Screams from the Impaled Corpses
The corpse hanging—no, impaled—on the skewer twisted in agony, as if screaming in torment.
"……."
Pol nearly screamed himself.
"Th-that thing… what the hell…!"
Rapilta whispered urgently into Pol's ear.
"Run! Whatever it is, it looks dangerous! On the count of three, don't look back—just bolt!"
Pol nodded vigorously twice.
"One…!"
A small commotion rippled through the territory folk gathered in the market.
"Two…!"
Jet-black armor. Beast-bone helmets. Black knights clutching skewers began converging around the priestess from all sides.
"Three!"
The moment Rapilta, Alber, and Pol turned to flee, the black knights had encircled them—with the priestess at the center, blocking every escape route completely.
"……."
A clear, feminine voice rang out amid the frozen trio.
"What a relief! Everyone else ran off when I asked for directions. Could you help me out for a bit?"
Pol, Rapilta, and Alber stared at the priestess in sheer terror.
***
They'd ended up at the cemetery.
The mysterious black knights were digging graves with their shovels.
"…That grave isn't for us, right?"
"…We can only pray it's not."
"……."
The joke fell flat, souring the mood.
The three watched the knights in their eerily strange armor dig, a chill running down their spines. Behind them, they gulped dryly as the priestess carefully extracted corpses one by one from the skewers.
Hours of this gruesome spectacle later, the graves were finally done.
"We'll finish the rest tomorrow. Sorry for calling you away from your duties."
The Berserk Warriors shook their heads at Kankun's bowed apology.
"Hey, when the saintess calls, we answer anytime!"
"Still, half are left. Tomorrow's gonna be rough."
Outside official settings, they spoke like friendly uncles.
Kankun bowed gratefully to the trio—Rapilta's group.
"Thank you. Thanks to you, we found a place to bury them."
"N-no, it's nothing! Yeah, not at all!"
Rapilta stammered, stiff as a board.
What the hell is with this priestess…! Pulling corpses off skewers without batting an eye?!
Then Alber approached her.
"Sorry, milady. We have urgent business, so we'll be going."
"Oh, my apologies! You must be busy… Thank you."
Alber clamped his mouth shut at her smiling bow, then bolted from the cemetery with quick strides. Rapilta and Pol followed, glancing nervously.
Once clear of the cemetery, Alber spoke.
"…We're entering the castle right now."
Pol and Rapilta tilted their heads.
Alber was acting strangely.
"Rapilta. How many of those black-armored knights do you think you could take?"
Rapilta recalled the Berserk Warriors and replied.
"If they're average knights, maybe fifteen? If I go all out, twenty!"
"Twenty? Hah… Ridiculous."
Alber glared at her, muttering.
"I see it differently. You, me, Pol… against them…."
Alber hesitated, then continued.
"Three at most."
"What? You're joking, right?"
"Dead serious. Based on my experience."
"……."
"Pol, get ready. We're heading in now. If those things are here… something's gone down."
Pol nodded as the mood turned ominous.
As Pol glanced back at the cemetery….
"……!"
His eyes widened.
Atop the cemetery wall, on a gargoyle statue, a man crouched, staring down at them.
A raven mask, ominous as hell. Beneath it, fierce yet cold red eyes.
Mr. Hoon…?
Pol blinked, and the statue was empty.
"Hallucination…?"
"Pol! What're you doing? Let's go!"
At Alber's angry shout, Pol nodded and hurried after him.
***
With the Berserk Warriors gone, Kankun placed flowers on the crude wooden tombstones.
"…You're kind."
Kankun whipped around in shock.
Someone was right behind her. She quickly put distance between them.
"……!"
Cold sweat beaded on her brow as she swallowed hard.
Her heartbeat—usually unnoticeable—now set her on edge.
A woman? No presence at all…!
Kankun glared at her interlocutor.
A slender woman in a black-and-white dress, face veiled in black lace, black-and-white hair parted to either side.
"No need to be so guarded. I'm just here to comfort the dead."
Golden eyes gleamed through the veil, fixed on Kankun.
"Who… are you?"
The woman paused at Kankun's question.
"Who… am I?"
She echoed back.
Kankun was at a loss.
…How was she supposed to answer that?
"Oh, just a passing nun… something like that?"
A passing nun? But her presence was unnervingly faint for an ordinary one. If she'd meant harm, Kankun might've died without knowing how.
Kankun stayed wary, but the woman ignored her, clasping her hands in prayer over the graves and tombstones.
The sight was so holy that Kankun relaxed despite herself.
A real nun after all?
The woman seemed profoundly mysterious.
