Infinite Mana Exorcist
Chapter 51: Makeshift village

Chapter 51: Makeshift village

After what felt like an eternity, Asher finally regained consciousness. His body still ached from the battle, but relief washed over him as he found himself surrounded by his teammates. Their expressions ranged from exhaustion to satisfaction. They had done it. They had torn through the dragon’s insides and salvaged everything valuable they could find.

The dragon’s carcass had been stripped of anything worth selling, and its remains had been traded for a hefty sum. However, there was one thing they had chosen to keep—the core. Unlike the other parts, the core was priceless. Its worth was beyond mere currency, and they all knew it.

Their meeting had been brief, focusing solely on their next move. Yet, despite the discussion, Asher found himself lost in thought. He had no clear direction. This had been his only lead—the only path to uncovering the truth behind the forced creation of Night Terrors. And now, he was at a crossroads.

As the meeting concluded, each of them drifted into their own reflections, contemplating what lay ahead.

Feeling restless, Asher decided to take a walk, his mind clouded with uncertainty. Logan, noticing his leader’s unease, insisted on accompanying him. Without much protest, Asher allowed him to follow, and together, they stepped into the night.

The village around them was eerily silent. Shadows stretched across the ground, cast by the dim lanterns flickering weakly in the cold breeze. It was almost devoid of life. The houses, the empty streets—it was as if the entire place had been abandoned long ago.

"So, you have a lot on your mind, leader," Logan finally spoke, breaking the silence. "Why are you so tense about this mission? We could just march into the Fallen Land, wipe out their forces, and be done with it. From what I saw, you have the strength to do so. So why are you hesitating?"

Asher held his breath, his lips pressing together in a thin line. He gave no reply, just continued walking, his eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet.

Logan took the silence as a sign to push further. "We’re adventurers. We’re supposed to be free—unbound by burdens. But this... this feels personal to you, doesn’t it?"

Still, Asher said nothing.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick, pressing down on them both.

Then, finally, Asher spoke.

"Don’t speak so lightly when you have no idea what this means to me."

"No idea?" Logan folded his arms, his brow furrowing. "Then explain it to me."

Asher stopped walking. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as he swallowed the pain that threatened to rise.

"The ruler of the Fallen Clan has my sister." His voice was cold, laced with a deep-seated fury. "He took her right in front of me, back when I was still too weak—when I couldn’t fully control my exorcist abilities."

Logan’s expression hardened.

"She had a team back then," Asher continued, his mind drifting to the past. "Just like me. We were on separate paths, but fate brought our teams together. That was when he came. The ruler himself. He descended upon us with his legion of Night Terrors. I tried—I fought with everything I had—but I burned out before I could save her. I failed."

The memory seared through him like a blade, raw and unforgiving. The image of his sister, screaming his name as she was taken away, haunted him every single night.

"That’s brutal," Logan muttered, his tone solemn. "I’ve heard rumors about him. They say he kills his victims by infecting them with some kind of poison—something even Night Terrors can’t survive."

Asher’s eyes darkened. "That’s why I need to uncover the truth behind the artificial creation of Night Terrors. I need to learn how to cure the poison. If I don’t... I can’t save her."

He stopped walking, his fists trembling. His teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. The thought of losing her forever was unbearable.

Logan exhaled slowly. He understood the weight of Asher’s burden. There weren’t many options available. The ruler’s grasp was unyielding. The only known ways to escape him were to either run beyond his reach, kill him, or die trying. None of those were choices Asher would accept.

"There aren’t many answers to this predicament," Logan admitted. "If we had a full party—an army—we could storm the Fallen Clan and take him down. But as we are now... it’s near impossible."

Hearing the concern in Logan’s voice, Asher wanted to smile. But he couldn’t. He could only nod.

Wanting to change the subject, he asked, "Anyways, where exactly is this city located? I’ve never seen it on any map. Just the guild house and nothing else."

As though in synchrony, both of them came to an abrupt stop. Their eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

They turned their gazes toward their surroundings.

The village was deserted.

Not a single sound could be heard.

All except for a faint, eerie chant—an old woman’s voice humming in the distance.

Logan tensed. "Dude, you see it too, right?"

Asher nodded. "This isn’t a town of the living anymore."

His hand instinctively fell onto the hilt of his sword, while Logan reached into his coat, gripping something tightly. Together, they moved forward cautiously, their senses on high alert.

The realization that their allies back at the guild house had no knowledge of this danger made Asher’s breath hitch. But right now, he and Logan were the ones in immediate peril.

"You’re an exorcist. Do you sense anything I can’t?" Logan asked, keeping his voice low.

Asher’s eyes narrowed. "I do. But it’s vague. Keep your guard up—something is coming. Fast."

Logan’s fingers pulled a small yellow substance from his pocket. Whispering an incantation, the substance expanded, twisting and elongating into a rod with a sharp end and a magic stone embedded at the top.

A wizard’s staff.

Asher wanted to ask questions, but now wasn’t the time.

Elders began emerging from the shadows, stepping out from corners and doorways in unnatural unison. Slowly, they formed a circle around Asher and Logan.

There were more than twenty of them.

They wore tattered sackcloth robes, their bodies frail and hunched with age. Some could barely stand, their spines curved like gnarled tree branches, while others struggled to keep their eyes open.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Logan," Asher muttered under his breath. "Don’t let your guard down. It’s a hivemind."

The elders, moving in perfect synchronization, stretched their hands forward.

Their lips curled into unsettling smiles.

"Do you have something to give us, young souls?"

---

Meanwhile, back at the guild house, Fey sat at a table in the bar, watching Melissa’s unconscious form slump forward. She had passed out from drinking too much.

"Man, she’s a pain in the ass," Fey muttered, brushing his hair out of his face.

Creak!

The door to the bar swung open violently, slamming against the wall.

Fey turned his gaze toward the entrance.

A group of elders stood there.

For a brief moment, he thought nothing of it. But as the body of the guild master was thrown onto the floor—unconscious—his stomach twisted.

Something was very, very wrong.

"Who the hell are these people?"

The elders, in perfect synchronization, stretched their hands toward him and spoke in unison.

"Do you have something to give us, young souls?"