Zombie Apocalypse 3
Zombie Apocalypse 3
The charging monster-men's attire told them that it wasn't only hapless farmers among them. Eastern pirates and mercenaries from the Peninsula were mixed in.
Whether the pirates had plundered the village and settled in only to fall victim to the farmers after they mutated, or had entered a village already teeming with monsters from the start, they had paid for their sins with death.
"Loose!"
At Eugene's command, the arrows held at full draw flew. They weren't aimed at any particular vital spots; it was suppressing fire meant to halt the enemy's advance.
Thud-thud-thud!
At the distinctive sound of tearing flesh, the long ears of the tribal warriors twitched.
"Wood?"
"It felt like shooting a wooden shield."
Having pierced cloth and flesh countless times with arrows and possessing sharp hearing, they could gauge the extent of the damage from the sound of the arrows striking alone. Their experience told them that the enemies hadn't been hurt at all.
"Aim for the neck or face!"
An arrow shot by Rex struck the face of a charging monster-man dead-on.
This too failed. The arrow couldn't even penetrate the mushrooms growing on the cheek and fell limply.
"How can mushrooms be so hard?"
Rex was shocked beyond disbelief.
The mushrooms he knew—whether poisonous or edible—were all soft kinds. The sort that would tear with an odd sound at just a little pressure.
Tink!
Tink-tink!
"They're not penetrating!"
"Damn it! They're covering all their vital spots, aren't they?"
In addition to mushrooms, bark and strange vines sprouted all over the monster-men's bodies.
The tribal warriors, who had been supplied better while serving under Eugene, had started using broadhead arrowheads as standard issue.
The arrows that had once sent the pirates wailing in a single shot proved useless against these monster-men.
"Is it certain that those things aren't undead?"
The monster-men charged on undeterred even with multiple arrows dangling from their bodies. The heavy cavalry, cowed by their momentum, pressed the priests insistently.
"If they were undead, they would have collapsed before the power of the holy relic."
"No, look at that state. How could those be living creatures? These aren't just any arrows, they're broadheads."
Even a troll, with its ferocious and tenacious vitality, would have shown some reaction with arrows embedded like that.
Of course, before the flail Eugene wielded, all were equal.
Bang!
As the black flash swept past, the head of the monster-man charging at the very front exploded.
Normally, blood and brain matter would have splattered everywhere, but what scattered were solid chunks. The shattered cross-section was heavily fibrous, like torn black bread.
'It feels like striking rain-soaked old wood.'
Since there was no worry of arrows or bolts flying his way, Eugene abandoned his shield and hefted the flail with both hands.
The black flash intensified into a black storm and began smashing the monster-men in the front rank. Yet because the enemy rushed in without fear of death, a few were bound to slip through.
"Spears and shields!"
At Eugene's command, the heavy cavalry swiftly dismounted and formed a shield wall in the front line.
"Fweeeet!"
At Homi's whistle, the warhorses all pulled back to the rear in unison and formed up. She had played with the horses whenever she had spare time in the stables, and had now become capable of commanding even simple formation drills.
"Just hold on while pushing them back moderately."
"Leave it to us! This isn't our first or second time coordinating with the Castle Lord, is it?"
Everyone in the unit knew that their lord's support attacks from beyond the shield wall maximized their destructive power.
"Screeeech!"
The heavy infantry layered their shields together to form a sturdy defensive line, then timed their move.
"Now!"
Thump!
When they thrust their shields forward in unison, the monster-men were hurled backward helplessly by the force.
Crack!
Immediately, a bundle of maces descended upon the creatures' heads, splitting them open from forehead to neck.
"Damnation. It's not working!"
The mercenaries confident in their swordsmanship stabbed at them from time to time as well, but couldn't land a telling blow.
"O Holy Spirit, grant us unflagging vigor!"
"Power to purify evil upon our maces!"
As the armed priests joined the attack as well, the tide of battle tilted swiftly. Unlike arrows and swords, the heavy maces they swung were effective even against the monster-men.