Do continental clerics all have this refined dignity?
Kankun approached slowly, caution intact. If a nun, likely Holy Church-affiliated. She might see Kankun the Nod as a threat.
"You…."
"The souls look at peace."
"Pardon?"
"The ones wailing until moments ago… they're joyful now, resting easy."
"……."
Joyful…? Kankun glanced at the tombstones—nothing special.
Could this nun see something? Like….
"G-ghosts or anything?"
Kankun's eyes sparkled, but the woman chuckled softly and shook her head.
"No. Just… a feeling."
A feeling? But earlier she'd said she saw them….
The woman's gaze drifted to the sword at Kankun's waist.
"…That sword."
"Yes?"
"Where'd you get it?"
Kankun gripped the hilt, blinking.
"Someone gave it to me long ago. Why?"
"No reason. It just feels familiar."
"……."
The woman looked skyward. The sun had set, red twilight bathing the cemetery.
"Time flies. I'll be off."
"Oh? Ah, yes. Take care…."
Kankun bowed, watching her go.
Something familiar about her. Comforting, almost.
Like….
Loki's vibe….
Kankun stared where she'd vanished, then turned to leave herself.
She'd stayed too long. Loki would scold her for sure.
"Gotta hurry before I'm late."
As she departed, the silent cemetery stirred.
Thud!
A hand burst from a fresh grave Kankun had made. Wights with hate-filled eyes rose.
They scanned about, then stared in the woman's direction.
They felt it. Their summoner….
The call of the goddess of the underworld.
They were no mere minions—slaves of death. Undead.
***
The veiled woman walked steadily.
Passing the cemetery outside Roden Territory, she headed to the outer forest.
She stopped, and masked figures emerged from the woods.
Black-and-White Church followers.
"Lady Helga. We're ready to depart."
"Then let's go."
"Destination?"
"None… but…."
Helga trailed off.
The followers puzzled— their mistress stared into the distance.
They followed her gaze upward, to a massive tree.
A raven?
But not just any raven. A raven mask.
The Raven Man—Loki—crouched on the branch, smirking down at them.
"…Found you."
At last, he'd found the woman he'd sought.
Loki steadied his trembling body.
Joy. Ecstasy at fulfilling his goal.
"Finally…!"
Before he finished, two followers flanked him, swords at his throat.
"Who the hell are you?"
"If not for Lady Helga, we wouldn't have noticed. You're dangerous."
The followers sweated coldly beneath their masks.
Loki narrowed his eyes at the blades.
Fast. Berserk Warrior level? But are they alive? Or dead?
Definitely alive. Yet artificially prolonged, like puppets with souls.
Helga's skill?
Loki rose slowly.
The followers pressed their swords harder as he balanced precariously on the branch.
"Don't move!"
"Move without the goddess's order… and that neck is mine!"
"Mine?"
Loki grinned, bursting into laughter.
Them? Limbo beings, neither human nor undead?
"Fools."
At his word, Helga shouted.
"Dodge!"
The followers startled, trying to pull back—but Loki's hands gripped their blades.
"Burn."
Black flames erupted from his fingertips.
The inferno melted the swords instantly, surging toward the followers' bodies—but they barely evaded.
Molten metal splashed onto the branch, igniting the tree.
Loki ignored the blaze, staring down at Helga.
"……."
He leaped down, landing before her.
The ground followers drew swords to his throat, but Helga raised a hand, halting them.
"Finally found you."
"Me…?"
"Yes! I built my forces, founded a nation… all to find you!"
"……."
"No more running. No need to tangle with those who slander you as plague goddess or demon. I'll protect you, no matter what."
"……."
"So come with me…."
Loki reached out.
As his hand neared her face, Helga spoke.
"Who… are you?"
Loki's hand froze.
"What?"
"Who are you, I asked."
Loki realized he still wore the raven mask.
But removing it wouldn't help. This body was Loki's avatar. His true face was gone.
"I see. You might not recognize me like this."
Loki gazed at Helga, naming himself.
"Kim Hoon."
"……."
"That's my na—."
A flash streaked past. Loki dodged back—but too slow.
Red blood sprayed from his chest. For the first time in ages, he felt pain.
Loki stared at Helga.
In her hand, a crimson greatsword over two meters long.
"…I don't know who you are."
Politeness gone.
"And I don't know any Kim Hoon."
Killing intent poured forth.
"But… this I know."
Helga cast off her veil.
Her ghostly pale face twisted. Black-and-white hair whipped side to side. Beautiful yet hollow golden eyes—devoid of light—glared coldly at Loki.
"You're… the enemy."