Newbie Slicer (3)
Gale blended into the group of stern-faced Wanderers, heading toward the plains without a clue what was going on. His awkward expression and posture betrayed just how tense he was. He kept rolling his eyes, glancing around nervously.
"Hey, newbie. First raid?"
"Huh? ...Yeah!"
Isaac, spotting Gale's clumsy demeanor and pegging him for a total rookie, struck up a teasing conversation.
"Don't sweat it. We've never failed a raid like this."
Once Wanderers had grown to a certain point, they left the Starting Village behind for grander adventures. Those who stuck around long-term fell into two categories: jaded retirees craving the safest spot to coast through eternity, or twisted veterans who got their kicks mentoring newbies.
Either way, these were all heavy hitters who could demand respect anywhere. They could've been knights in some fiefdom by now if they'd wanted. And now dozens of these vets had gathered. Unless a Lord-class monster showed up, there weren't many beasts in this world that could stand against them.
No matter how strong they were, their opponent was just a puny skeleton. This was nothing to them.
"So no need to tense up that much."
Isaac reassured Gale with a laid-back vibe, like they were out for a stroll in the hills behind the village. Only then did Gale relax a bit. He'd come here to watch the pros in action from a safe distance—to envision his own future self.
"Right there!"
Evan, guiding the subjugation party, pointed to the hill and shouted. The Wanderers drew their weapons one by one at his call.
The hill at the edge of the vast plains, a spot any Wanderer had passed at least once. At the threshold where the forest truly began, an unfamiliar shadow loomed.
A small skeleton draped in a gray sackcloth hood. That was the culprit that had banded them together. Gale swallowed hard, his face tight with tension.
"Everyone, battle ready!"
The vanguard spotted the skeleton and barked the order. The Wanderers shifted to alert expressions, preparing one after another. But the skeleton showed no intention of waiting, leaping down the hill with agile grace.
Thud!
Dust billowed up, and as everyone focused on where it landed—
Shing!
A shadow shot out, swinging something white with blinding speed. The result was shocking.
Boom!
The front line collapsed in an instant. No—the entire front line was wiped out.
Eyes widened at the unbelievable sight. One strike. A single blow had erased over a dozen Wanderers without a scream. Blue mist rose everywhere, a hazy, almost ethereal beauty to the scene.
"...Run."
"Huh?"
Gale blinked in confusion at Isaac's sudden low whisper. But Isaac screamed, face pale with terror.
"If you wanna live, get the hell out of here now!"
As long as their Stigmata held, a Wanderer could revive endlessly. But that didn't mean they could treat death lightly. Each demise faded the Stigmata a little more. And at the end... when it was spent, the Wanderer vanished on the spot. No corpse left behind. Their soul evaporated. Existence erased.
Those blessed with revival said it wasn't pleasant at all. If anything, death weighed even heavier on them.
Crack!
Gale spun and bolted with everything he had. Booms and screams erupted behind him—"Aaaagh!!"—but he never looked back. Looking back meant death. Stopping wasn't an option!
But maybe he'd focused too hard on running. Gale tripped over a jutting rock he hadn't seen, tumbling to the ground.
"Cough! Cough!"
His lungs compressed on impact, hacking fits exploding out.
Move...! Please!
Forcing his limp legs, Gale tried to stand when he realized how deathly quiet it was around him. Endless dread flooded his mind. Trembling, he slowly turned his head.
"Hiiik!!"
What he faced: two empty sockets staring down. A sinister hunger crept from within, like peering into the abyss.
The skeleton stared through him for a long moment before rising. Gale's gaze locked on the bone it hefted. Ahh, how much blood coats that? How many souls crushed under it?
"M-mon...ster...!"
A rookie's first real step into the fray—
Slice!
—was a total nightmare.
The heart of the devastated plains.
The effect of the skill Craving has ended.
After my rampage, I snapped back to reality and surveyed the surroundings. Pockmarks everywhere from the chaos. No blood or bodies—just blue mist where they'd vanished.
As memories trickled back, a hollow emptiness filled me. Again. Once more, my body had moved on its own, against my will. Sure, I'd wanted to punish the incoming humans. But this merciless slaughter? It wasn't that serious.
...Whatever. They'll all respawn anyway.
I recognized the first guy's face—the one whose neck I'd severed. He'd been the target when I first used Hatred Charge just hours ago. Brushing off any guilt, I stared blankly at the sky.
Another easy wipe. So why the bitterness? All life is fleeting, empty. At this rate, I might attain enlightenment and become a monk. Skeleton monk? Sounds kinda badass.
I can't eat or drink anyway—no temptations to resist. Tempted by the cool title for a sec, but I shook my head. One problem: no killing allowed. No more level-ups or inheritances. Scratch skeleton monk.
Decision made, I stood to check the real priority. Nothing boosts self-esteem like this.
Skill window!
The sole light and salt of my existence. Glory be.
Craving leveling up unwantedly? Bad news. I distinctly remember a new message popping up the moment it triggered this time.
'Felt hunger, huh...?'
"Clack...?"
Rabid hunger and thirst. A body that can't eat, yet starves. My already nutrient-poor frame felt even more useless. At least the hunger was gone now—small mercy.
But not all bad. Hatred Charge leveled from the fight. And best of all—
"Clack! Clack!"
Mood lifted. First time breaking level 10 in a fight. No big changes, but who cares? Felt good!
Savoring the joy, I stood. After this mess, better lay low. Easy win this time, but more numbers or stronger foes? Real danger. Gotta get stronger. More skills. More levels. To survive. No other path. Even if it means every human as enemy.
That's how skeletons endure.
Poke poke.
"...?"
Something nudged me. Turned to see Emilia standing there. What, you stuck around?
She stared blankly, so I tilted my head. Lingering business? She rummaged in her bag, pulling out a black handkerchief. Well-used, ragged. She hesitated, then offered it with resolve.
A ticklish sensation, then her hand withdrew—empty. Glancing down at my neck where she'd fussed: a black scrap draped like a scarf.
"...."
Looking up demanding explanation, she beamed at me. Brightest smile since we met. Had anyone smiled at me since becoming a skeleton?
I gazed blankly at her grin. She approached cautiously, patted my shoulder reassuringly—like comforting me. ...Weird as always.
Comforting the skeleton who'd just massacred people. Witch thing, probably. Not normal thinking. Her pats were awkward, inexperienced. But through her chest against mine, I heard her heart pounding fiercely. And for a fleeting moment—just a moment—I felt human warmth again.