Absolute Safe Zone in the Bloodbath
The floor of the Black Gorge, slick with gore, squelched unpleasantly underfoot with every step. I kicked aside the mangled head of a dire wolf that snagged my toe, then mercilessly stomped the shins of the Astrea Ducal House's elite knights sprawled out with their eyes rolled back in their sockets.
"Urk! Gah…!"
"How long are you planning to lie there like idiots? The cleanup's done—get up and earn your keep. Set up camp."
At my curt reprimand, the unconscious knights jolted awake, scrambling to their feet. Their unfocused eyes quickly took in the hellish scene of the gorge, now a crimson nightmare. They gasped, and when their gazes landed on Reina—standing in the middle, fiddling with her silver hair—they began trembling like leaves in the wind.
Elite knights of the ducal house, quaking in terror at the sight of an eighteen-year-old girl like she'd summoned a demon. Pathetic, but considering the off-the-charts disaster they'd just witnessed unfold before their eyes, it was understandable.
Truth be told, this slaughterhouse—reeking of beast corpses and vibrating with pooled blood—was the worst possible spot for a campsite. But my mind had already run the practical math. With the sun dipping low, whipping these shell-shocked fools into fixing the wrecked carriages and scouting a new site? That sounded like pure exhaustion and madness.
Besides, after Reina's rampage and the raw killing intent she'd left hanging in the air, no beast or monster would dare lurk anywhere near this gorge for days. If we could stomach the stench and the visuals, this was paradoxically the absolute safe zone in the entire North right now.
"What are you standing around gawking for? Before the sun sets, pick a flat rock without any blood puddles, fix the carriages, and get a fire going. It's already freezing—don't be idiots and wander off somewhere else just to freeze to death on the road."
Only after my pragmatic nagging and barked orders did the knights finally snap into motion, entranced. I settled on a nicely sliced-flat rock (probably a chunk of cliff she'd cleaved like tofu with her sword swing), pulling out an imperial communication magic scroll and quill from my pocket.
Time to draft the "subjugation report" for the emperor who'd shoved us into this nightmare.
If I let empty-headed schemers play their shallow games without pushback, the name of a ten-year K-office worker and veteran teacher would cry in shame.
I snorted inwardly and scrawled away with the quill. It was the impeccably polite, iron-clad business tone I'd used dozens of times as heir to House Evans. But the subtext was a viciously preemptive counterpunch and a blatant teabag.
By the grace of Your Majesty's sun-like decree, we have safely arrived at the designated 'Black Gorge.' However, the coordinates so graciously provided concealed a high-risk monster horde far beyond even our gravest expectations.
To fulfill Your Majesty's command and safeguard the Empire, we had no choice but to commit our 'utmost efforts' in battle. Regrettably, in this loyal and fierce subjugation, a portion of the gorge's cliffs was lost, resulting in 'minor terrain alterations.' As this stems from our devotion to the Empire, we trust Your Majesty's boundless mercy will overlook it.
In plainer terms: We know it was a trap, laughed it off, and butchered them in a minute. You crammed in so many disgusting beasts that we accidentally trashed some cliffs too—if you try fining us for environmental damage, we'll assume the palace has no sense of grace.
Perfect. Imagining the imperial cronies clutching their necks upon reading it melted away days of northern chill and fatigue. I signed the bottom with a flourish and activated the communication spell.
Fwoosh—!
The scroll erupted in cold blue flames, incinerating in midair without a trace of ash. Those vicious words were now transcribing in real-time onto the designated receiver scroll in the capital's palace comms room.
"…Cadel."
Before the spell's afterglow faded, a low, sticky voice wormed into my ear. No need to turn. A chill lavender scent mixed with metallic blood hit me from behind.
In the flickering orange glow of the knights' campfire, Reina had sidled right up beside me. Despite wading through that massacre, she looked impossibly pristine. The heavy, stuffy dark armor I'd nagged her into wearing—after her whining about it— was spotless, not a speck of dust. Hard to believe she'd rolled in blood mere minutes ago.
Only the flush on her cheeks from the day's slaughter and her languid purple eyes betrayed the lingering predator's adrenaline.
"Wrote the report? What'd you say?"
"Nothing much. Just prettied up how you cleaned house here and sent it off on my authority. Heh."
