A Ridiculously Simple Structure
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a ridiculously simple structure.
'No, is this even hard for these people to find?'
"What happened?!"
"What's going on?!"
Startled by the sound of the bookshelf shattering, Pol and Alber came rushing in. Loki shrugged and pointed to the passageway.
"I've found it. But it's dark."
There were no windows, and since it led underground, it was pitch black. Only Loki could see clearly through the darkness.
"What?! You found it?!"
Azar had rushed into the room before they knew it. He grinned unpleasantly at Loki.
"Well done, Nord! Ha, if I get out of here safely, I'll reward you handsomely!"
"……."
Azar shouted as if he were the master. The mercenaries, thrilled at the discovery of the secret passage, hurriedly grabbed their gear. Watching them, Azar bellowed,
"Hey! Bring the slaves! Hurry!"
The mercenaries frowned at Azar's arrogant command but obeyed without complaint. Loki inwardly admired how reliably they followed orders even in this situation, thinking mercenaries were more trustworthy than they seemed.
As the mercenaries dragged in the cart loaded with slaves, they noticed the collapsed mercenaries in the corner where the slaves had been and looked puzzled.
"…What's wrong with these guys?"
Loki flinched at the mercenary's words. Come to think of it, he was the one who had knocked them out.
"Did they pass out drunk?! In this situation…!"
"Just leave them?"
"Hey, stop joking and wake them up quick!"
The vigilant mercenaries slapped their faces or kicked them to rouse them, but they wouldn't wake. It was only natural—they hadn't passed out from drink but from precise strikes to vital points.
"Hey! Stop dawdling! Carry them if you have to! Or leave them! Those things are coming!"
Azar raged over his own safety and the slaves.
"I'll carry them."
Loki had no choice but to step in, though it was a hassle. He figured he should take responsibility for the mess he'd made. As Loki hoisted the unconscious mercenaries, Azar misinterpreted it and smirked smugly.
"Good, Nord. You carry them! I'll hire you specially then! The great slave trader Azar will take good care of you and pay you well!"
"……."
Loki ignored Azar's blather.
"What about Rapilta?"
At the mention of the man who had faded into the background, Pol finally reacted with surprise.
"Ah! Rapilta…!"
Pol glanced at Alber, who merely shrugged. It was a relaxed gesture filled more with trust than worry.
"He was a knight once. He'd be prepared to die."
…Though on the negative side.
"…Ugh! Sorry about that. Still alive, huh."
Everyone turned in shock toward the window. A bulky figure was barely squeezing through the curtain-covered frame. It was Rapilta. His armor must not have fit through the narrow warehouse window, so he was in light clothing. He finally wriggled out and collapsed on the floor.
"What? You're alive? Youth really is a virtue."
Alber asked in a joking, light tone, but he was greatly relieved inside. Though called a knight, Rapilta was like a disciple he'd trained.
Rapilta wiped sweat from his brow and sighed in relief. He'd been defending the castle gate until moments ago. Wights—former villagers—now roamed the grounds, and without his main weapon, the shield, armed only with a chipped sword, he couldn't take them alone.
"Damn, those horrific plague monsters swarming right in front of me! Scared me half to death…!"
"Rapilta!"
At Pol's desperate cry, Rapilta smiled. Touched by Pol's worried expression, he waved it off to hide his feelings.
"Ah, that happy to see me? Don't worry. I won't die from something like th—"
"No, that's not it! Why'd you come in through there?! Wights sense life and head straight for it! If they spotted you climbing in…!"
"…Huh?"
As Rapilta tilted his head, a hand with long nails appeared at the window above him. Slowly, a face with black skin emerged. The wight's hand reached up, its grotesque face gaping wide. Sensing tasty prey inside, it grinned viciously, thrusting its head and body through the window. Thick liquid mixed with Worm Pest dribbled from its mouth.
"Gaaah! What the hell?!"
Not just Rapilta but the mercenaries too recoiled in horror. Seizing the moment everyone's eyes were elsewhere, Loki swiftly drew a large crossbow from his cloak and aimed.
Thwang!
With a twang and slight recoil, the bolt flew. The wight's head exploded on impact. Blood sprayed everywhere as the limp body toppled forward, landing right in front of Rapilta's nose. As squirming Worm Pest spread with the gooey black blood, Rapilta shrieked in panic.
"Eek?! Hoon! Give me a break! I don't wanna end up like those things!"
"…Then you'd better come over here quick."
