Chapter 185: Two Forms of Parasitism

On the way to his report, Kraft met Martin, who was also waiting; both had only time to change clothes, their hair tangled from days of dust, boots caked in mud.

But they did not step onto the inner keep's carpet.

They followed the attendant into the tower atop the sealed mountain pass; a succession of coughs, swept in by the cold high-altitude wind, made one worry for the sufferer's condition. At the tower's highest level, the duke, clad in chainmail, leaned on the parapet, gazing down at the building where people came and went.

After reporting the visitors' arrival, the attendant stepped back quickly but did not go far, standing a few paces away, closely observing the duke's condition.

"I'm glad to still see you," he turned, his face as cold and cracked as a cliffside, revealing no inner thought, "but we have lost some people forever."

"Including Officer Wilbert—I thought I'd see him before dinner the last time we met, but the Father's fate for mortals is always cruel, and fortunately, I am already accustomed to it."

Kraft didn't need to look to know Martin's face must have turned pale.

"So tell me—did you find those responsible for all this?"

Anger burned in his slightly clouded eyes, yet he kept his emotions tightly controlled—making those facing him feel even greater pressure.

"We found the heretics' nest and burned their evil creations and idol-worshiping relics to ashes," Martin presented a corner of the fresco taken from behind the church pulpit, its vivid, grotesque angelic limbs unfurling against a deep indigo background.

"And their leader received a fate befitting his crimes."

The duke glanced at the fresco; its twisted, vile forms stirred in him a visceral revulsion. He waved his hand, signaling Martin to remove it.

"That is precisely what I wished to hear. Take it down later and burn it clean with the rest—this time, leave nothing behind." The tone implied the matter was closed, no further inquiry into the heretics' corpses left in the castle.

"Even those born and raised in war encounter things unheard of. One should not pay for what could never be predicted… but I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Certainly," Martin nodded hastily in assent. Kraft thought that, had it not been too disrespectful, the knight might have thrown himself at the duke's knees, weeping and swearing allegiance. Regardless, it was a relief to see him escape blame.

He waited a moment, sensing no intention for the usual courtly pleasantries—now it was his turn to report.

Having rehearsed his speech on the journey, Kraft prepared his words, including how to dissuade the duke if he asked whether these findings could be weaponized.

"My lord, allow me to describe what I have observed from the perspective of my own profession."

"It is a unique pathological mechanism, similar to plague transmission, mediated by fungal spores. We encountered several husks, driven like corpses, all without exception covered in fungal growths; within the heretics' secret settlements, we also found unusually rampant varieties of fungi."

"This aligns with the scene of Knight Diego's death. Combined, I believe the unusually dense fungal growth can serve as a distinctive diagnostic marker."

"Your illness may have originated from consuming raw, contaminated white-belly mushrooms while passing through the Hudson Manor estate. The heretics' influence there has reached the point of overtaking the church—it is hard to say whether this was deliberate design or mere accident."

The duke listened in silence, then looked down again at the building below, where masked soldiers carried out brightly colored objects and erected open-air bonfires.

"I retract a previous statement, Knight Kraft. Though you resemble none of your ancestors, you have indeed inherited the most important thing." He tightened the collar of his quilted underarmor, coughing repeatedly, turning away to spit something out. "The same here—and you may not guess how deeply these heretics have corroded Westmin."

"Brimmer, professor at Rivers University, disciple of Viscount Feiernan, drowned in those loathsome mushrooms. Soldiers found a circular tattoo on his back."

"Poor Feiernan—I don't know whether I should have concealed the truth from him. He might not survive such a blow."

He shook his head, sighing; the motion seemed to tug at his lungs, triggering more coughs. "I've wandered too far. Please continue, Knight Kraft."

"As you see, this method of promoting rampant fungal growth ultimately transforms humans into corpse-like husks. Since all heretic leaders with insider knowledge are dead, my understanding remains speculative—perhaps…"

"No. I do not wish to know these things, and I advise you not to investigate further." The duke cut off Kraft's prepared excuse, showing no interest in exploitation—even no interest in understanding.

"In an age where everyone uses any means to kill their enemy, you'll see strange things if you live long enough. The churchmen have nothing useful to say—but one phrase is an exception, and I agree with it."

"Heretics' tricks will eventually burn them alive."

"Of course, burning them clean would be best." Kraft exhaled. Some men live so long not by accident.

"So will I eventually become like those things? If so, I'd better start gathering wood now."

"Er, your condition is probably not that severe. Might I ask you to return indoors so I may reexamine you? It is unwise for your condition to remain exposed to this wind." The attendant's tension rose sharply with each cough—the only one qualified to speak was the physician.

"No. Wait a moment longer." The duke declined, returning to the parapet, gazing down at the platform.

The pyre was already stacked. Soldiers holding torches looked up, clearly aware the castle's lord watched them. Upon his signal, they lit the pile one by one.

Flames rose, black smoke swallowing the vivid objects; strange odors rose with the heat, and the portions not swept away by wind could be smelled even atop the tower—putrid, nauseating. The duke seemed not to smell it at all, standing for a moment at the wind's fiercest point.

"Farewell, Wilbert," he murmured, stepping away from the tower's edge and descending the stairs, all following behind.

…

In the inner keep's room, where the hearth burned continuously, Kraft received his second chance to examine the duke.

This time, no one was there to criticize his manners. As he performed the physical exam, he opened his spiritual senses, scanning the entire lung. Within the previous tuberculosis cavity, he found a sphere slightly smaller than the cavity's diameter.

Unlike Yin Feng's case, the duke's spiritual body remained in its normal invisible state, indicating no deep contamination.

The sphere was no ethereal entity but a tangible substance: a spherical lesion formed by fungal infection, consistent with pathological descriptions of tuberculosis complicated by aspergillosis.

"My lord, I will attempt to stimulate your lesion for examination—it may trigger some symptoms."

"I am prepared," the duke replied, closing his eyes.

Kraft pressed against the cavity's location and tapped lightly on the skin—the fungal ball remained unmoved. He struck harder the second time; the muffled sound echoed through the room. The vibration was sensed; fine filaments on the sphere's surface trembled slightly, as if probing for changes around it.

The controller thus revealed himself. Kraft now clearly sensed the fungal spirit within, active and stirring; the surrounding hyphae along the fine bronchioles also stirred, triggering a cough reflex.

When he pressed his spirit toward the fungal spirit, attempting to influence it, hyphae throughout the body activated simultaneously. The familiar symptoms of fever and convulsions erupted; even the hypothalamus revealed trace filamentous anomalies, suggesting the sudden high fever might involve direct control of the body's temperature center.

A completely different parasitic pattern from Yin Feng's—but, frankly, this was more like the fungal spirit's true style. Kraft grew even more baffled about the cause of Yin Feng's illness.

Yet both—one ensnaring the spiritual body, the other threatening the physical form—achieved the same goal: using the host to resist treatment. Different paths, same end.

【Need a new approach】

The spiritual body's infection on Yin Feng cannot be resolved—but the physical parasitism may not be beyond remedy.

Since this thing moves and migrates between tuberculosis cavities, is there a way to "persuade" it to emerge on its own? For example… making the lung environment less hospitable to survival?