Leave No One Alive 2
On a hill overlooking the Kerks stronghold, a dancer gazed down at the fortress. A deep smile slowly spread across Hela’s lips.
‘I never imagined I’d look down on this place with such feelings…’
Just hours ago, that fortress had been hell itself—a place she never wanted to see again. The horrors she and her kin had endured there, the desperate struggles during their escape… even now, the memories made her shudder. Yet at this moment, as she stared down at that hell, Hela’s heart swelled with anticipation and excitement.
The fortress was sinking into darkness, its lights extinguishing one by one. In the windless night, watching the glow fade, Hela knew her master was methodically carrying out his plan. She could feel his thick, sweet black mana at the tip of her nose, slowly devouring the interior of the stronghold and growing stronger with each passing moment. She realized the time for her to act had finally come.
“Well then… shall we get moving?”
With those words, Hela drew two daggers. They were not her usual weapons, but given the urgency, they would have to do. She felt no dissatisfaction. These had once belonged to the hunters who pursued her, yet her lord had personally prepared them for her. The mere fact that she could wield his “gift” in battle was enough to fill her with joy.
‘Besides, he even restored the tendons in my wrists… The master himself touched me…’
Recalling the gentle, warm touch of his hand on her wrist—the ecstasy of that moment—Hela’s lips curled upward without her realizing it.
‘This is enough… For me, this alone is more than I deserve.’
With that thought, she tenderly caressed the wrist her master had touched, trying to savor even a trace of his lingering warmth.
Just then—
“U-um…”
“Hm?”
A voice from behind shattered her sweet reverie. There lay Jiren, hands bound, collapsed on the ground.
“I-I’ve done everything you asked. S-so now you’ll set me free… right?”
“Ah… sorry. I’d forgotten.”
Jiren’s voice was desperate. Hela hid her irritation and answered with a bright smile. Bathed in moonlight, her smile was breathtakingly beautiful. Seeing that angelic expression, Jiren felt a wave of relief wash over him.
‘Th-thank goodness. I-I’m going to live.’
No matter how ruthless the dancer was, she wouldn’t kill someone while wearing such a gentle smile. Jiren had essentially sold out his comrades to reach this point, but none of that mattered to him now. The only thing that mattered was surviving.
‘From now on, I’ll quit hunting and live off the money I’ve saved. Thanks to smuggling those demon brats, I made quite a fortune…’
At that moment—
Thud!!!!
“!! Ghhhk—!!”
Hela’s dagger pierced straight through Jiren’s crown. Shock and confusion flashed across his face. As she drove the blade deeper into his forehead, Hela smiled radiantly from the bottom of her heart.
“I kept my promise. Now go live freely, free from that filthy, wretched body.”
With that merciful final greeting, Hela withdrew her dagger from the now-motionless corpse. Having settled part of her personal vengeance thanks to her master’s consideration, she turned her gaze toward the main gate of the fortress—the target she had been ordered to deal with—which was growing increasingly noisy.
‘Not a single one escapes… For my suffering kin. And… for the Demon King.’
*
“Mmm… Wh-what? Did I doze off?”
Crassus awoke, still heavy with fatigue. Realizing he had fallen asleep in his office chair, he slowly pushed himself up.
“Damn it… I really must be getting old, nodding off in a chair like this and feeling this stiff.”
Grumbling under his breath, Crassus felt thirsty and reached for the pitcher beside him.
“Tch… It’s empty? Those useless secretaries can’t even keep this filled properly…”
The pitcher was completely dry. Frowning, he raised his voice in irritation.
“Hey! Is anyone out there?”
He called for someone to refill the pitcher, but no one answered. Not a single person entered the room.
“What the hell? Why is no one here? Hey, night watch! Can’t you hear me calling?”
It was late, yet there was always supposed to be a guard posted outside the commander’s door. As the one in charge of the entire stronghold, such protection was only natural. The complete lack of response began to stir an uneasy feeling in Crassus.
“…D-damn it. This is getting on my nerves. Are they actually sleeping on watch? I’ve been too lenient with them, letting them slack off, and now they— I’ll make sure they…”
Channeling his anxiety into complaints, Crassus stepped outside.
“You bastards! Get up right now—!”
But the guards he expected to find dozing outside were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t just the guards. The surroundings were eerily silent, like a graveyard. No night watch, no patrolling soldiers—nothing.
“What… Why is there no one…?”
Only then did Crassus realize something was terribly wrong. He drew the sword at his waist, grabbed a torch with his other hand, and began advancing cautiously.
“A-answer me! Is there… really no one here?”
His voice trembled more with fear than anger. Though he was the hunters’ commander and possessed considerable combat ability, the ominous atmosphere was enough to awaken primal dread even in him.
Just then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“!”
Soft footsteps echoed near his ears. The heavy, sinister sound made Crassus grip his weapon tighter.
“Wh-who’s there?”
His voice shook as he asked. Moments later, a figure emerged from the darkness—a soldier in guard uniform, head bowed low. Crassus felt a surge of relief.
‘Wh-what… It was just a patrol. Haha, I really got worked up over nothing…’
The atmosphere was unsettling, but at least someone was moving around, which meant nothing was seriously wrong. He decided he would thoroughly punish the negligent night watch later. Crassus approached the patrolling guard.
“Ahem… You there, come here for a moment.”
The soldier stopped. He seemed unsteady on his feet for a brief moment, as if something was wrong, but he remained standing with his head still lowered.
“Do you know who’s on night watch tonight? I’ve been waiting, but no one’s come…”
Crassus spoke with as much authority as he could muster, hiding his unease. Then—
“K…khhh…”
“?”
Instead of answering, the soldier let out a strange, guttural sound. It wasn’t a normal groan—it sounded like something being forced out of a rotting throat. A sound Crassus had never heard in his life, one that instinctively triggered terror.
“Wh-what? What’s wrong with you? Did something happen—?”
Crassus’s voice grew urgent. At that moment—
“Krrraaaah…”
“!!”
The soldier slowly raised his head. Beneath the helmet, there was no normal face. Empty eye sockets, rotting flesh. The creature, no longer alive, staggered forward and swung its spear.
“Y-you bastard!”
Even in shock, Crassus’s body moved on instinct. His blade flashed, severing the undead’s arm before it could strike. The limb dropped to the floor.
“Damn it! Die!”
Thud!!!
Another swing of his sword sent the creature’s head flying. Its body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Hah… hah… What the hell is going on? Why is there an undead here—?!”
Crassus panted, more from tension than exertion. A thought he desperately didn’t want to acknowledge surfaced in his mind. This was right outside his office, at the heart of the fortress. It was supposed to be impenetrable. No low-level monster should have been able to reach this place. Yet an undead had appeared here. That could only mean one thing…
“N-no way…”
The realization hit him. He bolted out of the underground office and rushed up to the central hall on the ground floor. What he saw there made his blood run cold.
“! Th-this is…”
“Krrruuugh…”
“Kwoooaaar…”
Dozens of undead filled the hall. Among them floated a black-robed figure wielding a scythe. The moment they noticed Crassus, every single one turned its gaze toward him, radiating unmistakable killing intent.