Even a Spark Is a Matter of Timing
Without quite meaning to, I end up giving them the name we used in my old world, just as it was: zombies.
Is this even all right?
I'm uneasy at first. Think it through, though, and I realize the world of Loina never had the word zombie to begin with, so it hardly matters what name I stick on them. It isn't as if there's another reincarnator walking around who already knows it.
"..."
Hearing the word, Esmela sinks into thought so deep that she doesn't notice me staring openly at her face.
"The zombies you told me about and the things we saw back there... their traits really are very similar."
Only after a long deliberation does she manage to speak.
"Yes, my lady! That's why—"
"But."
Just as I get excited, thinking I've managed to talk her around, she cuts me off without room for argument.
"In the end, it's still nothing more than a story out of superstition. Not a verified theory. Not established fact."
"..."
Right. That would be the normal reaction.
Even so, it doesn't matter.
"You're correct, my lady. The story I told you is fiction, through and through. I have no certain proof that the zombies in those tales are the same beings as those things. But isn't it also true that, apart from a superstition like this, there isn't a single record or theory that explains what they are? You're far more learned than I am. You know more than I do."
"...That much is true. In every text I've read, there wasn't so much as a single word about creatures like that."
"Exactly. Which is why I say this, out of an excess of caution. You don't have to believe me completely. But if—just if—those things are zombies, and a bite turns you into the very same kind of creature the old stories describe... then that, at least, is something we have to avoid. Isn't it?"
Esmela only listens in silence. With her mouth closed, a brief quiet settles between us.
"So what you want to ask of me,"
she says at last, at the end of that silence,
"is simply this: just in case, don't let them bite you. Is that it?"
"That's exactly it!"
There. The point has finally landed.
"Hmph... You could have just said it outright. Why drag in some superstition and spin such a long-winded tale?"
"Haha..."
As if she would have listened to a word I said if I hadn't built up to it like this.
"Fine. I'll be careful. I have no desire to turn into one of those things either, not even on the off chance."
"Yes. That's all I needed."
The immediate goal is met. At the very least, I've kept Esmela from becoming one of those bit-part extras from the opening of a zombie movie, the kind who wanders up to one with no idea what she's looking at and gets bitten.
"Thank you for hearing me out, my lady."
"There's nothing to thank me for."
"There is. If you were bitten by zombies and left my side... what could possibly be sadder than that?"
If I actually had to watch my favorite character turn into a zombie, I would sooner choose to be bitten myself.
"..."
Is it my imagination? A faint flush seems to be rising on Esmela's face.
"...What... is that supposed to mean?"
The question comes in a strangely delicate tone. Her change of attitude nags at me, but that isn't what matters right now.
"Hah... huff... Sorry?"
"...? Wait. Why are you gasping for breath?"
"W-well, talking with you, I didn't... hah... let it show, but my stamina and my mana are both about at their limit."
It has been more than twenty minutes since I broke into a full sprint from Pirke Square. Wringing out the mana for the acceleration spell has left my Mana Heart emptying by degrees, and the leg muscles I recklessly reinforced by pouring mana into them are starting to scream with pain. If I had been running alone I might still have managed, but carrying Esmela has burned through me much faster.
"What? Then put me down, quickly!"
"Yes. I'm sorry..."
I bring my running legs to a stop and lower her carefully out of my arms. Heat from the overworked Mana Heart spreads along the mana circuits and out through my whole body.
"Hahh, haaah, fuuu..."
I fight to steady the rough breaths tearing out of me.
"Unbelievable. Can you not read the mood at all..."
Esmela mutters some complaint under her breath. I can barely make it out, and honestly, just keeping my own body in one piece is more than enough right now.
"Hah. Huh. Huh."
I finally get my breathing under control. Even as I wipe away the sweat pouring down my forehead like rain, I glance around, just in case. No zombies nearby, at least.
"I'm truly sorry, my lady."
"..."
Esmela doesn't even turn her head my way anymore.
