I Started My Redemption by Raising Believers in the Wasteland-Chapter 42 : The Lord of Rot, Melunus, and the Violet Armistice

Chapter 42: The Lord of Rot, Melunus, and the Violet Armistice
Thick, dark-green liquid—
It was emitting a stench so foul that even my grandmother would have vomited upon smelling it.
Rotten flesh, swollen organs, tangled intestines—
All sorts of indescribable biological remains.
Countless fat, pale maggots crawled in and out of the decaying meat, their movements unbearably grotesque.
And at the center of this foul pool—
A massive creature reclined comfortably.
It had no fixed form.
If one were forced to describe it—
It resembled a mountain of flesh, crudely stitched together from countless rotting organs of different creatures.
Beneath the pale, lumpy layers of fat,
Dark-purple veins throbbed and twisted faintly.
Several cloudy, mismatched eyeballs,
Were embedded haphazardly into the flesh, rolling in random directions.
Its skin was riddled with abscesses and ulcerated holes,
From which oozed yellow-green pus, attracting even more carrion-loving creatures.
Its very existence—
Was enough to shatter the limits of any sane being’s mind!
Disgusting, eerie, grotesque—
Even these words seemed pale and powerless before it…
The Lord of Rot—Melunus.
A true high-tier undead.
And the commanding BOSS of the Undead Legion that occupied this land!
To Melunus—
The Earl of Ladd’s territory was a carefully crafted amusement park.
Within his domain, Maple Leaf Town, Oak Town, Lemon Port, and White Rock Fort were all delectable little treats.
Life was but decoration—death, the constant.
Eternal decay!
That was Melunus’s most exalted artistic pursuit!
However—
Even a powerful tyrant ruling from a pool of rot had his own troubles.
“Quota… damn quota!”
A deep, gurgling sound rumbled from Melunus’s throat.
Its murky eyes stared vacantly at the swarm of flies circling above the putrid pool.
As one of the subordinates under the great Demon God of Decay, Namira,
Melunus was not entirely free.
Each month, there were strict quotas—
How many living beings to harvest,
How many souls to offer to Namira’s divine realm of decay—
All were precisely dictated!
Failure meant—
At best, the reduction of his precious supply of corruptive energy.
At worst…
The colossal body of rotting matter he had assembled would become nourishment for a more efficient peer!
Competition—
Endless competition existed even within the Undead Legion.
Far more brutal and naked than the petty scheming among human nobles!
Every undead lord walked a careful line of balance—
To meet their quotas and please their superiors,
While avoiding excessive depletion of their precious forces.
Those Abomination Kings, Rotten Fungus Lords, and Plague Envoys personally converted by Melunus—
If too many were lost,
His territory could be coveted by that bone-spiked skeletal tyrant next door—Kelvork,
Or that frost-loving predator who froze his prey into sculptures before smashing them to pieces—Grimalr!
Those vile wretches would never pass up a chance to strike him down!
“Hmph… a bunch of lowly maggots…”
Melunus’s larger eyeball shifted,
Turning toward the mountainous pile of flesh and bones stacked beside the pool.
That was his proof of last month’s performance—mostly meat harvested from Florence.
But rules were rules.
Melunus recalled—
That peculiar and fragile agreement between the Undead Council and the Violet Empire—
The Violet Armistice Treaty!
So strange, and so fragile~
The treaty decreed:
The Undead Scourge must not dispatch any fifth-tier or higher power to proactively destroy cities.
In exchange—
The Empire promised to confine all their fifth-tier and higher powerhouses within the Imperial Capital, Holy Saint Anna,
Forbidding them from interfering in any local battles.
At first glance—
It seemed both sides had stepped back equally, suffering no loss.
The scope of war indeed appeared greatly reduced.
After all, neither side’s elites fought to the death anymore.
Yet on Melunus’s rotting giant face, a sneer of mockery twisted wide.
“Foolish humans…”
“You think you can breathe easier because of this~”
It let out a bubbling, sticky laugh.
“A treaty?”
“That’s nothing more than a piece of parchment—ready to be torn at any time!”
“We dare to break it—do you?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!”
The Violet Empire fancied themselves wise—
Believing they desperately needed time to recover, to regroup, to resist the Undead Scourge!
But as for the Undead Scourge—
Their target was never just the human Violet Empire!
The vast Bromley Continent was their true hunting ground!
The dwarves’ impregnable mountain fortresses,
The elves’ deep and ancient forests,
The orcs’ roaring wastelands,
The mysterious kingdoms of the sea clans,
The goblins’ cunning lairs,
Even the lofty peaks where proud dragons coiled—
All living beings fell within the Undead Scourge’s reach of corruption!
The human empire?
Merely a low-level training ground.
The internal strife among undead lords, their restraint of power—
Were but wolves testing and intimidating each other before sharing their prey!
When the time came to tear apart the treaty—
Those human powerhouses caged within the capital would become the most exquisite sacrifices!
For that very reason—
The Earl of Ladd’s domain had become such a bizarre situation.
While the north burned in endless war and half the Empire fell,
The rich southeast seemed quiet and scattered in conflict.
Not because the Undead Legion lacked strength—
But because undead lords like Melunus meticulously managed their hunting grounds.
Slowly, patiently corrupting—
Meeting quotas, conserving strength, guarding against rivals—
And on the surface, still abiding by the Violet Armistice.
Thus, the quiet parasitic takeover of places like Lemon Port
Was nothing unusual.
——
Melunus’s enormous body suddenly shuddered.
Its abdomen writhed violently, as if something inside was thrashing about.
That twisted giant face contorted with an odd expression—
A mix of pain… and pleasure?
“Ugh—gah!”
With a sound that made one’s teeth ache,
It vomited a large glob of dark-green mucus, reeking with an acrid, corrosive stench.
The slime fell to the ground, squirming rapidly—
And soon took the shape of a palm-sized, beetle-like creature with glossy carapace and sharp mandibles.
It shook off the mucus on its body, climbed nimbly up the mound-like belly before it,
And finally stopped upon a relatively clean patch of flesh, bowing its head respectfully.
Its mandibles quivered at high frequency, producing sharp, hurried screeches.
“Chii—sshh—”
“Oh great source of rot, embodiment of filth, Lord Melunus!”
“Your humble servant, the Heart-Eating Beetle Larva, Glock, s to you!”
Melunus’s eyes rolled, focusing on Glock.
A gurgle rumbled from its throat: “Speak… Lemon Port—how fares my orchard?”
Glock’s voice trembled with irrepressible excitement. “Praise your magnificent decay, my lord!”
“Lemon Port, as you foresaw, has completely fallen under our control!”