The Underground Cemetery
“Haa.” Dain let out a deep sigh as he stared downward. Ceres was no longer inside the hole, yet the stubborn bulge in his pants refused to subside. What was this tangled emotion? He wanted to call it guilt, but something else seemed to lie beneath it, darker and more primal. Only by forcing his mind elsewhere did the front of his trousers finally settle. Yet the moment he stepped outside to clear his head, he spotted Ceres sitting at the table drying her hair, and his hand instinctively slipped into his pocket.
“Ah! Dain! You’re late. Zarko went in first~.”
Ceres smiled with that adorable lilt in her voice.
“The bathroom here is wonderful. The water’s warm, too. Ha~ it feels so good to finally wash.”
“I-is that so? Looking forward to it.”
Even her pure, innocent face made his lower abdomen throb, so Dain quickly sat down at the table.
“They said laundry can be done behind the inn. I’ll go take care of mine first. Be back soon!”
“Mm-hmm.”
The instant Ceres left with the laundry bundle, Dain clutched his head in both hands. He felt as if the guilt would crush him. Was it simply because he had spied on her? Because it felt like betraying Ceres? No—Dain had not yet realized that beneath the complicated tangle of emotions lay the filthy truth: he would do it again.
How many sighs had he drawn? Zarko finally emerged from the bathroom. Realizing he had not yet prepared to wash, Dain was about to head back inside when he called out.
“Zarko! You can do the laundry out back.”
“Mm.” Zarko nodded. Just as he turned to go back through the door—
“Ceres is washing right now, so you can go after she finishes.”
The words felt strangely forced even as they left his mouth. Why had that thought occurred to him? He couldn’t say.
“Ah, Dain.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for your hard work getting here. Let’s do well tomorrow.”
Dain flinched at Zarko’s words, but a small laugh soon escaped him.
“Haha, yeah. You too. I’ll be counting on you tomorrow!”
While gathering his clothes and soap back in the room, Dain thought about Zarko in the village. His misunderstanding had simply come from not knowing the man well enough. He still harbored doubts that Zarko was truly the hero, yet he now believed the man might yet display the qualities of one.
When he finished preparing and stepped out again, he saw a faintly flushed Ceres emerging from the bathroom.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I forgot something. Wash up well! I’m going to sleep.”
“R-right.”
After washing and sinking into the tub, the exhaustion seemed to melt from his body. The stiffness in his shoulders, thighs, and lower back drained away into the warm water.
“Haaaa…”
As the heat filled him, an image rose unbidden in Dain’s mind: Ceres squatting before the golden-scent flower, smiling so prettily. Then came the sight beyond the hole—her pale back, the curve of her hips, the way her breasts swayed with every movement. Blood surged once more between his legs. His hand, moving instinctively downward, stopped and returned to the rim of the tub. That was how Dain held himself together.
“Aigoo… he probably didn’t see…?”
Ceres touched her burning cheeks, then suddenly noticed the underwear she had left on the bed. She had been mortified when she realized she’d forgotten it while doing laundry.
“With Zarko there, I couldn’t go back in.”
It was lucky Dain had been delayed gathering his own clothes. Ceres slowly picked up the underwear and spread it across her palm.
“It was right where I left it… Yeah. He couldn’t have seen.”
Even so, her eyes carefully examined the fabric. After walking all day and fighting twice, she knew better than anyone how much she had sweated. Camping between two men since leaving the village, she had not changed her underwear even once.
“I-is it… okay…?”
She cautiously brought it to her nose. A strange scent brushed her nostrils. It didn’t seem like sweat alone, but she told herself it must be because the sweat had dried and reappeared so many times. The mere thought that someone might smell it made her writhe with embarrassment.
“Uuu…”
She shot upright and stared at the underwear again. No obvious stains. After checking repeatedly, she touched it with a finger and found an especially damp spot.
“Huh?”
At the subtle texture, she pressed again. A faintly sticky fluid stretched into a thin string between the cloth and her fingertip before snapping.
“…Sticky… that’s weird. Why would it…?”
A thought flashed through her mind, but Ceres shook her head. It must be soapy water. In a bathroom that small, it was entirely possible. She stared at the underwear a moment longer, then stuffed it into her bag, promising herself she would wash it the moment they returned from the underground cemetery. Only then did she flop onto the bed.
“As I mentioned, I will guide you only as far as the entrance. Understood?”
“Yes, I understand. We won’t drag you any farther, so don’t worry.”
Dolan kept showing his empty hands, as if to prove he carried no weapon. He had clearly been stationed here by the kingdom army to support the hero, yet the man seemed far too timid for the role.
Soon a path overgrown with grass and faint traces of passage appeared, leading to a small stone-decorated entrance.
