Public Enemy: The Nightmare of the West (3)
Riella's message appeared before my eyes.
Not exactly welcome news.
"They're heading out already."
It had been five days since I arrived in the Western Region, and the results I'd gathered in that time amounted to practically nothing. I still hadn't found the leader of the Corpse Locust swarm. It continued to deny that I was Clitia, and it still refused to show itself.
"Still no luck?"
"I've been telling you. There are just too many of them. It's hard."
Sun-bask was still searching, but the situation wasn't looking good. The Corpse Locusts had spread far and wide — calling them a "swarm" almost felt inadequate, given how vastly they were distributed. After weighing every factor I could think of, I reached my final conclusion.
The Western Region had been completely overrun.
"Most of them must have already fallen."
"Probably."
Nearly every living thing had died and become their hosts — everything except the plants, which weren't viable as parasitic targets. The Nightmare of the West. It had lived up to the name. No wonder it was a Public Enemy.
Corpses beyond corpses. The endless procession of the dead had worn me down. Back when I was active as a Saintess, I'd been summoned so often to offer prayers of rest for the departed that I thought I'd gone numb to it. But once the numbers scaled up like this, the pain felt new and unfamiliar all over again.
Hit-and-run tactics were meaningless when the gap in numbers was this severe. If anything, they were the ones coming to find me, as if they meant to run me into the ground — periodically, relentlessly. Beating them back wasn't hard, and my body felt light enough. There were just too many of them.
My sense of smell, in particular, was going through hell. The stench of rot had clung to my nose and would not let go. I doubted even undertakers or dark mages lived this close to corpses. Even my robe reeked. It felt like I was wearing the stench itself.
"You've been working yourself to the bone day and night, and all you've got to show for it is exhaustion."
Sun-bask summarized my feelings with unruffled calm.
"At this rate, the Hero's going to find him first."
"Yeah."
There was another presence I hadn't located besides the Corpse Locust leader. The Great Warrior — the vanguard and tank of the Hero's party, a master of Aura. Where the hell was he living? According to Riella, he was definitely somewhere in the Western Region. Somewhere on this unspecified, vast stretch of earth. It was essentially an open-ended essay question. As if finding him would be easy.
Sun-bask's detection range was narrow unless it was dealing with malevolent energy, so I couldn't even get help there. The Hero, on the other hand, would find him without any trouble. The Hero had the ability to pinpoint his companions' locations, after all.
Nothing was going smoothly. My heart was restless, but every step hit a wall. I was stuck — couldn't go forward, couldn't go back. In the end, the only option left was to play to my strengths as hard as I could.
"How close are they?"
I stood up and slowly loosened my body. The open plains were a good place to fight. As always, I was better off using my body. Thinking too hard just gave me a headache. I was better off throwing punches.
"Right in front of you."
A flock of black birds appeared from the far side of the sky, flying in a formation that called to mind the legendary bridge of magpies. They were monsters larger than the grotesque birds I'd seen at the Abandoned Temple — and of course, the rotting stench came with them.
These bastards again.
I shuddered faintly and drew in the surrounding mana.
"You've got this!"
With Sun-bask's encouragement, I forged the gathered mana into Aura. At the same time, the flock of corpse-birds began to pour down on me.
Naturally. The outcome was already decided.
A damp burrow, somewhere. Deep underground, in a spacious chamber that only appeared after a long descent, a presence waited.
A black helm. Black armor. A greatsword with a black blade slung across its back. A knight darker than shadow itself, melted into the pitch-black as though he had gathered the night sky into his arms.
The knight sat leaning against the rock wall, head bowed, utterly still. And yet a cold aura seeped from him, spreading in every direction. The pressure crushed the burrow. Even the air trembled violently, declaring its submission. An extraordinary atmosphere — and only the stench remained undaunted, bounding about with cheerful energy.
After a long silence, the knight suddenly lifted his head.
The consciousness of a subordinate he'd sent on the raid had been severed. All except one — the sole survivor. It was a situation he had already anticipated. Sacrifice was inevitable if you wanted victory. The opponent was strong, but she was human. Unlike the Corpse Locusts, which operated through their hosts, her stamina was not infinite. He had as many subordinates as the Western Region had land. If he kept up the assault, she would eventually break.
Still — he hadn't expected the ones he'd sent, individuals that could reasonably be called elites, to be completely outmatched. A powerful enemy standing in the way of his expansion. She had to be eliminated. Did that mean he needed to increase his forces even further?
The knight prepared to share consciousness with the individuals he'd assign to the next raid.
"You can hear me, right?"
But then, through his subordinate's consciousness, a clear woman's voice came through. It had happened several times already. A cheap trick. All he had to do was ignore it.