The tough mushroom carapaces covering the faces, the bark that cascaded down like a beard to cover the necks—all shattered to pieces before the maces.
"Grrk!"
The only limitation was that since these were not two-handed bludgeons and depended on ordinary human arm strength, they couldn't inflict fatal wounds.
The monster-men who staggered back glared fiercely with savage eyes through the shattered mushrooms.
Thud!
Seizing the opening, the tribal warriors shot arrows into the exposed flesh.
"Damned crazy archers, seriously."
The mercenaries marveled at the sight of as many as four arrows embedded in such a small eyeball. They were unbearably arrogant slick-skins at times, but their archery skill was peerless.
Meanwhile, Eugene couldn't erase the unease from his face throughout the battle.
"Varda-nim. Do these things spread disease, or...?"
"Disease?"
"I mean to ask whether the fragments or shards they shed as they die could contaminate the surrounding area."
While the mercenaries and tribal warriors had focused only on the hardness of the mushrooms growing from the monster-men's bodies, Eugene had been observing a different aspect.
"Could the shards they shed infect people through their respiratory systems?"
Mushrooms were fungi—in other words, spores. Even armor that covered the body without gaps could be breached by a single mosquito carrying an infectious disease.
Even as his subordinates raised a victory roar at the sight of the last monster-man falling, Eugene was thinking, 'Should I order an immediate retreat?'
"You need not worry about that. It's the same as a person bitten by a wight not turning into one. Those are merely puppets raised by the Forest Spirit."
"That is a relief."
Though all the monster-men had fallen, the subordinates still maintained formation and glowered at their surroundings.
Yet their ears were fixed on Varda. It was better to fight an enemy they at least knew something about—anything—than to fight one of unknown identity.
"You said the Forest Spirit is beyond your capacity to intervene, Varda-nim? Then what of the spirits you commanded when we first set out for North Fork?"
At that time, when ghouls and wights had attacked, Varda had raised vines to immobilize them. It had been a powerful magic made possible by forming one-time contracts with the spirits of the region.
"Those I dealt with then were vegetation spirits. Elemental spirits that dwell within each individual member of nature—grass, moss, and trees."
"Is the Forest Spirit something different?"
"A being on a far higher order. If an elemental spirit were a hungry peasant, then the Forest Spirit would be the chieftain who leads thousands of them in revolt, you might say."
In short, it meant it was a far more intelligent, powerful, and dangerous being.
Marbas, who had been listening to their conversation, approached and spoke.
"They call it a spirit, but it may well possess power equal to the gods of primitive faiths. The difference being that it can sustain its divine authority without worshippers."
"Then we must destroy the Forest Spirit itself?"
Marbas shook his head.
"Why would a spirit that has existed for such a long time cause harm only now? To wield its authority in the mortal world, a medium is absolutely necessary. Something that had been absent until now must have appeared."
"If we deal only with that, the situation can be resolved. So this medium... would it be something like a magical artifact?"
"A more troublesome sort of being."
The aged summoner rubbed the bridge of his nose as if the mere thought gave him a headache.
"One that can move and devise plans of its own. That is to say, a Spirit Mage."
* * *
Priest, mage, witch, summoner, shaman, alchemist. They were divided into various classifications depending on how one understood and handled the mystic.
And among them, the most alien existence was, without doubt, the Spirit Mage.
Beings who wielded supernatural power through innate affinity alone, without any study, materials, or even a teacher.
"I, and Duke Marbas as well, are capable only of indirect interaction with spirits. That is, one-time contracts where a price is offered and both sides reach an agreement."
"Even that is mainly aimed at low-level elemental spirits such as vegetation spirits or wind spirits. But a Spirit Mage is different."
Both Varda and Marbas wore dismayed expressions. As if they were discussing heretical sorcerers.
"I've heard a brief explanation from my teacher once. He said they use the power of spirits without any contract."
Even Goffrey, who was always brimming with confidence, had taught that if one met a Spirit Mage, one should simply flee.
Just as a knight's muscles accumulated fatigue when swinging a sword, a price was necessary for wielding the mystic as well.
