This World Is Seriously Ill

The corpses whose muscles were still twitching collapsed one after another, and the seawater, which had lightened slightly, was dyed red once more.

The Old Hunter could not help taking a deep breath of the blood stench wafting through the air, as though he had taken a hearty draught of fine wine.

The suspended Fishman Bishop's face twitched violently as he gazed mournfully at the corpses of his kin being washed by the waves.

"Tell me, where is the corpse?"

Gherman drew his scythe blade upward, cutting a tiny wound into the old fishman's body. The flowing blood filled him with intense excitement.

"The Celestial Clock Tower... the Celestial Clock Tower... blasphemous murderers, bloodthirsty demons..."

"The shameful shall suffer Divine Punishment, in the name of Mother Kos's wrath..."

The Fishman Bishop closed his eyes and muttered, repeating sorrowful, hateful whispers.

A savage smile spread across Gherman's lips. His ten fingers flexed excitedly, as though he were looking forward to that answer.

"Wrong answer!"

In an instant, the voice of judgment turned cold. The Old Hunters, who had already grown impatient, rushed into the native crowd and dragged out those degenerates with mutated organs once more.

Wails filled the ground, blood sprayed everywhere, and the suspended fishman trembled violently as two streams of cloudy tears flowed from his aged eyes.

"Demons, you are demons..."

"Continue!"

This time, Gherman no longer concealed his bloodlust and sent another group of natives beneath the butcher's blade.

"May your souls return to Mother Kos's embrace, so that we may embrace God's Child once more..."

The old fishman cried out in agony and could only continue praying.

But at that moment, the bloody hunter followed the Fishman Bishop's gaze and dragged a terrified boy from the crowd.

"I'll ask again. Where is the corpse?"

Ludwig frowned