The Wight that Breached the Wall
The Wight that had pierced the wall tumbled across the ground before slamming into the earth. Its muscles were torn to shreds, proving it had pushed too far, and its shoulder had caved in, drooping limply. But the Worm Pest parasites inside it surged into the wounds, knitting them back together.
"N-No, it's them!"
"Run!"
"No, don't run! Fight! Hold the line!"
With faces twisted into grotesque masks and mouths ripped open to their ears, the sight sent the territory's inhabitants fleeing, abandoning their weapons in terror.
-Kuueeeek!
Through the gaping hole in the gate, Wights poured out like a swarm of repulsive cockroaches—hundreds of them. The narrow breach widened steadily until the gate finally crumbled entirely.
"The gate's breached!"
"Damn it all!"
"Who was it? The bastard who set the gate on fire...!"
The soldiers atop the wall recoiled in horror. As one leaned back against the parapet, a hook-like claw burst straight through his body.
"......?!"
The soldier stared down at the talon protruding from his chest. With his dying strength, he looked toward the thing that had impaled him. There stood a Wight with its massive maw gaping wide. It chomped down and devoured the man's head in one bite.
"Aaaagh?!"
"How the hell did they get up here?!"
Hundreds of Wights battered themselves against the wall. One leaped onto a comrade as a stepping stone and jumped again; others used that one to vault higher still. The process repeated, unwittingly forming a staircase of bodies that let more Wights clamber over the top.
Most soldiers had fled, leaving only a handful to grip their weapons and resist. They swung swords and jabbed spears, but inflicted no fatal wounds—not even scratches. It only stirred the Wights' cruelty further.
The Wights lunged, tearing out throats, severing limbs, hurling soldiers over the edge. Those bitten turned into Wights on the spot, thanks to the Worm Pest. The dead rose, jaws gaping, charging at their former comrades.
The 800 defenders holding the wall were swiftly surrounded and slaughtered amid the plague-ravaged battlefield. To the soldiers, their weapons and armor were nothing but dead weight.
"Damn it! Weapons are useless anyway!"
"Everyone, run!"
"The—the back gate! Head for the territory's back gate!"
Not just soldiers—the civilians fled too. The Wights pursued the scattering prey, spreading ever outward.
Loki, down below the wall, scooped up a sword discarded by a soldier. He cleaved a charging Wight clean in two. As it spewed flames and dissolved to ash, Loki stomped its remains. Not even cinders lingered.
"Annoying pests."
Salat, behind him, shrank back and scanned for anything usable as a weapon. Weapons littered the ground, but none suited her. She settled for a nearby bow and quiver of arrows.
"S-Stay back!"
Ash snatched up a fallen sword and swung at a Wight. But his strike was effortlessly blocked. His blade, aimed at its neck, lodged there uselessly—stuck fast, impossible to free.
"......!"
-Kieeeek!
The Wight shrieked at him and seized the sword with its hand, crushing it to scrap. Human weapons shattered pathetically against the Wight's overwhelming strength. As its jaws unhinged impossibly wide, Ash froze in despair.
He staggered back—and just as the Wight lunged, arrows thudded into both its eyes.
"......?!"
Ash whipped around in shock, spotting Salat nocking another arrow nearby.
"Coward. Get out of the way—now!"
Being called a coward by an Ein stung his pride, but this wasn't the time. Ash forgot all kingly dignity, sprawling backward on his rear in undignified panic.
The Wight twitched, yanked out the arrows, snapped them, and shook its head wildly. Seeing it move unscathed despite pierced eyes unnerved Salat.
"Wh-What do we do?"
She drew her bowstring taut again, glancing anxiously at Loki.
"......Who knows."
A few had scattered, but dozens of Wights still hemmed them in. No other survivors remained nearby.
The undead devoured the living and birthed more undead. Their numbers, once around a thousand, hadn't dwindled—they had swelled. The Wights infiltrated every corner of Harma Territory, hunting fragile lives.
They drained blood from the bloody, tore flesh from the fleshy, crunched bones from the bony. Even without spilling a drop, they hungered still, prowling like demons for more.
Loki scowled, surveying the carnage. Nearby lay a corpse that caught his eye.
'The peddler.'
Yuan the peddler, tears streaming down his face as a Wight devoured him. His features were still contorted in agony—he'd been alive moments ago. Loki slashed the feasting Wight with his sword. It crumbled to ash, but atop Yuan's body, the Worm Pest writhed.
A small paper glinted within.
"......"
A bloodstained letter—the one Yuan had mentioned sending to someone earlier. Loki picked it up for a closer look. The blood obscured the contents; the recipient would be baffled, no doubt.
'Poor bastard. He was kind enough, in his way... Come to think of it, he had a pregnant wife.'
Loki glanced around. The Wights had fully overrun Harma Territory. Unless hidden perfectly, everyone was prey now.
'She's probably dead too. What a shame.'