"Do you still think I'm not Clitia?"
Another absurd claim. Nonsense. Delusional garbage. Clitia was a Saintess — not some savage warrior who fought with bare fists and feet. She wasn't that vulgar. She had always tried to maintain her manners. An offensive impersonation. Conduct too outrageous to endure.
"Do you remember the day we first met?"
A sharp way of speaking that made him flinch. It was familiar.
"Want me to tell you what kind of pathetic scene you made back then?"
The knight's hands began to tremble.
"Want me to explain how many times I wanted to punch you in the jaw?"
The trembling spread through his entire body.
"Or should I bring back every memory of your miserable childhood? You spilled it all, drunk and sobbing."
A secret he had told only one person. There was no doubt. It was Clitia.
"Get over here. Right now. While I'm still asking nicely."
With those last words, the subordinate's consciousness cut out. The knight slowly rose, his heavy body lifting. The reunion he had always longed for was now within reach.
I lay on the plains, looking up at the sky. The sunset of the dying sun kept me company through the tedious wait.
"Do you think it worked?"
"No idea."
I'd used my trump card. Memories and sentiment — sometimes they were excellent tools, capable of overpowering even reason, that outstanding guide. It must have gotten through. He'd always done whatever his heart told him to.
But there was also a high chance he wouldn't come. This was a fight he could win just by sending corpses forever. Time was on his side.
"What if he doesn't show?"
"Then we're screwed."
My plan to catch him quickly and then meet the Great Warrior was already in shambles. No matter how much I hurried, the Hero would get there first. At least he seemed like the type who wouldn't need much of a mental adjustment, which was a relief.
The Western Region was already Corpse Locust territory. Whether he had intelligence or operated on instinct alone, the normal thing would have been to run a long time ago. But the Great Warrior hadn't. The will to resist them even alone — wasn't that the right attitude? I didn't necessarily need to get involved, but I should at least check. There'd be opportunities even after he joined the Hero's party, so I wasn't too worried.
"Lady Clitia."
Sun-bask suddenly spoke in a tense voice.
"I know."
This time I could feel it clearly, even without a warning. It was approaching — the master of that fierce, toxic energy.
I shrugged off my robe and tossed it far aside. I was about to enter a fight with a high risk of it getting damaged. I waited in silence.
Before long, a massive corpse-bird flew in and beat its wings in place. A brief standoff. Then the knight in black armor, who'd been riding the bird, stepped down onto the plains.
I couldn't breathe. It was like the moment I'd come face-to-face with the Demon King.
"……"
He was staring at me. I couldn't see his face, but his gaze was so sharp it felt like it had physical form. He was strong. Strong enough that I'd be in danger if I didn't go all out.
I'd finally met an opponent who might actually beat me — and I wasn't allowed to lose. Fate's idea of a joke had gone too far.
"I heard you've been dying to find me."
No answer. He kept his face locked in my direction and maintained his silence.
"Did you just come here to look cool?"
I wrapped Aura around my entire body like armor — denser than I ever had before.
"Mind taking off the helmet?"
Still not a word. I didn't like that.
I immediately lunged forward and threw a punch. The target: his helmet. I needed to confirm his identity.
Now he reacted. A greatsword ripped from his back and swept through the air. An ordinary blade couldn't pierce my Aura — normally, anyone who tried to cut me would have their weapon shatter instead. But my instincts made me abort the attack and roll across the ground. Only after I'd pulled back did a chill run down my spine.
Thick smoke coiled around the blade. Toxic energy, wielded the same way as Aura. A dangerously refined technique. If mana was life, toxic energy was death — a power that existed, from its very origin, for the purpose of killing. In terms of raw destructive force, Aura couldn't even compare.
"I'll handle the defense. Just focus on attacking."
But if Sun-bask was helping, that changed things.
"Thanks."
I concentrated a little more Aura into my hands and legs, then charged. He stood ramrod straight, waiting, then drew his greatsword in a diagonal slash. A simple motion, but there wasn't a single opening. The long blade came screaming toward my head.
I ignored it and stepped forward. The opaque barrier Sun-bask generated nudged the greatsword just slightly off course. His stance broke for a moment. I didn't waste the opening — I smashed my fist into his helmet.
Impact, concentrated entirely on a single point. The helmet shattered to pieces.
"……"
I froze for an instant. It was the face I knew, after all. Only half of it. Centered on a gash that split his head, one side was vividly alive, and the other was a bare, exposed skull.
The voice was grotesquely twisted, but it was unmistakably the one I remembered.
"…Liam."
The former Hero, Liam Erams. A precious companion I'd lived and died alongside had transcended death itself — in the worst form imaginable, as terrible as a nightmare.