Lord of Death

God is dead. Not metaphorically, literally. The bodies of the gods lay rotting in the ground. The corrupted divine blood seeps into the soil and water sources, twisting living people into monsters and turning villages into epidemic areas. This is the truth about the plague. But the church doesn't let you know. They tell you that the plague is divine punishment, original sin, and your lack of piety. Then they burned those who knew the truth, along with their villages, to ashes. His name is Black Lead. There is no hierarchy, no guilds, no ecclesiastical recognition. There was only a beak mask, a waxed leather robe, and a blackened iron kettle. There are three characters engraved on the body of the pot, which have been burned and worn repeatedly until they are almost legible— "Boil it three times." This is the only relic left to him by his master. He specializes in taking on tasks that others dare not take on. Go deep into the epidemic area, find the source of pollution, and purify it. His remedy is the knife, and his prescription is fire. Before the battle begins, he will only say one sentence: "Ten steps back. Turn your back to the wall." Then he walked alone into the miasma that even the church dared not step into. Someone asked him why he didn't speak. Because more than ten years ago, he watched the church burn his village and everyone he cared about. His voice became hoarse that day. When he crawled out of the ashes, he swore an oath: He would not let any village become what he remembered. The price is that every purification is eroding his body. Fingers begin to stiffen. The arm is petrifying. But he's still walking.