her bedroom.
The following pages... contained other content.
[Old Calendar, January 19th. Today's work wasn't much different from usual, but the Count has been frowning these past few days, seeming rather melancholic. Should I prepare some more innovative dishes and have the kitchen purchase some unique fruits?]
[Old Calendar, January 25th. The weather is getting colder. Frost patterns have formed on the windows. The Countess mentioned last year around this time that she wanted to drink seafood chowder. I wonder if she still favors this dish this year? The Countess is always dieting to occasionally maintain her figure, but she's already very thin. I can only try my best to prepare more nutritious dishes for her.]
[It's a pity it's winter now, otherwise the young lady would definitely have me prepare desserts for her garden tea party...]
[Old Calendar, February 4th. Recently, many people have started falling ill, seems to be some kind of flu. The Count's personal doctor has been running around busily these past few days. But he says it's just a minor illness; it'll be fine after the fever breaks and subsides. I hope the young lady doesn't get sick.]
...
Most of the diary consisted of such record-like content, with no particular focus and not much specific meaning. Probably just this head chef's pastime to relieve boredom.
Everything was normal until the date on the diary reached March 1st.
[Old Calendar, March 1st. Even though the doctor said it was just a common flu, after contracting it... the always healthy Countess passed away. The Count, who had just started to improve, became utterly silent. The young lady also locked herself in her room and cried all day.]
[Old Calendar, March 2nd. Today... the delivered pork is strange. It's not in the usual whole state but already cut into small pieces, even the bones have been processed. That impatient fool of a butcher helping with deboning? Unless the sun fails to rise tomorrow.]
[Also, today's meat is too lean; the fat-to-lean ratio is completely off. Lean, as if...]
Here, the diary abruptly stopped.
The handwriting of the last paragraph showed obvious tremors. Clearly, this head chef had guessed at a certain possibility. But he was unwilling to dwell on it and forced himself to ignore that nearly overwhelming intuition.
"So that means... Count Hanover ate his wife?" Davis guessed with a hesitant expression.
Before coming here, he had always believed Count Hanover was an upright gentleman. It was the blow of losing his wife and his daughter's disappearance that plunged him into delusions, leaving him depressed, sorrowful, and silent all day.
But after understanding the deeper layers, he found the situation didn't seem as simple as he originally imagined...
"Perhaps."
Themis couldn't give a definitive conclusion either.
Although she had served as the manor's legal advisor for a period, her actual tenure wasn't long. And the entire manor's staff and attendants had undergone a relatively large-scale turnover, so they were also not very familiar with what happened before.
Fran, on the other hand, didn't seem too concerned about this. She casually placed the diary into her medical kit and prepared to leave.
Since the "Corruption" could now track her by scent, she couldn't stay in the same place for too long.
"There probably isn't any more information worth collecting in the side hall now. Let's go find Count Hanover for the consultation."
As she spoke, she had already stepped out the door.
"But before that, some preparations are needed. Let me think... should I deal with that little dog who likes to chase people first?"
——
Side Hall, Inner Courtyard Corridor.
An ancient knight's armor was slowly advancing through the corridor, the ghostly blue light in its eye slits scanning all the darkness within sight.
Thanks to the rather complex design of the Count's manor, it gave Fran room to circumvent the Corruption's tracking.
After all, it wasn't fast, and its senses couldn't be called sharp. But if it were in an ordinary small room where everything could be seen at a glance... there really would be nowhere to hide.
Stealthily, Fran had already hidden in the shadow of a corner behind the knight armor.
Objectively speaking, this doctor was probably the person with the highest "aggro" in the entire manor right now.
The Corruption monster gave the highest priority to pursuing her, and this suit of armor driven by the remnant spirit of a Grey Knight... still held a grudge against Fran for taking the emblem forged from the fragment of the Emperor's Power Armor from it over a decade ago.
Oh, that little golden trinket must have been really important to it.