How dangerous an enemy a Spirit Mage—who ignored that fundamental principle—was required no explanation.
"That too is important, but the truly dangerous reason is their mental world. You see, a Spirit Mage is capable of 'direct communication' with spirits. It amounts to their mind assimilating with the spirit's."
"Is that so special? If they connect on a mental level, they'd be able to command the spirits better, I suppose."
Varda gently kneaded Eugene's shoulder. Though he was astonishingly intelligent at times, his nature was, after all, that of a knight. He was slow to understand in matters like this.
"Think upon fermented foods of all sorts, liquor included."
"I know of them. It is the selective harnessing of decay's speed and direction to benefit humans."
"What do you suppose it would be like if there were a human whose mind could assimilate with the fungi that carry out that decay?"
"Ah..."
In that instant, Eugene felt he understood something.
Devour.
Spread.
Seize.
Multiply.
Beings that moved according to a handful of primal codes, with no room for morality or reason to intervene.
One thing was to wield that from a distance, but if there were a person who communicated directly and underwent mental assimilation, there could be no way they would remain sane.
"Spirits are such beings. To borrow their power through a contract, yet absolutely never to yield one's mind to them. That is the proper relationship."
"Whether one becomes a Spirit Mage because one was already a madman, or one becomes a madman while communicating with a spirit—none can say. But they are beings who can never coexist with civilization."
Varda raised the blade of her hand and mimed cutting her own throat.
"If you should meet one, pay no mind to communication or negotiation—just cut them down at once."
"..."
For her, it was quite a radical gesture and expression. They seemed to be that dangerous a being.
Though it was hardly strange, given that an already dangerous lunatic had colluded with a mighty enemy called the Forest Spirit.
* * *
The pirate-attired monster-man sprawled near the formation stirred with a twitch.
"Screeeech!"
It was one of the creatures whose neck bones had been broken, but whether it had merely been stunned and now regained consciousness, it shambled closer, swaying unsteadily.
Its head lolled against its back, dangling grotesquely, yet still it clawed at the empty air as it advanced — a gruesome sight.
The mercenaries' faces twisted with revulsion at the monster-man's appearance, which defied belief that it had ever been a living being.
A handful of the mercenaries cast distrustful looks toward the armed priests, who had finished it off with swings of their maces.
"You claim those aren't undead? I don't believe it."
"Could it be that holy relic's a dud? They say it's a counterfeit."
Under normal circumstances the mercenaries would never have dared to challenge an armed priest. But given the gravity of the situation, everyone's nerve had grown considerably.
"The holy relic is genuine. I felt its sacred power. Do not mock the fruits of sacrifice that the many orders have offered up for the people."
"F-forgive us."
At a single word from Eugene, the mercenaries muttered their apologies and fell silent. The priests, for their part, bowed their heads in acknowledgment, moved by a feeling that welled up from their hearts.
"Shall we enter the village?"
Scrape, scrape.
Haind asked, honing his blade against a whetstone. The edges had already taken some damage from slicing through so many of those unnaturally tough shells.
"We'll search the village in teams of three. Whenever you enter a structure, a knight must be at the head."
"Understood."
They did not have blunt weapons like the priests did, but knights were warriors trained from the outset to fight foes clad in heavy armor.
Drawing upon formidable strength and swordsmanship, they possessed the ability to thrust into the vital spots that the carapace could not shield. And they themselves wore armor that could casually deflect the attacks of the monster-men as if they were nothing.
"One over there!"
A farmer monster-man who had been lying prone suddenly shot to its feet and charged, only for its head to be severed by a tribal knight's dazzling blade-work.
"There's one on this side too!"
A mercenary deflected a monster-man that came rushing from beside the well, using his shield to knock it back.
The creature immediately tried to lunge again, but Homi flew in and landed a spinning kick with devastating force, sending it crumpling to the ground.
"Grrr!"
As the monster-man floundered and struggled to rise, the edge of a shield came crashing down onto its face.
Homi, gripping the shield with both hands, drove it repeatedly into the creature's face, and the thick-looking wooden carapace shattered and flew apart in a matter of moments.
