Chapter 4: Pursuit Through the Forest
Raguna tribesmen dashed through the forest, with Kankun right beside them. Hot on their heels came the Partas cavalry and warriors in their golden armor.
"This direction... could they be heading for the priest's place!?"
"They're making for the cursed temple!"
"Cut them off! We can't let them reach the temple! We mustn't anger Shaman!"
Kankun felt certain from the Partas tribesmen's desperate shouts. Even her uncle, who had sparked the rebellion, had first sought Shaman's permission before approaching the cursed temple. Shaman's influence over the entire Nod race was no exaggeration.
Even if the demon wouldn't aid her, Shaman's presence would surely prevent any rash actions—!
But—
Puk!
"Arrrgh!"
The temple, so close moments ago, now felt impossibly distant. Though the forest was thick with grass and trees, outrunning mounted foes was no easy task. The cavalry charged swiftly, thrusting spears into the backs of the fleeing Raguna tribesmen and cutting them down.
Just a little farther—!
Kankun squeezed her eyes shut at the screams echoing around her. The relentless raids made her doubt if she had truly brought this calamity upon them. Could the demon have let her go just to unleash this disaster anew? Everything was a haze of confusion.
Then—
Dudududu!
Rough hoofbeats thundered from behind, the horses' savage snorts filling the air. The cavalrymen's ragged breaths were clear now, followed by the sharp whistle of a spear slicing through the wind!
Instinctively, Kankun twisted around, shielding her body with the sword clutched to her chest.
Klang!
Sparks flew as Kankun staggered. The spearman who had thrust at her gaped in surprise.
"She blocked it? This little brat's got some guts."
The rider sneered down at Kankun while yanking his reins. By now, the cavalry had overtaken the Raguna tribesmen, encircling them. Partas warriors whistled and licked their lips in anticipation.
Kankun's face drained of color as she stared at them. The Raguna folk hadn't escaped yet. Surrounded like this, slaughter or enslavement was inevitable.
"And that sword..."
One Partas warrior pointed at the blade Kankun hugged close. Greed flickered in every warrior's eyes.
"Is that really gold?"
Kankun flinched and shrank back, wrapping herself tighter around her precious burden as if to protect it.
"...This is just temporary! It has a real owner! Something scum like you couldn't even dream of touching!"
"A real owner?"
"Yeah! A terrifying, noble lord!"
The Partas tribesmen burst into laughter at Kankun's outburst. Of course they did. Who would take the words of a girl barely come of age seriously? It sounded like nothing but bluffing.
One Partas cavalryman approached Kankun.
"Heh, just kill the owner too, problem solved."
"Oh? You plan to kill me?"
"...!"
The rider felt his soul quake under that voice, his body crushed by an invisible weight. He doubted his own ears. No one had been behind him moments ago.
Yet now a deep voice boomed from nowhere!?
What the—?
Cold sweat poured without thought. An unknown terror gripped him.
Slowly, the rider lowered his gaze to Kankun, who had been shouting defiantly.
"...Ah!"
The girl's eyes were wide as saucers. No fear lingered there—only hope and anticipation surged instead. And her gaze... was fixed behind him.
Not just the brat before him—his comrades, who had cut off and surrounded the Raguna tribe, wore faces pale with dread too.
Yes, something was behind him!
The Partas rider gripped his spear with all his might. He whirled and swung—
Tak!
His spear halted limply in a massive hand.
"...!"
The rider's eyes bulged. Space itself tore open in the air. From the pitch-black rift protruded a torso clad in black armor, crowned by a helmet with goat-like horns.
...The Constellation of Sin!
The demon slumbering in the temple! That being now clutched the spearhead in claw-like fingers.
"Hold on, let's talk—"
"Arrrraaagh!"
The rider screamed, straining to wrench his spear free. But it wouldn't budge in the demon's grasp.
"Hey, no need to panic. I just want to—"
The Partas rider abandoned the spear, drawing the crossbow from his back instead. He fired at the goat helmet.
Ting!
The bolt bounced harmlessly, like a toy.
"Listen—!"
He reloaded and fired again.
"Ha—"
"Arrrgh!"
Reload once more. Loki scowled beneath his helmet and hurled the spear back at its owner.