“Th-that’s it.”
Even without reports of undead, the oppressive gloom was palpable. From the shadowed mouth of the entrance, it felt as though night itself began.
“Then we’ll be counting on you!”
Dolan hurried off toward the village. Even if they were the hero’s party, they were barely twenty years old; he wondered if the man wasn’t placing too much faith in them.
Passing through the entrance and descending the stairs, a chilling aura crawled across their skin. From the moment they entered the cemetery, none of them spoke. They simply walked forward in heavy silence, eyes fixed ahead.
When the last traces of daylight vanished completely, Dain lit the torch he had prepared.
“Uwaak!”
Zarko cried out. As the light spread, yellowed skeletons that had been hiding in the darkness clattered to life. Most were empty-handed, but a few clutched shields and rusted swords.
“I’ll take the lead!”
With a short command, Dain stepped forward and smashed a skeleton with his shield. It scattered without offering any resistance. These were ordinary skeletons; no matter how dark the tomb, they were not foes to fear in what amounted to daytime conditions.
“Ceres, conserve your prayers! Zarko, move forward!”
In the narrow passages of the underground cemetery, Dain could hold the line alone. The odds were low, but even if something slipped past him, Zarko—though not particularly strong—should be able to stop it.
As expected, the skeletons could not push back Dain’s advance at all. Even those armed with swords and shields crumbled into bone fragments when struck on exposed joints with the hilt or simply punched. Their sheer numbers were the only real problem, but by responding calmly, soon only scattered bones remained around them.
“Isn’t this… too easy?”
“So that’s why the villagers left the underground cemetery untouched.”
Even Ceres, who had been wound tight with tension, began to relax. She could not use her lightning indoors, and light-based prayers were difficult to cast effectively in such a cramped passage, so she could only watch.
A clatter sounded—someone kicking the bones that littered the floor—but they had already been swept to one side. Raising the torch again, Dain spotted a small group of skeletons ahead. And among them, one with hollow eyes containing eerie blue lights was staring directly at him.
“That’s the one. The blue light.”
It was not merely different in appearance. The chilling glow made every muscle in his body tense. Dain rolled his shoulders, then struck his shield hard with the flat of his blade. Bone fragments and dust flew off with a dry rasp.
“Now it’s for real. Ceres, can you manage?”
“Y-yes!”
“Good. Zarko, I’ll hold off the blue one as much as I can. Protect Ceres.”
Zarko nodded and stepped in front of her. Dain quickly checked both their faces, drew a deep breath, and charged forward.
“Uaaaaah!”
He swept aside the obstructing skeletons with shield and sword. Riding that momentum, he swung at the blue-lit one, but it instantly raised its longsword to block. Strong!
Even after stopping a heavy blow, the skeleton did not budge. In the brief stalemate, several lesser skeletons slipped past Dain, but they were weak enough to shatter if Ceres simply swung her staff. This one—stronger than any orc—was the priority.
From behind came the reassuring sounds of bones crumbling and Ceres chanting her prayers. Dain knocked the skeleton’s blade aside and prepared to strike again when, before his sword could land, the skeleton’s hand shot out and seized him by the throat.
“Kuuk!”
It was not a grip he could break. The fingers tightened like thick wire, slowly crushing his windpipe. As the skeleton’s face began to blur, he saw its longsword rising for a downward strike.
Damn it…!
The moment the blade began to fall, a brilliant light bloomed before Dain’s eyes. The skeleton’s sword slammed into a yellow barrier and stopped dead. The crushing grip loosened; Dain tore free and reset his stance. It was Ceres’ prayer. Without it, death would have been unavoidable.
But there was no time to feel relief. The skeleton threw an irritated punch, and the barrier of light shattered like glass.
“Ah, no!”
The saintess’s power was supposed to be the natural enemy of the undead, yet the barrier had been pierced so easily that panic was written clearly across Ceres’ face.
Dain raised his shield at once. The skeleton swung its longsword once, then began advancing slowly toward him. While the flustered Ceres steadied her breathing and resumed her prayer, Zarko’s gaze drifted to her lower body. He subtly crouched beside her and once again placed his hand on the saintess’s thigh.
Ceres’ body gave a small tremble at the hero’s touch, but she did not stop chanting with her eyes closed. The memory of that powerful lightning seemed to justify the contact in her mind. Yet as if mocking her own rationalization, Zarko’s hand slowly crept inward.
When Ceres’ prayer faltered for a moment with her inhale, the hand on her thigh paused as well. She bit her lip lightly and continued the chant; the hand, as though it understood, began to gently knead the soft flesh at its destination.
Ceres’ prayer grew louder and more fervent, and the fingers upon her thigh began to move once more.