Chronicles of Kharon Vol. 5: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (The Saga of Kharon) by Ravenscroft Daisuke

Author:Ravenscroft, Daisuke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-08-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Flesh Returned

The dawn was a lie. A sick, gray light filtered through the low clouds, bringing no warmth, only revealing the misery of the wasteland with a cruel clarity. Every mud puddle gleamed with a dull sheen, every rotten hut seemed even more decrepit.

We returned. The mud had dried on our clothes, forming a stiff crust that cracked with every movement and scraped our skin. We smelled of dried blood, stale sweat, and the sick stench of the warren. A stench that had stuck to our skin, to our hair, a permanent debuff that would follow us for days.

The villagers came out of their huts. They didn't run to greet us. They emerged slowly, like worms coming out of the earth after a rain, blinking in the gray light. They just stood there, in silence, watching us.

In their eyes, there was no fear. There was calculation.

Their empty gazes swept over us, not as saviors, but as… something new. They counted our cuts, assessed the way Elira limped, measured the exhaustion that hunched our shoulders. We were the new alpha predators in their ecosystem of misery. And they were deciding whether it was worth challenging us, or if it was smarter to just wait for us to leave, or to die.

Elira carried the girl like one would hold a broken doll. The body hung limp, eyes wide and seeing nothing, a viscous thread of saliva descending to stain her dress. The smell was unbearable: pus and fever, a sour cloud that clung to the back of the throat.

In front of the hut, Yorick waited with his arms crossed. The wind lifted his ragged cloak, revealing the rotten half of his face. His good eye examined us, slowly, until it settled on the creature. A grimace of revulsion contorted his intact side.

“And that thing?” his voice was a harsh growl.

Elira looked down. The air escaped her in a broken whisper:

“She survived.”

Yorick spat in the mud, very close to the girl's feet.

“Useless meat. Can't work. Can't breed. Only swallows.”

Lisanne stepped forward without answering. The bag she carried was dripping. She opened it abruptly and threw its contents to the ground. Goblin heads rolled in the muck, leaving behind a smell of sour blood. Their glassy eyeballs stared at the overcast sky.

“The nest is clean,” Lisanne said, her gaze never leaving Yorick. “Your stew.”

The silence was cut by the splash of another man approaching. The same dull eyes as the others, until he recognized Lisanne. Something ignited in that dead stare. She took out the blue hair ribbon, stiff with dried blood, and held it out without a word.

The man took it. His fingers trembled as he folded it carefully, putting it away as if it could still burn with its owner's warmth. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just looked up at the girl.

“And her?” the question came out hoarse, like a croak.

“Yours,” Yorick replied, with a crooked sneer. “Your wife's sister. Your burden now.”

The man stared at her without moving. Elira held her tighter, as if her arms knew what was about to happen.

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