Boom!
Kwachik!
Air split with a crack, and a gaping hole tore through the rider's torso. He crumpled lifelessly.
"Let's talk, you vermin."
Loki stepped fully from the black rift, one foot after the other. Those who faced him—the Raguna tribesmen and Partas warriors alike—froze in terror.
They had grown up on tales of the demon slumbering in the temple, the Constellation embodying all sins come to judge them. Every Nod child underwent their coming-of-age rite before Shaman, facing the demon's statue. How could they not feel instinctive dread before this being now?
As children, it was a nightmare. As adults, mere superstition. Yet here it stood, plain as day.
All froze. Except Kankun, who gazed up at Loki with relief.
"To me, you are all mere NPCs."
At Loki's words, Partas and Raguna tribesmen alike twitched.
"And this character, Loki—"
Loki raised his head slightly, his voice laced with dignity.
"—has little patience. Answer my questions wisely."
The meaning eluded them. But it was a warning. Ignore him, and perish. Realizing this, the gathered Partas and Raguna folk glanced warily at one another.
Silence fell, unease creeping in, shaking their resolve. Nods were taught fear was a foe to fight, a creed drilled into them. And that indoctrination led—
"Arrrgh!"
"Spears up—!"
—straight to ruin. The Partas warriors seized their weapons against the unknown horror. The Raguna followed suit, stirred by the cries, but...
"No! Everyone, get down!"
At Kankun's shout, the Raguna dropped their arms and prostrated themselves.
"Anyone but you—"
Loki's helmeted gaze shifted to Kankun.
"—is beyond talking."
"Kill it!"
The Partas charged Loki as one.
***
Shouts and screams echoed. Histon Partas dragged his personal slave, Hans, along while chuckling.
It's been ages since a good raid. Those fools have no patience!
"Still, we shouldn't touch the temple with Shaman in it..."
"You think we're that stupid, chief?"
His men joked from behind. Even muscle-headed brutes could make that call. But lose reason to bloodlust, and clashing with Shaman would be the price.
The elders always warned never to cross Shaman.
Tales abounded. Shaman, the Nods' mediator, wielded immense magic. Provoke him, and a tribe could vanish overnight. The elders claimed personal experience, but Histon scoffed. Half exaggeration, surely.
Even if half-true, he's a Nod powerhouse.
Yet he wasted time worshiping a temple demon. Superstition from even the mighty? Absurd.
Lost in thought atop his horse, Histon suddenly sensed something amiss. The forest shouts and screams had vanished.
...What?
Histon reined in. His men followed suit.
...Dead silence.
No voices from his men, no Raguna cries or whimpers. Even beasts and insects fell quiet. The wind-stirred trees stood still in eerie hush.
Cold sweat beaded on Histon despite the northern chill, trickling down his cheek. His men eyed him nervously, sensing the wrongness.
Then Histon spotted the 'hidden presences' in the forest.
"Undead—!"
Figures concealed their auras, invisible amid the trees. Death's energy emanated from them—but not lowly zombies. No visible forms or presences; elite undead!
Hiiing!
The horses sensed it too, rearing and whinnying, manes bristling, eyes rolling in panic.
Even warhorses are terrified!
"U-Undead?!"
"Wh-where?!"
His men hadn't detected them. Histon scanned frantically, sweat pouring.
Surrounded?!
Yet he couldn't pinpoint them.
"M-monsters—!"
At least the path ahead was clear—toward his men. Like herding prey, the undead drove them forward.
Histon had no choice but to advance, as if dragged by unseen hands.
Hooves soon hit blood-smeared ice.
"......"
"......!"
Histon clamped his mouth shut; his men gagged, fighting vomit.
A lake of blood—no, a bloodstained icy path. Corpses littered it, their blood frozen by the gale into a slick sheet.
And atop that ice stood a lone figure.
"...D-Demon."
Hans, Histon's slave, stammered at the sight.
The demon, meant to slumber in the temple, loomed before them. Amid frozen chill, it beckoned with a finger. Goat helmet, black armor, fur-caped cloak.
It stood amid the corpses, gazing at Histon—as if expecting him.
Those undead... under its command?
That made it a necromancer.