Of course, Fran specifically came looking for the knight armor not to resolve it, but to give it a little something, thereby appropriately utilizing its remaining value. As for reclaiming the golden emblem... there was no need to rush; it would be fine to do so after everything concluded.
She moved with light steps through the corridor, as silent as a night cat.
When approaching the limit where she might be discovered, Fran gently raised her hand. The [Hand Reaches the Moon] at her wrist immediately shot out, striking the back of the knight armor's head.
The spider-web-like black biomatter spread from the back to the face, enveloping the ghostly blue eye slits.
Enemy attack! And with no warning at all...
The knight armor suddenly turned around, thrusting its halberd toward the most likely hiding spots of the enemy, but felt no impact, no sense of hitting anything.
If its opponent were anyone else, this swift and unexpected counterattack would likely have been highly effective.
But... Fran was too familiar with it. She had even written autonomous combat protocols for the Grey Knight's Sanctified Armor, understanding every habitual movement pattern it employed.
With ease, she moved to the side of the sensory-deprived knight armor, raised her hand, and stuffed a "gift" into the gap of its gorget.
The object didn't seem very large and was rather soft in texture, so it easily slipped to the very bottom of the armor.
Whoosh—
A rush of wind sounded. The black substance covering the knight armor's eyes was already gone.
But when it observed its surroundings again, it found the entire corridor empty and quiet, unsettlingly so.
That strange assailant had already left... just as silently as she had appeared.
The ghostly blue light in the knight armor's eye slits narrowed quite humanly, as if squinting in confusion.
Created a perfect opportunity for a surprise attack, yet caused me no harm?
Before it could ponder this question carefully, the humanoid form composed of corrupt sludge slowly appeared at the far end of the corridor.
It sniffed the air many times as if to confirm, then tore at the "face" on its head as if intoxicated.
Immediately, its other centipede-like limbs suddenly accelerated, crawling toward the knight armor with a nearly fanatical fervor.
No more reservations, no more fear, only pure desire for possession.
The knight armor raised its gauntlet, gripping the halberd vertically, silently and coldly watching the wave of mud and rotten flesh surging toward it. Although a strange little incident had just occurred inexplicably, it wouldn't affect its engagement in the coming slaughter in the slightest.
It's just that, for some reason, this demon had become much more frenzied...
Not far away, Fran was concealed behind a courtyard pillar in the side hall, quietly observing the battle between the two. It was evident that the sudden encounter between the armor and the Corruption was part of her plan.
She would only step out to clean up the battlefield once one of these two combatants was completely defeated.
As for the gift Fran just placed inside the knight armor... undoubtedly, it was the jasmine silk flower from her Mary Jane shoes.
Thankfully, this time she didn't have to stuff the whole shoe in. She really didn't want to walk barefoot on the marble floor in winter...
——
The final battle between the "Corruption" and the knight armor... had begun.
This time was completely different from the previous brief skirmishes. Neither side showed any sign of retreat now. It was like an unavoidable duel to the death, ending only with one's demise.
For the Grey Knight, its attitude toward every demonic abomination was exactly the same: utterly annihilate them, burn them to ashes, grind their bones to dust. The Corruption, however, had shed its earlier panicked, desperate flight, now appearing fierce, frenzied, and fearless of death.
It smelled it, that enticing scent lingering at the tip of its nose, so close at hand.
So sweet, so mouth-watering...
But she was hidden, hidden right inside that troublesome iron shell. Finding her was the ultimate purpose of this mass of Corruption's existence. Therefore, this creature now held no reservations, adopting a stance of mortal combat.
+++
T/N: Hey readers~! New Translator here! Before I say anything, I'd first like to thank the original author for creating this wonderful story. Without them, I wouldn't have the chance to share this adventure with you. I hope my translation does justice to their work, and that together, we can enjoy this story.
With that said, I'm happy to let you know I'll be uploading daily chapters. And for those who wish to support my work and gain early access, I've set up a Patreon where advanced chapters will be available.
[email protected]/PeakTL