Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Black Magic Disaster 4
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“Hmm.”
Azadin swiftly dispatched the hunting dogs before stepping back to observe how everyone else handled things. With the threats disrupting their formation eliminated, it was time to see the adventurers’ skills in action.
Sure enough, the adventurers made easy work of the zombies by leveraging the strength of their defensive circle.
‘Adventurers really do have solid experience. They came prepared with spears for hunting and formed a sturdy phalanx. But…’
This was the middle of a forest.
What if attacks came from angles their formation couldn’t withstand?
Truth be told, even in this situation, losses would have occurred if Tarky and Azadin hadn’t intervened to stop the hunting dogs. Azadin hung back a step, gauging the adventurers’ capabilities.
*********
The brief skirmish at the entrance to Lumbermill Village had ended. It was a resounding victory for their side, without so much as a single scratch. Yet everyone was gripped by fear, and the adrenaline of battle had drained their stamina excessively.
Undead were loathsome by their very existence—simply seeing them could terrify people or drive them mad.
“Th-this isn’t what we agreed to!”
“L-let’s head back. This is impossible!”
The merchants who had come to trade with the lumbermill and the adventurers they’d hired tried to turn tail. Kaka, Chiko, and the other Sell-Sword Guild members were flustered.
“But we were hired to take down the wyvern.”
“We can’t just retreat blindly!”
“There are undead before we even get to the wyvern. That changes everything!”
“Still, uh, it looks like we’ve cleared out the undead now.”
“No, the fact that undead are showing up in this forest means anything could come next. Zombies now, but what if ghosts or specters appear later? You confident we can handle that?”
The general mood was that no one cared about the wyvern—they all just wanted to fall back.
Living beasts were easy to hunt, but undead were a nightmare. They didn’t bleed from wounds; their functions only stopped once their bodies were completely severed. And according to Hubris folk superstitions, anyone killed by undead would become undead themselves, making them even more terrifying than beasts.
“But can you really go back?”
Azadin asked them.
“Pardon? What do you…?”
“Huh?”
Only then did the adventurers and merchants realize their retreat was cut off. They had come in a straight line along the forest path, but now dense trees loomed behind them.
‘The trees have shifted positions.’
Azadin had known this would happen from the moment he sensed the dark power bubbling up in the forest.
‘The caster is watching us. Blocking our retreat…’
Azadin could feel the caster’s hatred toward these merchants.
‘They plan to kill us all.’
If these people had truly enslaved and exploited a woman solely because she bore the bloodline of the Herald tribe, passing the enslavement down to her children…
Death penalty.
Even someone as mild-mannered as Azadin had no desire to let them live. However…
‘I can’t let them die until the investigation progresses. I’ll keep them alive for now.’
With that thought, Azadin watched the merchants’ reactions.
“Argh! What the hell?”
“We’re all dead!”
“Th-the path vanished? It was right there!”
Terrified, the merchants ordered the adventurers to check the way they’d come. The adventurers bristled at being treated like scapegoats but curiosity won out, so they turned and went to look. They soon returned.
“Th-the path is gone.”
“There is a sort of path, but it’s too narrow and dangerous.”
Sending a large group down a narrow trail would stretch their line thin. A ambush would wipe them out.
“For now, this spot is wide open, so let’s stay in the village.”
Azadin suggested, but the merchants and adventurers shook their heads vigorously.
“N-no way!”
“This is where that Herald tribe woman was.”
“It’s her, no doubt! Cursed Herald tribe. I knew it!”
The merchants ignored Azadin’s words entirely, consumed by fear.
“Let’s get out of here fast. This village is cursed.”
“Y-yeah.”
“But the way back looks too dangerous.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ve got a compass.”
“It’ll work out somehow, right?”
The merchants clamored to retreat, even overriding the adventurers’ objections.
Azadin figured these merchants deserved to die, but he couldn’t let that happen until things were certain. Reluctantly, he pulled Tarky aside.
“Yes?”
“Hey, calm everyone down.”
“Me?”
“I can’t do it. You’re the noble—they’ll listen to you.”
“Ah, understood. I’ll do my best.”
Tarky hesitated but approached the merchants.
“Listen up, you lowly scum.”
“…….”
Even the merchants, lost in panic, fell silent for a moment.
“I am Tarky, son of Count Kazel of the March. My life is leagues above the likes of your flea-bitten existences. If someone of my caliber is willing to risk death to investigate this place, why should vermin like you complain about your worthless lives? Join us in uncovering this village’s secrets. Bear witness to my triumph as a knight claiming glory here. Even trash like you could boast about it to your descendants.”
