Aurora Chronicle: Despair's Aftermath Left by a Fallen Ruler
My name is Ash. I was once the right hand of the world's most feared ruler, the Demon Lord Aurora Chronicle.
Three years have passed since that final battle. People celebrate Aurora's death and laugh together in a peaceful world. But every time I see those smiles, my heart is torn by a sharp pain. They don't understand anything. What Lord Aurora was protecting. What she was fighting against.
Three years ago, the world faced two threats. One was the horde of monsters visible to human eyes. The
Aurora Chronicle: Despair's Aftermath Left by a Fallen Ruler - Eater of Grudges
On the eastern side of the Kadur Mountains, a lone man walked the narrow mountain path leading toward the Duchy of Draigan.
His black cloak swayed heavily in the cold mountain wind. The face beneath the hood was expressionless. The left half held a deep crimson eye. The right, an amber one. Those two gazes quietly surveyed the mist-shrouded mountainside.
It was Ash.
Five days had passed since the clamor of Breihalt. Even now, the city was likely still steeped in the lingering afterglow of the liberation festival celebrating Lady Oro's death. But here, not a trace of that festive air remained. There was only the black shadows of the conifers and the bone-chilling cold.
Since departing Breihalt, the capital of the Kingdom of Lushen, Ash had walked almost without rest. Stopping in villages along the highway, he had caught rumors of refugees streaming from the Ashlands. "The Melting Disease"—that was what people called it in fear, but none understood its true nature. They believed the manifestation of the Silent Rot to be a mere contagion.
Ash exhaled. The white plume rose briefly before dissolving into the mist.
He unfolded a map with his left hand. With his right—missing its middle and ring fingers, leaving only three—he traced the route leading to the Duchy of Draigan. The last settlement marked on the map had been passed half a day ago. There should be nothing ahead.
But—
Ash's left eye, the crimson one, gave a faint throb.
There were things only he could see. The code that composed the world, the invisible flow of information. That flow was showing an unnatural distortion in the valley ahead. As if river water were being swallowed by a massive whirlpool, the stream of code was being drawn in a single direction.
A stagnation of the Silent Rot.
And its concentration was unlike anything he had felt before. Not around the Ash Pit, nor near Breihalt, had he confirmed a distortion this severe.
"...Something's there."
He tucked the map inside his cloak and stepped onto a side path descending into the valley.
The path quickly narrowed to a game trail, and soon even that vanished. But Ash pressed on regardless. Using the code distortion his left eye perceived as a guide, he continued through the deep mist.
Before long, a shadow loomed beyond the fog.
A building.
Several wooden houses stood in a row. But they were all wrapped in an eerie stillness. No smoke rose from the chimneys. No light shone in the windows. There was no sign of human presence at all.
It was a village.
A village not marked on any map.
Ash stopped and stared intently at the entire settlement. With his left eye, the crimson one, he read the flow of code saturating the space.
—Terrible.
The code enveloping the village was almost completely corroded. The lines of information that should have flowed in orderly fashion were tangled in a mess, torn apart, and clouded black. Prolonged exposure to Silent Rot of this concentration would cause the human body to collapse from the inside.
He stepped into the village.
The smell of decay hit him. A cloying sweetness, like rotting fruit, yet with an earthy undertone. Peering into a well, he saw the water was black and murky, an iridescent film of oil floating on its surface.
He opened the door of one of the houses.
Inside, traces remained as if people had been living there until just moments ago. Bread sat on the table, half-eaten and covered in mold. A chair was overturned, and a book lay open on the floor, abandoned mid-read.
The next house was the same. And the one after that.
There were no inhabitants to be found anywhere.
It was as if the entire village, at a single moment, had suddenly vanished, leaving only their daily lives behind.
"...Same as Heksa."
Ash muttered under his breath. The same phenomenon as the village disappearance that had occurred along the middle reaches of the Elda River. But here, the concentration of Silent Rot was even higher. The code corrosion was far more advanced than the passage of time would suggest.
As he walked toward the village center, he analyzed the code distortion in detail with his left eye.
And then he noticed it.
The stagnation of the Silent Rot wasn't blanketing the entire village indiscriminately. There was a place where it was concentrated at a specific point. As if drawn to that location, the code distortion grew deeper and denser.
The center of the village. The old well.
"...No way."
Ash placed his hands on the well's edge and peered into its depths. The black water reflected the light with a dull sheen. But—his left eye's vision caught a faint movement of code at the bottom.
Alive.
Still, barely.
He shed his cloak, gripped the edge of the well, and descended into it without hesitation.
The bottom of the well was wrapped in cold darkness.
The water reached his waist. The black, murky liquid enveloped Ash's body with a clinging, unpleasant sensation. The stench of decay grew stronger.
And there—at the bottom—was a human shape.
An old man.
He sat slumped against the wall, half-submerged in the water. Tattered clothes. An emaciated body. And most of all, the right half of his body was—melting.
The arm from the shoulder down was exposed bone, the flesh dissolved into a thick, black liquid. His right cheek had collapsed, revealing the gums and jawbone beneath. Yet still, only his left eye barely moved, fixing on Ash's form.
His mouth moved slightly.
"...Who... are you..."
A hoarse voice. Words that were barely sound, more like leaking air.
"A passerby."
Ash knelt beside the old man. The black water rippled with a soft sound.
"What happened here?"
The old man's left eye shifted awkwardly. His gaze turned toward Ash's face.