Crack!
On the fourth blow the head split cleanly in two; the top of the skull, sheared off above the bridge of the nose, went rolling across the ground. The hardened, desiccated brain clung to the inside of it.
Eugene examined the corpses of the monster-men nearby.
"These things have their mouths sealed shut. That's a stroke of luck."
The growths that had sprouted to protect their vital areas — the face in particular — had covered not only the mouth but everything down past the throat: bark-fungus, vines, and the like.
Thanks to this, they could neutralize arrow attacks, but it also sealed off their most formidable weapon of this type: biting.
"Now that they've become something closer to plants, they no longer have any need to consume food. Unlike wights, being bitten won't infect a person with corpse-poison either."
Varda glanced at Eugene as if she found something curious. He was a knight of dauntless courage who usually seemed to fear nothing, but today he was visibly on edge.
"I was imagining a much more horrific class of foe. The sort that could swell their own kind simply by biting or clawing."
"Surely not. Nothing that exists so far outside common understanding has ever been reported since the dawn of history."
As if to reassure him, she gently stroked his back with her hand.
Because the village was small, the reconnaissance was wrapped up quickly.
"There are no survivors."
"Prepare to gather and burn the bodies."
Upon Haind's report, Eugene set about wrapping up and making ready to leave.
"What do the holy fathers intend to do?"
"We must make all haste to report this calamity. The higher offices likely believe this to be no more than a simple outbreak of undead."
It was only because this was an extraordinarily well-appointed army that they had swept the enemy aside unilaterally. An ordinary mercenary force would have been swept aside in turn.
These were foes who possessed the immortality of wights, moved with far greater swiftness, and could not be harmed by silver or holy water. Their vital points were as stoutly protected as any suit of decent armor.
"The original plan had been to visit several more villages beyond this one..."
The old priest who carried the holy relic bit down on his lip. To abandon suffering villages in favor of more pressing objectives was a hard enough choice for nobles; for devout priests, it was agonizing.
"Those villages we shall take on ourselves. Your Reverences, go and make your report to the Apostolic Council."
"I-is that truly acceptable?"
"To aid the weak is also a knight's duty. In any case, we must search the surrounding area to find our comrades. This, too, must surely be God's guidance."
"We shall inscribe your name first among those we commend!"
The priests, overwhelmed by a kindness they had not even allowed themselves to imagine, made the sign of the cross.
* * *
Once the priests had departed for the city where the order was based, Eugene's army also temporarily returned to the Wandering Castle.
The reason was that they needed to reorganize their forces due to the peculiar nature of the enemy they would now face.
The Black Hand mercenaries stationed here had enclosed a map when they sent their message, so finding their way was possible even without aid from the locals.
"At last, it's our turn to step forward."
The eyes of every member of the Hammer Brotherhood, Rampage included, blazed with fighting spirit.
That was because while the heavy cavalrymen and dark elves had been continuously following Eugene and piling up meritorious deeds, they had mostly been left standing by within the castle.
"Now that we're finally out of that damned Samur, our chance has come."
"That thrice-damned desert."
The sandy wastes, where the foot sank deep with every step, were the bane of the short, dense, heavy-set dwarf warriors.
What was more, the campaigns to subjugate the Raksha and the lamias alike had all been operations where mobility was key.
The dwarves took immense pride in their identity, but for the first time they felt a deeply personal sense of injustice at having a physique that could not ride a horse.
"They said they're tenacious as wights, but not undead, and their shells are tough, yeah?"
Rampage had listened assiduously to every account from the returning army.
The tribal warriors grumbled that arrows wouldn't sink in; the heavy cavalrymen complained that blades only got chipped and couldn't cut them properly.
"Aren't they practically the sort of fellows who were made for us to dote on?"
One of the decurions smiled faintly as he tapped the heavy head of his hammer against a thick-palmed hand.
Behind him were other decurions with pole hammers slung over their shoulders or wielding two-handed morning stars.
Whoosh!
Whum!
Each time the motley array of bludgeons was swung, a savage sound of splitting air rang out.
