The Wedding Blessed by the Dead (3)

An antique typeface, lavish ornament worked all through it—exactly the sort of design a romance fantasy deserves. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠title logo I have seen hundreds of times while booting the game. Far, far too familiar.

Beneath it lies the space where the subtitle The Four Jewels ought to have been written, in four colors to match the title. Love is set in a cute pink font, a little heart perched over the letters. Dead is scrawled in an ominous hand, black shot through with green, and blood runs under the word.

The prologue, too, wears a title I have never seen. If my memory is right, the first chapter of RinA—Romance in Arkesia—is called Encounters on the First Day of Term, the day the heroine enrolls at the academy and gets tangled up with the four male leads by chance. None of this makes sense. What is this screen that has popped up in front of my eyes out of nowhere—

"Aaaagh! Wh-what is this!"

"Move! I said move!"

"Gyaaaah!"

"Those things are biting people!"

—and what, exactly, is this situation supposed to be?

"Get a hold of yourself!"

A sharp voice cuts through, and I snap back to myself.

"What do you think you're doing, standing there in a daze when the one you're supposed to guard is in danger?"

Esmela is glaring at me as if I were hopeless.

"Ah."

At some point she has risen from her seat and is standing right in front of me. The corners of the eyes fixed on me are still wet with tears she hasn't managed to wipe away. I slap both cheeks, hard.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I will do my duty."

I bow my head and apologize. Right. That isn't what matters now. Escorting Esmela is my duty as her exclusive butler. I pull myself together and lift my head, and the mysterious title that had hung before my eyes is already gone.

"For now, we ought to get down from the VIP seats, my lady."

"Yes."

I scan for an exit at once. But—

"Everyone trying to get out has piled up. The entrance is blocked."

Just as Esmela says, the nobles in the VIP seats have fallen into a panic of their own, cramming onto the stairs to either side and shoving one another in a scramble to escape first.

"Well. Fine."

As if it hardly matters, she starts toward the railing on the side of the box opposite the square where the uproar has broken out.

"I can move the likes of you along with me on levitation magic..."

No. Even levitation magic would be too slow, once you count the time spent gliding through the air.

"My lady, pardon me."

"What? Kyah!"

I beg her leave and sweep her up in a princess carry.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

"My apologies. We don't have a moment to spare."

I break into a full sprint toward the railing. As I run, I glance back at the square. The enormous screen spread across the sky is still broadcasting the wedding hall. Something must have gone wrong with the image magic; the viewpoint is canted hard to the right. In that skewed frame, the crown prince is shouting orders at the ministers who have climbed up onto the wedding stage. That confident look from a moment ago is nowhere to be found. Panic is written plain across his face.

I say nothing. I face forward again and leap from the railing with Esmela in my arms.

"Don't you ever do that again."

"...Yes."

I rub my left cheek, still stinging where she hit me.

"My lady, let us make for the carriage. The sooner we return to the estate, the better."

"I know."

She and I set off at once toward the northern avenue of the square, where the carriage ought to be waiting. Her heels click quick against the stone, and the red-gold hair coiled into spiral twin tails bounces up and down in time with every step.

Honestly, if I had my way I'd still be carrying her and running. Do that, though, and I doubt a slap would be the end of it.

Walking toward the carriage, I take in the back street north of the noisy square.

"My lord, what's gotten into you all of a sudden? What about the wedding?"

"That isn't what matters! The carriage—call the carriage! We're returning to the estate, now!"

"What on earth is happening..."

"The commoners must have started a riot. The royal army will put it down soon enough, so don't worry, madam."

The lane leading out to the avenue north of the square is in an uproar with nobles who have fled the VIP seats and the servants trailing after them. The young lady of House Herta pays the people flailing in confusion no mind at all and strides straight ahead.

"Still, what an absurd affair. Starting a riot at the crown prince's wedding. I don't know who the ringleader is, but once they're caught, execution is as good as decided."

She seems to think what happened in the square was something people set in motion. But if what I saw is right, those things were nothing like people.

"My lady, I must disagree."

"What?"

She had been walking with such force. At my words she turns her head toward me.

"So you're saying someone let monsters loose in the square, Renit? In the royal capital?"

"...At least, from what I saw, yes."

If those things can even be called monsters.