"...You... your eyes..."
The old man was staring at Ash's left eye, the crimson one. The heteromorphic eye that could perceive the Silent Rot, invisible to ordinary humans.
"There's no time to explain. Answer me. What happened in this village?"
The old man was silent for a moment. Only the sound of his ragged breathing echoed at the bottom of the well.
"...Grudges."
"What?"
"...In the village... the one who held the most grudges... it started with that woman."
The old man's voice was fragmented. But his words carried a strange urgency.
"...She cursed her neighbors, hated her husband, beat her children... that kind of woman... was the first... to melt."
Ash frowned.
"The first to melt? You're saying the corrosion chose specific people?"
The old man nodded slowly. The motion alone caused black liquid to drip from his melting right shoulder.
"...Next... was the woman's husband. Then... the people she hated, in order... As if... guided by someone's will... The stronger the grudge... the more it was drawn..."
Ash listened in silence. In his mind, all the information he had gathered about the Silent Rot was being rapidly processed. The knowledge Lady Oro had left behind. The phenomena he had observed with his own left eye. And now, the new facts this old man was recounting.
Will.
Selection.
Directionality.
Such concepts were absent from Lady Oro's knowledge. The Silent Rot was supposed to be merely an invisible erosion phenomenon, a cancer of the world spreading indiscriminately.
"...But that doesn't explain it."
"...That... night... there was no... wind, but something... As if... someone was... gripping my body... from the inside..."
The old man's voice trembled. Fear was plastered thickly across the half of his face that remained.
"...So... I ran... and came... here..."
"It's pointless. The water in this well is already completely contaminated."
Ash's cold, detached voice echoed at the bottom of the well. Yet, his words were somehow tinged with a faint, thorn-like edge.
"...That... woman... said..."
The old man's left eye looked up at Ash.
"...'You hate that person too, don't you'... 'So it'll come to you, too'... she said."
Ash's right eye, the amber one, narrowed slightly.
"...It feeds... on grudges."
The old man's voice suddenly grew faint.
"...That thing... is alive... It senses... hatred... feeds on it... and grows. Like... something with... a will of its own..."
Having said that much, the old man's body convulsed violently.
The dissolution of his right side accelerated. Bone and flesh collapsed with a sickening, squelching sound. Unable even to scream, the old man simply stared wide-eyed with his remaining left eye.
"...I... can feel... it... inside... me... too..."
"That's enough. Don't speak."
Ash placed his right hand—his three-fingered hand—on the old man's left shoulder. Whether he intended to use some kind of technique, or if it was merely a gesture of comfort, even he himself didn't know.
But—at that moment, the old man's body completely gave way.
Not just the right half, but his entire body. In an instant.
Black liquid splattered, hitting Ash's face. The old man's flesh lost its form, dissolving into a sludge that mingled with the black water of the well.
All that remained were fragments of bone and tattered rags.
For a long moment, Ash did not move.
The black liquid trickled down his cheek. The cold sensation traced the burn scar on his neck.
"...It has a will, you say."
He stood up. He washed the black filth from his hands in the well water. The water was already completely putrid.
The Silent Rot was drawn to specific emotions—intense grudges and hatred—and grew by feeding on them.
Such a property existed nowhere in the memories inherited from Lady Oro. It was a completely unknown phenomenon.
"...In three years, has it mutated this much?"
Or—had it been like this from the very beginning?
Ash climbed out of the well and picked up his soaked cloak. The cold air bit into his skin beneath the wet clothes.
The sky was heavily overcast, threatening rain at any moment. He looked out over the village. The empty houses. The putrid air. The black, murky well water.
And then—
Ash's left eye caught four shadows moving at the edge of the village.
They wore crude leather armor and carried rusty swords and short bows. Their faces were etched with poverty and hunger.
The Ashfang.
A self-defense organization of those who once belonged to Oro's army and now eked out a living in the Ashlands. A four-man advance party, it seemed, had begun to silently surround the village.
"Found you... the traitor, Ash."
One of them spoke. A thin man with an old scar on his chin.
"No offense to Boss Grue, but we'll handle this ourselves. There's a bounty on your head."
The other three readied their weapons as well. Their coordination was sloppy. Clearly undertrained. They couldn't compare to the elite forces Grue had led.
"So you acted on your own."
Ash's voice was flat, as if discussing the weather.
"Shut up! If we catch you, we'll get the reward—"
"Futile."
Ash raised his right hand. His three fingers traced the air. An engraving motion.
The air trembled.
The ground beneath the men's feet suddenly sank. A ground manipulation via code technique—with just that, the balance of the four men poised to attack crumbled pathetically.
"W-whoa!"
The men toppled over. Ash continued his engraving. This time, small patterns floated in the air, then burst and spread.
A thick fog materialized.
In the blink of an eye, the entire village was enveloped in deep mist. Visibility was less than a meter.
"Where—"
A shout was cut short.
One.
Then a second, a third.
Within the fog, dull impacts and brief screams could be heard. Using minimal techniques, Ash neutralized them one by one, with cold precision. Efficient, wasted movements.
Three minutes later, when the fog cleared, all four men lay on the ground.
He hadn't taken their lives. They were merely unconscious.
Ash knelt beside the last one—the man with the scar on his chin. The man's shoulder was bruised, his face contorted in pain. He was still conscious.
"Tell Grue."
Ash spoke in a low, inflectionless voice.
"Investigate the anomalies
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