hsntnovel Chapter 1 The Corpse That Came Up
Chapter 1 The Corpse That Came Up
Lieutenant General Pavel Andreyevich Cherzov never imagined that he would one day leave his homeland in this way.
He was the lieutenant general commander of the Second Guards Legion of the Ross Empire, which once commanded 30,000 elite troops.
Now, he has less than a thousand men left, crammed onto a dilapidated hijacked cruise ship, struggling against the ice floes on the northern route, fleeing towards the Victorian Empire.
Seven lead containers were locked in the cargo hold of the cruise ship.
Each container contains a "living corpse".
Chertzov stood at the stern, watching the coastline recede into the distance. That was once his country.
A month ago, a fire broke out in St. Petersburg, the capital of the Rus' Empire.
The fire burned for three whole days.
No one cared, because St. Petersburg was then immersed in the fervor and panic of war—the Rus' Empire and the Holy Romulus Empire had been fighting for two whole years for control of the warm southern plains, and their borders had long since deteriorated into a living hell.
The fire in the capital was merely a footnote in the war; it wasn't even reported in the newspapers.
But when the fire was extinguished and the fire department was clearing the rubble, those who should have been burned to death rose from the ashes.
Cherzov witnessed that scene firsthand.
A woman with half her face burned off, dragging her charred child, emerged from the collapsed house. Her husband tried to embrace her, but she bit his throat with her charred teeth.
Blood splattered all over Chernzov.
That was the first time he had killed someone with his own hands; the body of his own compatriot.
"General."
Cherzov did not turn around.
He knew it was his adjutant, a young man in his early twenties who had been bitten on the arm by a "resurrected being" during last week's breakout.
"How are you feeling?" Chernzov asked.
"It's alright, just a bit cold." The young adjutant pulled up his collar, trying to cover the dark gray veins showing on his neck. "The medic said I won't last three days. In two more days, you'll be..."
He didn't finish speaking.
Cherzov closed his eyes.
Two days later, he will personally complete the ritual known as "Compassion" before his adjutant completely turns into a zombie.
This is how Ross soldiers treat their comrades—sending them off with a bullet before they turn into monsters.
From the St. Petersburg fire to today, Chertzov has pulled the trigger on eleven of his subordinates.
Each time, he felt as if a piece of his soul had been shaved off.
"Can the Viktorians really help us?" the young adjutant suddenly asked.
Chernzov remained silent for a long time.
"Their navy is the strongest in the world," he concluded. "And they have something we don't."
"What is it?"
"Time." Chertzov gazed at the gradually clearing coastline in the distance. "That thing has been spreading in Ross for a whole month, and the Viktorians haven't really experienced it yet."
If we can get the samples to them, they might be able to find a solution before it's too late.
The cruise ship's horn sounded. In the distance, a frigate flying the Victorian Empire's naval ensign was approaching them.
Chertsov turned and walked toward the cargo hold, giving the seven lead containers one last check. Each container was marked with a number and capture location in white paint, with an additional line of text in red paint on the last container—
"Sample number seven. When we found her in the ruins of the Predelshinsk hospital, she had already bitten four soldiers who tried to approach her to death. My God, this person's eyes were still moving!"
We tried holy water, we tried silver nails, we tried fire. It wouldn't die. It wouldn't die!
This is not a curse—a curse wouldn't leave us without even a glimpse of salvation! Father, open your eyes and see! Tell us, why do you allow the dead to rise from the ashes and bite the throats of the living?!
Chertzov reached out and pressed his hand against the lid of the lead container, feeling the cold temperature emanating from his palm.
Through the thick lead plate, he could hear a faint scraping sound coming from inside the container.
Those were the fingers of Sample Number Seven, unconsciously scratching the lead wall.
At his age, he had seen far too many dead people.
But he had never seen anything that could move after it died.
When the cruise ship docked, the naval soldiers of the Victorian Empire were already lined up on the pier waiting for it.
They were dressed in neat dark blue uniforms and white gloves, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked, exhausted Russian soldiers behind Chertzov.
A naval captain named Viktoria stepped forward and gave Chertsov a standard military salute.
"Lieutenant General Cherzov, on behalf of the Viktorian Imperial Navy, I welcome you. The samples you brought will be sent to the Imperial Academy of Sciences for analysis. Until then, you and your men will be placed in quarantine for two weeks of medical observation."
Chertzov returned the greeting stiffly.
"Be very careful with those seven containers." His Viktorian had a heavy Ross accent, but he pronounced each word clearly. "Especially the last one. It's different from the others."