It was not as ferocious a note as Eugene's great flail, but the dwarves had their own pride: only the weapons they wielded could produce a sound like their employer's.
"When you get down to it, aren't we the warriors who most resemble the Castle Lord?"
"Those fellows who just hang back shooting arrows from afar, or who peck and prick away with swords — do you think they even understand the hand-feel of smashing in a skull?"
Though the enemy was a supernatural force beyond identification and might, if fortune was ill, bring them face-to-face with the Forest Spirit itself, not a single dwarf among them showed any trace of fear.
"Good! Keep up that spirit, everyone. This is our chance to properly show his lordship the might of the dwarf infantry!"
Even boastful cavalrymen were liable to be thrown into chaos the moment they encountered a mid-sized monster.
Their horses would panic and rear, rendering them incapable of fighting at their usual level, and moreover, because cavalry by nature cannot maintain dense formations, they were helplessly overwhelmed by monsters of greater physical class.
But dwarf warriors, who clustered solid as a fortress wall and concentrated the mass of their shields and weapons, were different. They could stand their ground against all but the most exceptional of mid-sized monsters.
That was why the footsteps of the Hammer Brotherhood, as they sallied forth, were as light as if they might take wing.
"You look to be in fine spirits."
Since they were on campaign, the dwarves maintained grave expressions, but they could not altogether conceal the delight that leaked through.
"Because at long last, we'll have a chance to earn our keep."
"You've more than earned it already. The children and the womenfolk staying in the castle, the elders, and the servants and maids. If it weren't for you, how could I ever move about with an easy mind?"
Rampage rapped his gauntleted fist against his chest and offered his respects.
"We're grateful for the generosity of your sentiment. All the same, a warrior must live as a warrior."
"Well, I do understand. Word is you've been caught between Varda-nim and Cassandra and had a rough time of it."
"...Ahem."
As if the unhappy memory had resurfaced, Rampage's face grew shadowed.
It had happened around the time they were displaying the newly acquired trophy — the Lamia Queen — in the entrance hall.
-Good. A splendid composition. Well done, all of you.
-Think nothing of it.
Varda was smiling with satisfaction, and the sweat-drenched dwarves were wiping their necks with handkerchiefs, when the moment came.
-Wouldn't this composition be better?
Cassandra, her hands clasped behind her back, came stepping lightly over and let drop a single remark.
-The Lamia Queen should stand at the center, as befits her place as the strongest and most beautiful.
-But that's so terribly standard. Place the Lamia Queen in a recumbent pose on the left, and with the Gnoll Chieftain like this...
It was a thing easy to forget while under Eugene's command, but elves and dark elves — the two races were, at their core, natural enemies.
The matter was all the more inflamed because each race took immense pride in its own art, so when their opinions clashed in this domain, tempers rose at alarming speed.
-...
-...
The elf lady and the dark elf lady each folded their arms and stared the other down.
Presently, both their gazes slid slowly around to settle upon Rampage.
Gulp.
Pinned beneath the pressure of those golden eyes and those violet eyes, the dwarf captain felt a chill crawl across his skin.
-And what does the centurion think?
-Speak your mind freely.
-...
Both of them wore beautiful smiles, but an overwhelming forcefulness radiated from them, the sort that one would not dare ignore.
-Er, well, that is... I think Varda-nim's idea is bet, better, in my... opinion.
-Precisely so!
-...
When it came to choosing one or the other, which side he should back had already been decided.
Cassandra's expression was one of chagrin, but she kept her smile. She herself was aware that the difference in standing within this castle was a clear one.
Only Rampage, caught in the middle, felt as though he might die of it.
Granted, they both held the rank of centurion, but Cassandra was a young lady of noble blood, the very one whom the Black Hand House had marked as a prize piece for a politically arranged marriage.
Human affairs are ever uncertain. He had no wish to suffer in some future where the long shot overtook the favorite and became the lady of the house.
"We belong on the field of battle."
Rampage found wielding a weapon on the front line far easier on his spirit than enduring that sort of experience a second time.