Throughout his life—so like an epic legend, he had hunted countless mighty prey.
But none of them were as hideous as this wall of green flesh.
Its very existence was a blasphemy against life. From the core of your being you could not help but loathe it, hate it, and know with instinctive certainty that the only correct course was to crush and annihilate every inch of it from this world. For the briefest of instants, the Foreigner’s usually lazy, careless expression sharpened into deadly seriousness.
Then—
Before Maria could even react, her hands loosened, and the staff-sword was neatly plucked away by the Foreigner. His abyssal eyes gleamed like a Reaper’s gaze, and with a flourish of elegance he held the weapon.
A slash. A pull.
The blade resheathed.
A pale wave of energy stretched out like an illusory blink, brushing through the Plague Demon’s swollen bulk. It barreled forward as if unaware of what had happened, while behind it the Foreigner, back turned, calmly slid the blade to his hip.
The entire act was arrogant, stylish—showmanship embodied.
“Gehrman. Remember this name, and die content.”
Boom—
The Plague Demon’s body instantly burst apart into uncountable fragments. Each shred was seized by invisible force, shredded and torn again and again, as though it could never die enough. Like a collapsing sandcastle, its corrupted mass disintegrated before Maria and Gehrman. Not a speck of gore touched Gehrman’s boots.
Perhaps by coincidence, the mists parted slightly at that instant. A shaft of golden sunlight pierced the cloying white fog and fell upon the playful, mocking hunter.
That soft golden radiance left Maria momentarily dazed, while Gehrman’s youthful face seemed unrestrained, almost dashing.
Version 3.0 Nightmare Blood Plague
gatekeeper boss. Mentor of every Hunter player. The First Hunter, the Night’s Slayer, Gehrman the Hunter-Chief—closely bound to Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower—appearing here as if fate itself had ordained it.
“Your weapon, Maria.” Spinning a dazzling flourish, Gehrman offered the staff-sword back to her.
“Sister!”
Before Maria could reach for it, Felia darted forward and threw herself into her arms. Already far too weak to stand, Maria nearly collapsed—instinctively twisting her body to shield her younger sister as they fell.
“Cough…!”
The impact wracked Maria’s frail body with violent coughs. She was so weakened now that even a little girl’s weight could crush her.
Watching the little sprout knock the beautiful, kind Maria to the ground, Gehrman silently prayed the Black-clad Nun wouldn’t die on the spot. To be honest, he was astonished, and impressed—that she had fought this far at all. Maria was not only beautiful and kind, but also unyieldingly strong.
“If you don’t want your sister crushed, you’d better sit quietly by her side.” Gehrman lifted Felia by the scruff of her neck, as if she were a hissing little cat clawing at the air toward the annoying Foreigner.
It was clear that if her limbs weren’t so short, she would have clawed the rude man’s face to shreds.
“Oh? Two left. I’ll deal with them, and then you sisters can reunite.” Gehrman’s eyes slid toward the two dying Chaos-corrupted, his tone light, even teasing.
“Wait… please stop.”
Maria’s plea froze him in his tracks. His expression grew strange, helpless. Truth be told, he would gladly spare them further suffering; what lay ahead was far too cruel for a girl and a child to bear.
With Felia’s help, Maria slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her face, pale as glass, was devoid of joy or sorrow. Gehrman had seen such expressions many times—it was the look of one who had resolved themselves completely.
“Why suffer needlessly?” Gehrman sighed softly. He believed Maria would make the right choice. But in moments like this, right and cruel were often the same.
“Thank you. But some things must be done by my own hand.”
Taking back her weapon, Maria straightened, thanking him with quiet elegance. She would end the Chaos-corrupted herself—for Felia’s sake, and for her own. Someone had to answer for Seth Town’s tragedy. Someone had to cut ties with the past.
At first Felia only stared, puzzled, at her sister’s resolute back. But then she saw the two twisted monsters and the tattered remnants of familiar clothes that clung to them—and understanding crashed upon her.
“sister!”
She tried to run forward, but the Foreigner caught her. She thrashed wildly. If those were truly their father and mother—perhaps there was still hope? The Radiant Lord was omnipotent, wasn’t He? With enough prayer, couldn’t they be saved?
“Stop! Sister, that’s Father and Mother! There must be a way—can’t you save them? You promised to protect Mother!”
“There is no way.”
Those who had been Chaos-corrupted were transformed not only in flesh, but in soul. To purify the twisted parts was the same as killing them. Even if their will lingered, the corruption would claim them fully. Mercy, in the end, was the only release.
“You’re lying! Lying! The Radiant Lord is almighty—how could there be no way? Sister, you promised! Please, at least try…”
Felia had never seen Maria so cold, so alien.
It was as though all her tender memories—the warmth, the indulgence—had been illusions. No matter how she screamed, Maria’s step did not falter. Her straight back carried a chill of the Northern winds as she strode, resolute, to stand before the pair.
The two dying Chaos-corrupted still clung to life, wounds gaping yet vitality refusing to yield. They clutched each other.
And in their eyes—flickers of humanity remained.
When they beheld their eldest daughter, relief and shame mingled in their gaze. They had been such unworthy parents, to leave her with such pain.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.”
Tracing a cross upon her brow, Maria raised the staff-sword. A crimson gleam burst at the tip.
“May your broken spirits be freed. May all guilt and suffering fall away. Go now to the Radiant Lord’s kingdom, and find the eternal rest that belongs to the departed.”
“Radiant Lord bless you.”
The blade fell.
And from their defiled, twisted flesh, their souls were freed.
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