"As soon as my mana and stamina recover, I'll carry you the rest of the way, so—"
"Enough! We're practically at the mansion anyway. I'm walking."
She glares at me and snaps it in a sharp voice. Then—
"...Hmph."
Arms folded, thoroughly sulking, she strides off ahead, the crisp tap of her heels marking every step.
It stings a little. From my side of it, I ran myself into the ground to protect her, Esmela.
"Not so much as a word of praise, and she scolds me instead. That's a bit much..."
I mutter the grievance very quietly, so she won't hear, and follow her through the empty streets of the royal capital, Erka.
On an ordinary day the bustling heart of a romantasy city would be spread out before my eyes, crowds coming and going. But most of the capital has poured into Pirke Square to watch the crown prince's wedding, and so the two of us alone are walking this vast, deserted street.
"..."
Esmela doesn't uncross her arms. She doesn't look at me. She simply keeps walking, still sulking.
"..."
I have no idea how to soothe her, so I follow a few steps behind in silence of my own.
Ah, forget it.
Esmela getting pointlessly upset like this is nothing new. Leave her be, and she'll come around on her own. I decide to leave her temper to time and take another look at our surroundings.
Still, thank goodness. It doesn't look like the zombie outbreak has spread this far yet.
I'm just starting to let myself relax when—
"...?"
A sinister chill climbs my spine. And then—
Kraaaak!
Krek! Kugh!
Kuoooor!
Up ahead, dozens of zombies come howling toward us at a run.
Ah. Apparently the thought I just had to myself has gone and raised a flag.
It is a strange sight.
Somewhere on a street in the royal capital of Erka, the zombies seem to have already finished their hunt. Blood is splashed across the ground, and every ground-floor window has been smashed to pieces. Down the very center of that street, a woman walks as if nothing at all is wrong.
She stands a little under five foot seven, an ordinary height for a woman. Her clothes are mostly black—a veil and a dress, with a touch of white laid over the bodice—a plain, modest nun's habit. Her beauty, however, is anything but plain. Golden hair spills from beneath the veil, glossy and long enough to reach her chest, and her eyes shine a gold even brighter than that hair. Her skin is white enough to forbid the smallest speck of dust. Her face holds a mercy like the compassion of the Holy Mother, and set against it is a sinful figure, long lines curving as if shaped to tempt reason itself.
More striking than any of that is what she carries in her hand: a wooden club that looks a good meter long, densely studded with sharp thorns.
Kwwoooor!
Dozens of zombies, having found prey after far too long, rush her all at once. She remains perfectly calm.
Thock!
Krr...
Whack!
Kweh...
Keee...
Thwack-thwack-crack!
She swings the club with a light, almost cheerful rhythm and shatters their skulls—one with each swing, and sometimes several at once. Every time they collapse with their heads pulped, she offers God a requiem for them.
"Haa..."
The cleric lets out a light sigh, as if she has just finished hanging the laundry, and flicks the blood from her club. Then she walks on as calmly as before.
And yet the face that stayed serene even while she crushed their skulls suddenly darkens.
"Haa. I do hope everyone is all right. For Lord Roberje and Lady Yuria's wedding to end like that..."
She sighs, deep and heavy.
"Everyone scattered in every direction... Where could the others have gone?"
She sinks into thought for a moment. Then—
"Ah!"
Her face brightens, as if something has just come to her.
"That's right. Lady Esmela's mansion is here in the capital. If I go there, meet Lady Esmela, and travel with her, we can join the others."
Her destination decided, she walks on with more vigor than before.
Kraaaak!
Krek! Kugh!
Kuoooor!
But again, from not far off, an ominous cry carries to her—a chorus of many voices, every one of them feverish with the excitement of having found prey.
"Ah. More of the lost... Before I meet Lady Esmela, I ought to see my duty done first."
She laments it with sorrow on her face. Then she turns from the way she had been walking, club gripped in her right hand, and breaks into a run toward the howling.