"I saw a group of things that looked like people enter from the south side of the square. At first I thought they were people as well. But as they drew nearer to the northern VIP seats, I got a clear look at what they were."

"And? What did they look like?"

"Looked at closely, their forms could not be called human. They were closer to corpses come back to life, and they were st—"

The carnage opening ahead of us stops the report in my throat.

"Why did you suddenly stop talk—hk."

Esmela had been about to scold me. She looks the same way I am looking, and the horror hits her too.

The avenue north of the square is coming into view. Along it, carriages wait for their nobles, and the horses that draw them stand ready. No. They had been.

"Aagh! Aaaagh! What are these things!"

A coachman, fleeing them, trips and goes down. They don't miss the chance. They rush him all at once and start tearing into the fallen man with their teeth.

"Right now... a person is..."

Being eaten. Esmela cannot force the next word out.

Hell has opened along the avenue. The carriages are smashed past recognition, nothing but wreckage rolling in the road, and the horses and drivers who had drawn them lie there as mangled corpses, bitten all over. Those still alive thrash to stay that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way, screaming as they run from the things. Blood from the wounds of the strewn dead has dyed the northern avenue red.

Amid it all, the carriage we arrived in—the one marked with the Herta crest—catches my eye. More precisely, what used to be a carriage. House Herta's coach has been shattered until its shape is gone; only the family crest carved into the side panel can still be made out. The five soldiers who had been escorting it have already been eaten, by the look of it. Flesh torn away, bone laid bare, they sprawl near the wreckage.

And twenty people—or twenty things in the shape of people—have gathered over the corpses of the Herta horse and coachman who brought us this far. Shoving one another, desperate to tear off even a single mouthful, they look exactly like vicious dogs fighting over one bowl of feed.

The people who had been following behind us see the same thing, stop dead, and start to panic.

"Kyaaaah! A c-corpse..."

"The carriage—where is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my carriage?"

Someone screams at the bodies strewn on the ground. Someone else, even now, is looking for the carriage they came in. The reactions are all different, but one understanding is shared among them.

"What in the world are those things!"

What are they? In the royal capital—no, perhaps on the entire continent—I may be the only one who can answer that.

"Shit. I was hoping they wouldn't be zombies."

The curse slips out before I can stop it. The moment I saw those things in the square, skin discolored and rotting apart, the first word that came to mind was zombie. It can't be. RinA doesn't even have the concept. A variant ghoul, or something of that sort. I tried hard to convince myself there had to be some other possibility. But I have seen them with my own eyes now, charging every living thing in sight and tearing into living flesh without a moment's hesitation, and I have no choice but to admit it.

Pirke Square, in the southeast district of the royal capital of Erka. In the place where more than a hundred thousand people gathered to watch the crown prince's wedding, a zombie outbreak has begun.

From a distance, I watch the things rampaging up and down the avenue north of the square and force myself to observe them calmly. Why zombies have appeared in the world of RinA at all is a question for later. What matters now is how we survive the ones bearing down on us this instant.

"What on earth are those? Ghouls? Revenants? No—before that, how are there undead in the royal capital...?"

The impossibility of it seems to have thrown Esmela.

"My lady."

"Wh-what?"

I call to her, meaning to tell her what they are and how dangerous they are, and that is when it happens.

Grrrk? Far off, the zombies stop feeding on the corpses and turn their heads toward us all at once. Krk—kyaaaah! Then, as if someone were commanding them, they charge us together with a speed no corpse ought to have.

"You fucking—!"

They aren't even going to give us time to make a plan.

"Th-they're coming! Run!!"

Nobles who see the charge break and flee back the way we came.

No. Run that way and they'll only be swept back into what's happening in the square.

I step quietly in front of Esmela and fix my eyes on the zombies.

"Renit?"

At the sound of her voice I look back. Shock, confusion, and fear are all tangled together on her pale face.

Right. Only one thing to think about now.

"I will protect you, so please don't worry."

I smile, just enough to steady her, and turn my glare forward again.

Survive. Keep Esmela safe, and survive the zombies. For now, think of nothing else.

The distance closes. I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and draw out a hilt small enough to fit in one hand—a sword that is nothing but a hilt, a red jewel set into the guard. I take it in both hands at chest height, the tip of its formless blade pointed at the sky, and shout.