Chapter 1 - A fugitive
A man galloped over the icy white snowfield.
Three people were chasing after him.
The arrow, which left the string, penetrated the running man’s leg accurately. The body fell. The man rolled on the ground then quickly got back on his feet and started running, but his speed had already decreased significantly.
The fugitive, who had slowed down, was soon overtaken by the pursuer.
Ragil, the senior ranger of the Algor Kingdom, who has kicked the fugitive on the back, finally realized that the long pursuit of the past few days had come to an end.
The fugitive raced through the snow-covered northern forests for three days at a speed comparable to that of a Northern Kingdom Ranger, barely sleeping. He was a natural ranger.
Ragil looked at the fallen fugitive and pulled out a long sword he was wearing around his waist. An eerie cry rang out soon after.
Unfortunately, however, the man was a fugitive who stole the sacred relics of the Flame Church and ran away. The instruction from the superior was to cut the man’s head and retrieve the sacred relics of the Flame Church. Even if it was a sacred object that was not important to the Flame Church, the upper echelons of the kingdom always wanted to be seen by them.
Because in the cold north, the warmth of fire was more important than anything.
Snap.
Red blood splattered on the pure white snow. The head of the fugitive rolled down in a clean blow that even a rogue would admire. Ragil lightly wiped the blood off his sword and gave an order with a chin gesture.
“Search.”
The rangers attached to the fugitive’s body, searching the man’s pockets with familiar hand movements. The goods from the man’s pockets were simple.
A dried woman’s hand and blue glass. Some money too.
Ragil, who picked the blue glass and money, turned his back without hesitation.
“Now that we’ve completed the recovery of the relics, let’s go back.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
The rangers left behind the fugitive’s corpse, returning through the snowfield.
After the rangers went back, the day gradually started to get dark.
The hand on the fugitive’s body, whose neck had been separated, began to wriggle.
A woman’s dried hand climbed up the fugitive’s body and touched his neck.
Then it grabbed the fugitive’s collar and started shaking him.
“Don’t be upset. Mother of Corruption.”
The headless body slowly rose from the snow field, removed the dried hand from its neck, and put it in a pocket inside its chest.
“I needed to die here once.”
The headless body picked up the head that was talking to itself and put it on its slashed neck. After a while, the now-healed fugitive-, no.
Marnak, the priest of corruption, grinned.
“If it’s the divinity contained in the holy relic, haven’t you already recovered it? Now there’s no reason for them to tail us.”