Chapter 192: Two Servants of Rot

Tension hung in the air the moment Bartholomew heard Jonathan humming the hymn of Blight.

“Please, leave. I have private matters to discuss with this man,” he said with a calm smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

The soldiers nodded without question. Bartholomew glanced deliberately toward a specific corner of the room where he knew Kruger was hiding. A subtle hand signal followed, a silent cue only Kruger would recognize. He understood immediately. This wasn’t just some interrogation. It was serious.

Like Bartholomew, Kruger had taken on a divine pact during the tutorial. His, with Lakarion, the God of Assassination. Bartholomew’s, with Blight, the God of Rot. The two factions weren’t enemies. As long as they didn’t interfere with each other’s goals, there was no conflict. In fact, Bartholomew often supported Kruger. He was family, after all. His cousin.

Once the chamber emptied and the last echo of footsteps faded, the mask dropped. Bartholomew’s smile vanished.

“Prove it,” he demanded. “Prove you truly serve the same one I do.”

“I just sang the hymn,” Jonathan replied, lifting an eyebrow. “Isn’t that proof enough?”

Bartholomew stepped down from the throne and rubbed his forehead, eyes narrowing in thought. He had only spoken to that being once. In a dream. The memory was vivid: a massive rotting head covered in writhing tendrils, like centipedes made of meat. To hear that someone else served the same god raised more questions than answers. He had accepted the pact, yes, but only because their goals aligned. The god wanted to prevent the tutorial from reaching its end. So did Bartholomew.

“How did you come into contact with him?” he asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.

Jonathan stood up fully.

“I killed a creature in a cave,” he said. “And I found an item there. A ‘coin’ of the great Blight. That’s when it started… and I awakened a class mutation.”

Bartholomew nodded slowly. His own path had been different, triggered by a special orb and a hidden quest.

“What do you want? Why reach out to me now? What deal did you make?”

Jonathan’s face hardened. “I want revenge. And power. Nothing else.”

Revenge?

“I know about the 51,” he added, voice low but clear.

Bartholomew’s expression shifted. His eyes sharpened. He was close now, well within killing range. If necessary, he’d end this conversation with blood. Divine allegiance meant little if it conflicted with the greater plan. The deal with Blight had one rule: don’t let the tutorial finish. Everything else was fair game. Even killing his fellow followers. Not even the gods could touch him here. Within the tutorial, his will was law.

Mana stirred beneath his skin, the prelude to a spell already forming.

“I don’t want 51 to happen,” Jonathan said. “I don’t care. I don’t want this tutorial to end. I just want to finish my revenge.”

He tossed something. Bartholomew didn’t catch it. He let it fall to the ground and studied it in silence.

“That’s what I got from the cave,” Jonathan said. “You can have it. I don’t care.”

Bartholomew’s gaze remained locked on him. “And who exactly do you want to kill?”

“A man who got away. Someone who ran,” Jonathan answered. “A fugitive from the Haven.”

Understanding clicked into place.

“Ah… you’re talking about the one who killed Angelica.”

The fugitive had been officially listed as a wanted criminal within the Safe Zone. People from the Haven had come in person more than once demanding his head. Even someone with the humble profession of sketch artist had managed to piece together a pencil-drawn likeness. His face, like so many others, was now plastered on bounty boards all across the city. There would be no peace for him. No return.

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“I want to kill him with my own hands,” Jonathan said. “That’s why I need your help. Your resources. The bastard’s either hiding somewhere in the Wild Zone or maybe ran off to the orc territories. I don’t know. But I have to find him. That’s all I ask. Help me track him down… and let me be the one to end him.”

Bartholomew stared at him for a long moment, quietly amused at the irony. After all, he was the one who’d ordered Angelica’s death.