*********
Thanks(?) to Tarky’s encouragement, most of the merchants insisted on retracing their steps with the mercenaries they’d hired and slipped away.
Now only remained Kaka and Chiko—the siblings directly assigned by the Sell-Sword Guild—along with Azadin’s group and Tarky.
Tarky wondered why his pep talk had driven people away.
“Why did they react like that?”
“That’s what I want to know. How do you say stuff like that in a situation like this?”
Azadin was utterly impressed by Tarky, who was as cowardly as they came yet unmatched when it came to being a total jerk. Once someone crossed a certain line, their very existence became a curiosity. Azadin even felt like cracking open his skull to see how such filth spewed from his mouth.
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about them now.”
Midiarm smiled as she said something chilling. In a pinch, if their identities were exposed, they’d just silence Kaka and Chiko. Of course, that would mean killing the rest or crippling their ability to speak.
Oblivious to this, Kaka and Chiko sighed.
“Whew, bro. Why’d you say something like that? We’re more vulnerable scattered!”
“Then why didn’t you go back with the merchants?”
“If a spell is obscuring the path we took, backtracking could be even riskier.”
Chiko said this as she cautiously pulled a talisman from her bosom. It was a sun-baked lizard talisman used by Brtuma shamans—primitive, but edible in a pinch or usable to draw runes with its ash. She scraped off a bit and sprinkled it on the ground.
With no wind, the ash stirred, forming wave-like patterns on the earth as if iron filings drawn by a magnet.
“Powerful black magic dominates this area. The undead make it obvious, but still.”
“I see.”
Azadin clicked his tongue and surveyed the lumbermill. A massive waterwheel saw for cutting timber stood there, surrounded by workshops, barracks, and warehouses.
But…
The warehouse door was rattling. Someone inside was pounding on it, locked from the outside. Everyone drew weapons and approached warily.
“Undead?”
“Is anyone out there? I’m human!”
A young woman’s voice came from inside the warehouse.
“An undead claiming to be human?”
“I am human! I’m, uh, a holy knight of the King’s Church!”
“A holy knight of the King’s Church?”
Azadin went to the door and removed the bolt. The door flew open, and a young female knight tumbled out. Her plate armor marked her as a full knight, not a squire, armed with a shield and small mace.
She had been pushing against the door; as soon as Azadin unbolted it, she sprawled on the ground.
“Wah!”
Kaka and Chiko, standing behind, jumped back in surprise. The knight lay there in an undignified heap.
“Oh dear. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fi… not fine!”
She shot up like she’d been struck by lightning and bolted for the bushes before anyone could stop her.
“Acting alone is dangerous.”
“But this is something I have to do alone! Don’t follow!”
“Ah…”
Azadin realized what she was up to and halted. She returned shortly after, looking more composed amid the foliage.
“…….”
“Ah, well, I was locked up for a while.”
“No need to explain.”
The holy knight blushed with embarrassment at Azadin’s words. She’d clearly had urgent business in the bushes.
“Ah, forgive the late introduction. I’m Maya, chief officer of the Salasma Parish.”
A parish chief officer was an elite in the King’s Church, directly under the bishop. Unlike other holy knights who patrolled vast territories on meager pay, they worked in major cities, drawing salaries straight from the parish—objects of envy.
Those who didn’t make chief officer roamed endless jurisdictions, completing missions without fiefs or stipends, covering their own food, gear repairs, and horse feed.
Such disparities meant only the best were selected: exceptional talent, noble lineage, striking beauty to dazzle cityfolk like living ornaments, or specialists in accounting, law, or librarianship.
Azadin asked curiously.
“What brings someone of your stature here?”
“A sacred mission, of course.”
“Then why were you locked in a warehouse?”
“While I was investigating it, beasts attacked the village. The panicked villagers shut me in. With what I had on me…”
She showed her mace. A tiny thing with elegant silver filigree—more noble trinket than weapon.
Fine against unarmored foes, but worthless against plate, worse than a club. Carrying it suggested she handled paperwork or commerce, not combat.
“Of course, I do have proper weapons, but they’re with my horse… There were other holy knights in the village besides me, so I never imagined this. I could’ve used holy smite to break the door, but that would’ve endangered me too. Hm?”
As she spoke, Maya glanced around. The village was awash in traces of blood and slaughter everywhere.