Leave No One Alive 1
“Move, this way!”
“We have wounded here! Clear the path!”
The treatment center inside the Kerks stronghold was packed. Injuries from hunting demons and nearby monsters kept pouring in, and there was barely room to stand. Despite dozens of wounds—large and small—occurring daily, the number of priests capable of using healing magic was always insufficient.
At the heart of the chaos stood Zeke, the priest. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he frowned.
Damn it. How many is this now? Why are the number of injured humans only increasing?
He had come here lured by the promise of great wealth, but now he regretted his own greed. The fact that they paid so much proved it was no easy job. No matter how hard he worked, the tasks only piled higher.
I can’t take this anymore. I need to make a fortune and get out of here…
Just then, his discontented gaze fell upon a hunter whose face was wrapped in bandages.
Huh? That man is…
The hunter wore the familiar uniform of a high-ranking demon hunter, marked with the appropriate insignia. Unlike usual, he wore a hat, and only one eye peeked out from between the bandages—likely due to his injuries. His face was unrecognizable, yet Zeke instantly identified him by his clothing.
Louis. One of the famous trio, and among the most skilled hunters present. He walked slowly into the depths of the treatment center, dressed in his usual conspicuous attire.
Oh? So Lord Louis got injured? Perfect. I’ve been short on coin after losing that bet…
Even among patients, it was only natural in this line of work to favor those who might offer a little extra. Especially someone like Louis, known for his generosity.
With purely mercenary intentions, Zeke approached Louis, wearing his most courteous smile.
“Are you all right, Lord Louis? I heard you went after the dancer. How did it go?”
While preparing his healing magic, Zeke asked based on the information he had overheard. His goal was to flatter the man and earn a tip, so he racked his brain for the right words.
At that moment—
“…It was a success.”
“Pardon?”
Before Zeke could finish his question, an incomprehensible reply left Louis’s lips. Zeke opened his mouth in confusion.
“Um… What exactly do you mean by success—Khak!”
A sudden, searing pain struck him. A scream tore from Zeke’s throat as an unexpected sensation overwhelmed him. The other priests in the treatment center turned toward the sound.
“Wh-what?”
“What the—!”
What they saw was Zeke collapsed on the floor, blood pouring from his body, surrounded by the other priests. And standing at the center of it all was—
“L-Lord Louis…?”
“What… what have you done?”
Shock froze the faces of priests and patients alike. Before anyone could react, Louis’s figure blurred and vanished.
Then—
“Khak!”
“Aaaagh!”
Screams echoed through the treatment center. Barely clinging to life, Zeke could hardly believe his eyes. Louis’s fingernails had grown long and razor-sharp, like small daggers. Moving at impossible speed, they began to carve through everyone in the room.
The ambush left no time to respond. Hunters and priests alike fell helplessly. In just twenty seconds, everyone inside the treatment center lay dead.
Even having witnessed it, Zeke could not accept the outcome. Trembling on the floor as he died, he could only feel primal terror. Yet he did not know that for him and the others who had fallen here, the true hell had not even begun.
“With this, the materials are ready…”
“!?”
His words carried an ominous weight. As if answering the unease they provoked, black mana erupted from Louis’s—no, from the being disguised as Louis—body and coiled around Zeke and the others.
Then—
What… what is this—Khak!
Zeke’s body convulsed at the sudden sensation. The black mana, like storm clouds, wrapped around him. Agony followed as his flesh began to rot and decay. Skin melted, chunks of meat fell away. Yet it was not only Zeke’s body that changed.
The fear he had felt moments ago turned to ecstasy. The faith and desires he had held as a human priest twisted into something entirely different.
When the black mana finally subsided, Zeke and the other “priests” slowly rose. Their bodies were no longer those of normal humans—rotting corpses draped in tattered robes. Following the instinct etched into their souls, they knelt before the figure before them.
— “My liege… Please give us your command.”
Their voices were filled with absolute loyalty and longing. Their lord—the Demon King, Arcadia Armageddon—flashed his golden eyes between the bandages and gazed at his new subordinates.
“Rescue the demons. Kill the rest.”
*
Where light is strong, so too is shadow. Those who serve the gods are all the more easily corrupted by evil, and the calamity wrought by the fallen is far more terrible than the sins of ordinary men. In that sense, the beings now moving before my eyes perfectly embodied that truth.
Rotting corpses clad in black robes. Blue flames burned in their empty eye sockets, and cold azure mana flowed from bodies that had once wielded golden holy power.
Plutos. Guides of the dead, forged by twisting the bodies and souls of the strong. In the game they were classified as undead, yet strictly speaking their bodies and minds were warped while still remaining alive—a subtle distinction. Honestly, such details hardly mattered. What was important was that, unlike ordinary undead bound to simple commands, they retained a degree of intelligence. They could carry out relatively complex orders without issue. Moreover, when created from priests, they could wield powerful black magic—including undead summoning—on par with the holy power they once possessed.
Far more useful than common undead, which could only serve as fodder. And now they were faithfully executing my orders with that intelligence and black magic.
“Aaaagh!”
“S-save… Khak!”
The Plutos glided through the air, scythes wreathed in black mana reaping lives with every swing. Waves of dark power erupted with each strike, accompanied by the screams of hunters and sprays of red blood. Under the Plutos’ mere presence, ordinary hunters could not even raise their weapons before being slaughtered.
Then—
“Come at me, you filthy corpses! I, Griffith, will avenge Gatz!”
Amid the chaos, a young hunter stood firm, weapon in hand. Enraged by his comrade’s death, he overcame the Plutos’ aura and began gathering mana into his spear. The silver spear glowed with considerable power. An attack like that could threaten the relatively fragile bodies of the Plutos.
However—
“Khak!”
The hunter screamed in sudden pain. The fury in his eyes gave way to sheer horror. Behind him, a sword had pierced his back. The attacker was his comrade—the very man who had just been killed by the Plutos. Or rather, the undead created from his comrade’s corpse.
“G-Gatz… How…?”
“Grwaaargh…!”
Crunch!
The undead bit into the head of the comrade who had tried to avenge him. Moments later, the fallen hunter rose again as an undead, just like his friend who had died to the Plutos.
“Grwaaargh…”
“Kreeee…”
“Even Griffith has fallen!”
“Run! We have to get out of here!”
The death of their strongest fighter sent the remaining hunters into a panicked rout. Watching from the rooftop of the treatment center, I could only feel a faint sense of disappointment.
They’re weaker than I expected. Those three I dealt with earlier must have been the exceptions…
Contrary to my anticipation of some resistance, the hunters crumbled far too easily. Many chose flight over fight. This was not solely due to the Plutos’ power. Hunters were, for the most part, gathered here for money. They did not fight with their lives on the line—they acted to preserve them. That was precisely why I had been able to infiltrate this place so easily. In a way, it was only natural.
And that fact once again erased any trace of human compassion from my heart.
They slaughtered and sold innocent demons while treasuring their own wretched lives. The fact that I had once gone to such lengths to save creatures like them only proved how foolish I had been in the past.
Not a single one will escape. I will crush them all—thoroughly.
Low-level undead shambled forward, emitting grotesque moans. The Plutos commanded them, steadily expanding the domain of death. With each step, the torches illuminating the fortress went out one by one.
A space of death swallowed by darkness. Within it, walking corpses rose and advanced in search of their next prey.