Something seized Loki's leg—Yuan, now a Wight. His face hadn't fully changed yet; tears streamed down in a silent plea. As if begging, 'It's not too late!'
Loki gazed down impassively, disgust flickering in his eyes.
"That's that, and this is this."
He raised his foot and crushed the man's skull.
"Rest well. Sadly, I haven't the leisure to help stragglers."
Loki turned away. Dozens ringed the wall above, over a hundred below, all watching him warily.
"Quite a lot."
He eyed Ash. The prince had scrambled up from his ignoble fall, teeth gritted, snatching nearby weapons. Will to survive and raw hatred burned in his glare at the encircling Wights.
"Time to see what you're made of."
Loki's true power was due. Behind him, space shimmered, and a ragged undead in tattered rags stepped forth—the skeleton assassin he'd sent to Aum as a messenger.
"......?"
Loki tilted his head at the sudden arrival. The skeleton dropped to one knee, bowing to its lord, then signed its message.
"Reporting now? Aum sent you?"
The skeleton shook its head and signed again.
"Aum... is coming here?"
Loki fell silent in surprise. He hadn't expected Aum Linia himself to show up. Salat, watching, yelped and backed away—the first time she'd seen it up close, never dreaming it was undead. Ash gaped, frozen.
"Undead...? Nord scum! You're a necromancer?!"
Ignoring Ash, Loki pressed the skeleton. "When? Where is he?"
More signs—and Loki stiffened, jaw twitching.
"......Right now? Here?"
***
On a hill not far from Harma Territory, a band encircled the vantage. Clad in dark brown armor, wielding massive weapons and shields, their beast-skull helmets turned toward the chaos below. They toyed with their arms, eyeing the inferno.
Too irregular for a proper 'army,' too equipped for mere 'mercenaries.' Heavily armed, they grinned beneath helmets, breaths ragged—not from heavy weapons or forced march, but excitement. The starved thrill of impending slaughter.
They were Nords. Plunderers who crushed others' joy and stole it for themselves! Battle was their game, their proof of existence. Above all, they relished hunting beings superior to humans.
"Ooh! It's burning bright!"
Aum Linia savored the continental soil beneath his feet after so long, gazing at the hellish Harma Territory. Walls shattered everywhere, gate ablaze, Wights feasting on corpses atop it. Civilians who'd escaped were hunted like frail herbivores—snatched alive and devoured.
"...Just a bit gruesome."
Kudan frowned. Armored like the Berserk Warriors, a cloth-draped massive object slung over his shoulder.
"Eh, so what? They're not our Nords. No skin off our backs."
Aum Linia cared little for outsiders, save allies like Hans. Continental folk massacred? No emotion stirred.
"Still troublesome. Left unchecked, their numbers explode... Unsettling."
"We'll manage. You, Kankun, the Berserk Warriors—we can handle ourselves."
Aum smacked his lips at Kudan's words.
"What about me?"
"Protect yourself."
"Don't lump me with you freaks who laugh off mortal wounds like paper cuts. The Berserk Warriors are my guard detail. If they scatter fighting, I'm at risk. Got someone else to watch my back?"
Aum glanced aside. There stood a woman in blue-and-white armor.
"What say you, Lady Kankun?"
The woman—Kankun Raguna—bit her lip at the burning territory and fleeing folk being slaughtered. She drew her sword. Runes etched on its pristine blade gleamed, pointing toward Harma.
"No more sacrifices. We must drive out those horrific demons."
Aum chuckled at her firm tone.
"Haha! I asked if you'd protect me... Guess not. 'Drive out,' eh? Your niece has spirit, Kudan. Drawing steel on that plague horde."
"Talk like that, but... she looks thrilled."
"Who, me?"
Aum tilted his head, oblivious to his own expression—eyes alight with savage glee, lips curled in hunger. Cooking obsessed him, but he was Nord blood through and through. Battle's thrill surged unbidden.
"Fine, won't deny it. Truth is, stress has built up. Time to vent. So..."
Aum's grin widened. He drew his sword.
"Berserk Warriors. First deployment. Time to show the power blessed by our Constellation—"
He aimed at Harma Territory.
"In action."
***
They tore. They chewed. Crushed, slurped, drunk on the metallic reek tickling tongue and nose—a electric ecstasy. Wights found purpose devouring life.
Even sated, the Worm Pest gnawed mana ceaselessly, craving more lives. No reason governed their 'pleasure' and 'hunger'—pure instinct birthed monsters unbound.
That nature made them continental terrors, apex predators beyond man or monster.
-Kirrik? Kirrik?
...Yet now, even these predators sensed something novel. A Wight abandoned its meal, head swiveling toward approaching strangers.
Humans. Tasty, nutrient-rich... fresh meat that bred more seeds.
That was their view of mankind. But these 'Berserk Warriors' felt... off. Utterly alien. Like starved kin.
The beast-boned band eyed the Wights and muttered.
"Good prey."
The Berserk Warriors. Their eyes blazed feral.