Another wight was already poking its head through the window. Loki reloaded the crossbow to fire again, but then the barricade at the room's entrance shattered. They appeared to be mostly farmers by their clothes. But one stood out: a wight wearing the mercenary captain's armor from Azar's slave caravan. Its face hadn't changed much, but the pale skin and gaping maw made it anything but human.
"C-Captain?"
"The captain got turned too?!"
The mercenaries staggered back in despair. The continent-wide nightmare of the Worm Pest plague had them in panic already. Losing their trusted captain to it was a devastating blow.
"Everyone, run!"
At Pol's shout, the mercenaries bolted toward the noble's room with the secret passage. But soon, complaints echoed from there.
"What the hell! Why'd you block the entrance?!"
The slave cart had jammed the doorway.
"Get the cart out quick!"
"Y-You're insane?! The slaves…! What about my slaves?! I need to sell them to pay you! Push the cart! Push it now!"
As the mercenaries tried to move the jammed cart, Azar flailed to stop them but was shoved aside. No match for their strength—he wasn't a mercenary and spent his days boozing without exercise. Azar hit the floor hard.
"They're just slaves anyway! We need to survive!"
"Gaaah! You bastards, pay me! Without them, I'm ruined!"
"Our lives matter more! You expect us to die for trash like that? Better this way. The slaves can bait them and buy time. We escape in the meantime!"
'…What is the value of human life?'
Loki shook his head at them. Still, he approached the cart and smashed the lock with his crossbow. Azar glared at him in shock, opening his mouth to complain—but froze under the gaze from beneath the crow helm. Blood-red eyes bored into him.
"…Don't give me orders. Stay here, and slaves or you, all die."
"…O-Okay! Got it!"
Azar nodded frantically and backed away at Loki's menacing tone. The freed slaves emerged, lightening the cart enough for the mercenaries—desperate for survival—to shove it aside, opening the passage.
"Everyone, run!"
The mercenaries dashed into the passage without looking back.
"Hoon! Hurry!"
Pol, Alber, and Rapilta rushed in too. Loki glanced at the last cart and frowned. The one with the dark elf. He'd broken the lock, but she hadn't come out.
"…Not coming?"
The dark elf, Salat, clamped her mouth shut, trembling. The moment she'd seen the wights, she'd frozen solid.
'What a hassle.'
Loki sighed and grabbed Salat's hand. She finally flinched. Looking up at him with eyes brimming with tears, her crimson irises darted between the wights and Loki.
'What's with this girl?'
"Come on. Unless you want to be their meal."
"Uh, th-that… um…."
As she stammered, two wights charged with mouths agape. Loki shot one in the body with the crossbow and kicked the other—carefully controlling his leg strength so as not to shatter its head—sending it flying.
"Annoying!"
'Can't fight properly; don't want to get dirty.'
Loki slung the crossbow on his back, scooped Salat forcibly into his arms, and bolted into the secret passage. He glanced at Salat in his embrace. Gone was the haughty arrogance from their first meeting. Now she trembled like a child hearing ghost stories, burying her face in his chest.
'Some backstory, huh?'
As they traversed the long, dark passage, Loki's steps slowed. An acrid stench assaulted his nose from the end, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with his free hand. Along with the foul smell came screams.
***
"…Wh-Why…! Why are they here too—?!"
A mercenary's despairing cry cut short as his body was pulverized into minced meat by sharp, thick metal chunks. Like a massive boulder crushing him, flesh crumpled and blood sprayed everywhere.
"……."
The surviving mercenaries recoiled in terror, but shadows in the darkness moved faster. Whether instinct or strategy, they seized the fleeing ones first, stabbing, biting, licking, and devouring.
The previous wights had been farmers; these were different. All wore leather armor over surcoats, wielding swords and spears—clearly trained regular soldiers. They swung weapons wildly without formation, devouring those felled by blades. Their primitive frenzy amplified the horror.
Especially prominent among them was a wight in plate armor. Towering over two meters with a massive morningstar, it screamed knight. The wight knight raised its weapon and smashed down on a mercenary. One blow pulped him, shield flying to land right before Rapilta.
"Looks useful."
Rapilta snatched it up. Staring at the wight knight, he broke into cold sweat.
"…Thought this was some backwater fief, but they had a strong knight after all."
Now surrounded, Rapilta's group formed up with Pol at the center.
"Hey, mage! Blast 'em with some fancy spell."
"I'm concentrating, so shut up! I'll make it quick…!"
"But… does magic even work on these things?"
"Aaah! God, save us!"
Azar huddled beside Rapilta, clutching his head and trembling. Most mercenaries—and panicked escaped slaves—had become wight fodder. Only Rapilta, Pol, Alber, and Azar remained.