A pleased chuckle escaped at the thought of the emperor receiving my troll bomb.
"Mmm."
Reina curled her lips in satisfaction and plopped down beside me, naturally—seamlessly—leaning her head on my shoulder.
Ugh.
My breath hitched; my spine went rigid. Gloved hands and armored body aside, her bare cheek and jaw pressed vulnerably against me. In the frigid northern night air, her feverishly hot body heat seeped straight through my thin shirt.
I could shrug off visual teasing, but direct skinship was another level. My inner thirty-seven-year-old veteran teacher's reason tried to dismiss it as 'puppyish affection from a student,' but this uncontrollable seventeen-year-old hormonal body went haywire at the soft, burning touch, blaring alarms.
Heartbeat erratic, gut tightening. Damn hormones, read the room! She's not a girl—she's a walking strategic weapon!
I bit the inside of my cheek to crush the beastly rebellion surging in my flesh.
"Did I do good?"
Reina nuzzled my shoulder like a purring cat, whispering drowsily.
"Took less than a minute. I swept 'em all like you said—why no head pats except when you put on my gloves?"
With her adrenaline crash, the yandere beast now openly craved 'rewards' from her master. Her gloved hand creeping onto my thigh felt like a leash tightening around my throat.
If I let her set the pace, it'd only be a matter of time before she noticed my body's betrayal (racing pulse, flushed ears). I gulped a deep breath and threw up the thickest wall of my driest, strictest homeroom teacher mode.
"Good? What good?"
I shoved her forehead away with a finger, voice deliberately firm.
"Ow? Whyyy!"
"Your form was sloppy when you swung that holy sword earlier. Forgot my nagging at the training grounds before we left? Loosen your shoulders."
Her purple eyes widened at my out-of-left-field critique. Telling the world's strongest—the girl who'd minced a monster horde in under a minute—that her form sucked. I heard the knights gasping in disbelief from afar, but I pressed on with my PE teacher's tirade.
"Elbow angle's fine, but you're tensing your shoulders uselessly, so the swing dips low. That's why you're shaving off unnecessary cliffs. Control is skill too, you problem child."
"…Tch."
"Pout all you want. Basic fitness drills first thing tomorrow morning—get ready and sleep."
It shattered the romantic, sticky mood like cheap glass—pure passion-killing PE feedback. She pouted at my push, grumbling, but instead of pulling away, she hugged my arm tighter, humming contentedly.
"Fine. You can fix my form tomorrow morning anyway."
My cold walls and stern scolding—what would've hurt a normal girl—clearly registered to her as Cadel's obsessive attention and control. Her eyes, reflecting the firelight, gleamed with twisted ecstasy at her master's leash. Realizing I'd just flipped her yandere switch harder, I ignored my chilling spine and stared into the fire.
Haa… my future's looking bleak.
Stifling my body's revolt, reining in this mad beast. Exhaustion drew a deep sigh.
The next morning.
I could picture the capital's palace in chaos over my savage report—no need to see it.
The North's worst monster nest wiped in one night? The ducal lady really reshaped the terrain in a minute?!
The emperor and top brass, faces pale, spittle flying. A few geezers clutching their necks at my shameless deflection of the environmental blame onto them.
But that was grown-up drama far in the capital—not my problem now.
"Alright, everyone up! Move it—double time, no slacking!"
Tweet—!
Screech!
The dwarf-commissioned whistle echoed through the gorge. Tents erupted with yelps as knights stirred.
In the heart of this blood-reeking hellscape, where gore hadn't even dried, I lined up the guards on the open flat (the rock Reina had leveled yesterday), face cool and serene.
"Morning air's refreshing! Light House Evans basic gymnastics first! One, two, three, four!"
"Ha, one… two… three… four…."
This mysterious routine—a sly rip-off of my past life's K-national gymnastics—was our ingrained morning ritual, brainwashed into Reina since childhood.
The knights, having seen us do this bizarre dance in the training grounds since their kid days, followed reflexively even in this apocalypse.
Astrea elites flailing trembling limbs amid monster corpses, eyes darting nervously. And front row: the silver-haired yandere beauty, shed of yesterday's stuffy armor, radiant in outing clothes, stretching innocently to my calls.
Her dazzling looks clashed wildly with the gore-scape, yet the North's subjugation second morning dawned brazenly, grotesquely peaceful.