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There can be no half measures with the Blight and the Blighted.
The Gymnasium engraves this fact upon the memory of every student that passes through its doors. Humes are fleeting candlesticks. Rarely can one drag the Stouts from their fortifications. The flame of the Daemons was extinguished by the Hero Julius during the Daemonwar. The other more monstrous peoples of the world can be found only in biology texts and bodice rippers, for their inability to organize their societies has pushed them to the wild fringes of the world. The Blight alone poses an existential threat to the Yggdrasil and its Children.
That alone marks every carrier that cannot be cured for a death beyond death. For the still living who are beyond even the Children's medicine, 'tis best to spare their souls and end them gently before rendering the corpse to ash and returning them to the world. For the shambling corpses the Blight would muster against the living - those Blighted things without a soul to speak of - there is a reason you blessed the Humes with the Inquisitor's Flame.
Fire alone can purge the grounds they desecrated with their every step, and return them to the World Tree's Roots.
The Rite of Cleansing would in many ways be better than flame alone. The Daughters of Irminsul and their sisters among the other elvenhomes cleansed millions of Blighted men and beasts during the Three Blights, corralling the abominations into ritual grounds with the aid of Ring and Rod. However, the rite works best when the Blighted synapse remains intact, exploiting the connection to purge every corpse of the fungal rot. Even then, forces were on hand to render the remnants untouched by the rite unto ash.
With the synapse commanding the horde already burnt away, purging in flame is the only real choice you have. A pyromancer kissed by the divine flame could incinerate these corpses in a matter of moments, with little more than gesture and a breath. Making flame from the metal you can manipulate takes a bit more effort on your part.
"First, <span class="mu-i">extract ore</span>," you whisper the mnemonic and let your mana dig reach again into the recesses of the earth. With the blessings already shaped consuming the shallowest deposits, you must reach down to the very roots of Yggdrasil. The overwhelming mana makes you nauseous, but the stone about the roots exists in so fluid a state that it can become what you need with a prayer and a push. "Draw forth copper and zinc in a ratio of two to one, and alloy them in accordance with their purpose. The brass of the trumpet, to sound the sacred conflagration..."
The iron blessing falls from the sky.
It wavered when you shaped your bow. An alloy-spell shaped of two metals merged as one is enough to break your concentration upon it entirely. But it matters little now, for the Blighted can do little but writhe in pain as their bodies are consumed by the foul rot within.
It's almost admirable, how hard the Blight struggles for life.
Too bad it's over.