It was already in the late stage of infection when it was captured, but it was still extremely aggressive.
When our military doctor examined it, his glove was only scratched by its claws, and he developed symptoms of infection three days later.
The naval captain's expression didn't change, but Perfit later learned that the captain had tripled his sentry duty that very night.
Seven lead containers were sent to Langdon overnight.
The escort convoy was staffed by an entire company of Marines, with each wagon equipped with additional armed escorts.
They traveled along a military route, and all the rest stops along the way were cleared in advance. Everyone who came into contact with the convoy had to undergo quarantine and observation.
This level of security is only used to escort members of the royal family during peacetime.
But Cherzov knew that even so, it might not be enough.
On his first night in the quarantine zone, he wrote a long letter to the Viktorian Imperial Naval Intelligence Bureau with a borrowed pen.
At the end of the letter, he wrote this—
"Sample number seven was among the first infected individuals to develop the disease after the fire in Pledelshchensk."
It is not a weapon, it is a curse. Please treat it as a curse. Please do not let your country become the next Ross.
After writing the letter, Chertzov sat on his cot in the quarantine area, gazing at the night sky over Viktoria outside the window, and remained motionless for a long time.
He didn't know whether he was bringing hope or another form of destruction.
-----------------
Four days after the samples arrived in Langdon, the Imperial Naval Intelligence Bureau formally sent a request for assistance to the Royal Academy of Sciences.
This was Major William Brandlis's first time stepping into the Royal Society. Clutching a document he had just retrieved from the Director of Intelligence's office, he hurried down the corridor, ignoring the academicians in white coats along the way.
He was led into a conference room.
More than a dozen people were already seated on both sides of the long table.
Seated near the window were three Chartered Masters of the Alchemists' Guild, dressed in elegant dark robes, their badges gleaming under the light.
Across from me were two medical professors from Langton University. One was intently reading a lab report, while the other had his hands folded over his protruding belly, seemingly not expecting much from the meeting.
There was also a church judge who sat in a corner with a thick book of the Word in front of him.
"Major Brandlis," the meeting was chaired by a vice-president of the Royal Academy of Sciences, who gestured for William to sit down, "we have been studying the samples you brought for four days. Our current conclusion is—"
He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, "We cannot determine its nature."
"What does 'unsure' mean?" William asked.
"That is to say, we can neither prove it is a disease nor confirm it is a curse," the round-bellied medical professor chimed in, his tone carrying an unpleasant arrogance. "It does not conform to any known pattern of infectious diseases, nor does it entirely match the curse phenomena recorded in church archives."
Frankly, we need more samples and more time now.
"We don't have time." William placed the documents in his hand on the table. "According to the latest intelligence intercepted by the Naval Intelligence Bureau, the Holy Romulus Empire has begun using this thing as a weapon on the front lines."
They used catapults to hurl the corpses of infected soldiers collected from the borders of the Rus' Empire onto enemy lines, causing widespread panic and infection. At least half an infantry division was immediately quarantined.
The meeting room was silent for a few seconds.
Then the alchemist's guild master, who had remained silent until now, slowly spoke. He looked at William, his aged eyes filled with scrutiny and suspicion: "Major, what do you think we should do?"
"I need someone who can actually solve the problem," William replied bluntly. "You four, I mean no disrespect, but you've spent four days and still can't even confirm the basic properties of the sample."
As far as I know, there is a person in Langdon who completed the forging of the Philosopher's Stone at the age of fourteen and obtained the title of Royal Charter Alchemist.
More importantly, she had written a paper two years ago that detailed the significance of "bacteria" and "disinfection" for surgery and disease prevention.
At the time, the entire Royal Medical Society was laughing at her, thinking she was talking nonsense.
But the hydrogen peroxide you use to disinfect the lab today was her invention.
"You mean that girl from the Brandlis family? Your cousin?" The medical professor frowned. "She's just a child."
"She's a genius," the judge, who had been sitting silently in the corner, suddenly spoke, his voice as deep as if it came from the church's crypt. "I've heard the Patriarch mention her name. He said that the girl's eyes can see things that ordinary people cannot."
William glanced at the judge, nodded slightly, and then turned to the vice-dean: "I need a formal invitation. In the name of the Naval Intelligence Bureau, to invite Miss Perfit Brandlis to join the joint research group."
The vice dean hesitated for a moment, then finally picked up the seal on the table and stamped it on the document William had brought.