+++ ???’s Perspective +++

It was far worse than they could have even imagined. By taking most of the combat personnel with them to take down the Giant Vinesnapper, they had left the main hub virtually defenseless should the sanctuary invocation be breached.

Gruesome was too tame a word to describe the horrific sight that lay before them. The once crowded camp was now nothing but a ghastly tableau of death and destruction. The ground was slick with blood, and the air was thick with the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh. The bodies of the evacuees lay scattered like broken dolls, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles and their faces contorted in agony. Each corpse was a canvas of carnage, with deep gashes and claw marks etched across their skin, and black stone shards embedded like sinister shards of glass. It was a haunting scene from the worst of nightmares, a macabre carpet of shattered lives and lost dreams.

“Uregghhhhh.” Even the most hardened of veteran adventurers could not help but vomit at the sight of such carnage and it took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep moving through what was once the evacuation zone.

“Alfy. Come here. Avert your eyes.” Sylvestra shielded her child from the horrendous scene, hugging him close.

“M-Mom...” Alfon, still reeling from the aftereffects of mana overuse, was barely conscious, but even he could feel the thick blanket of death. “Where is Prisilla? Master Rafine? Are they alright?”

“They’ll be fine dear. Don’t worry, mommy will keep you safe.” Sylvestra spoke those reassuring words to her son, unsure if they were for him or for herself. 

They were her precious party members after all. She couldn’t help but worry.

“We should pick up the pace. If we get sandwiched between the monster wave and the demon pack it will all be over.” Lirien remarked grimly after offering a short prayer to the fallen, she would not let Zorana’s sacrifice be in vain. “Do we have any horses? Even burden beasts will do.”

“None left.” A caravan guard responded, “either taken, or chewed to bits.”

The situation was looking worse and worse, and the dead bodies of people they once knew brought their morale to rock bottom. They’ll have to fight their way out on foot if they are to survive, but how far could they go when a normal Wolfenhil can smell prey from miles away? Nevermind the umbral infused beasts that made up the Slaughter Hound’s pack.

It was just then that the first corpse started rising up. 

“Oi oi oi... what the hell is that.” For those that had read of what happened in Hearthholm, it was a stark reminder of the horrors that had befallen the city, but for those that hadn’t, it was a mind breaking revelation, “zombies? Are you serious? We’re not even in the outlands!”

A former shop owner lurched towards them with bite marks across her torso and chunks of flesh missing from her face and neck. The way her short, stout body shambled forward despite missing the critical part of what made her human was incredibly unnerving.

But what made it worse... was that Sylvestra remembered her. 

She had seen the good natured shopkeeper berating the ill-mannered Henrick just this morning. The shopkeeper even offered her a gift this social season.

Sylvestra didn’t even ask for her name.

“Dammit dammit!” The adventurers started cursing out when the other corpses in front of them also started to rise. A wall of deadmen stood between them and the road.

From the published literature on undead, it is said that the offensive capabilities of zombies were quite low, able to be repelled by even leather armor, but despite that they rank higher than Wolfenhils. This is because they are made to move by the excess umbral mana infused within their flesh. They throw themselves against the living with everything they have, and continue attacking even with their heads lopped off, their spines pierced, and their muscles torn. If you don’t cut them to small enough pieces even severed limbs will try to harm you.

But what truly made them a nightmare to face was the putrid mist that leaked from their shambling figures and the concentrated miasma that spewed at you if you cut into them, making short-range combat a disastrous venture.

They were one of the many abominations of nature that roamed the outlands.

As the exhausted fighters took their formation a few adventurers started breaking from the pressure.

“Dammit! What the hell is my luck!” 

“I never should have taken this **** job.”

“Talis damn the bastard who thought this was a good idea.”

“You ****, I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the first caravan back!”

“Me? This was your **** idea! You wanted the extra gold this month you ****!”

“The **** you say? Hah? **** **** ****!”

“What does it even matter anymore...”

The whole party was in disarray and their formation threatened to break before even clashing against the enemy.

Lirien tried a calming invocation, but her casting was rendered useless by the Umbralfield. In a panic she tried persuading them with words instead but none of them were listening.

None, but Sylvestra.

“Lirien was it? Could you look after my child?” She asked the priestess, who nodded back, understanding what she wanted to do.

She took a deep breath.

She had seen Donovan do this countless times. She always thought it a mere formality, not worth learning, but she now regretted how she didn’t pay more attention.

“Mom, where are you going?” Alfon mumbled weakly, “Don’t put... yourself in danger, please.”

Sylvestra took another look at her child before steeling her resolve and charging forward. She pushed aside the bickering adventurers and sliced into the lurching shopkeeper, dicing her limbs to pieces with swift cuts of her daggers.

The miasma scorched her lungs and corroded her skin, but she endured the pain without uttering a single word.

Once she was sure the pieces were small enough and the zombie had fallen she moved onto the next.

And the next.

And the next.

The voices of dispute slowly faded away as the emerald figure felled undead after undead.

Sylvestra did not have the boisterous voice of Donovan, nor the awe inspiring spells of Rafine. She did not possess the natural charisma of Prisilla or the savvy intuition of Swift.

But what she did have, was the wind at her back, the daggers by her side, and the reflexes like no other. None of the lumbering husks could lay their hands on even her shadow.

The group stood transfixed. Frozen by the pieces of flesh that kept piling up as Sylvestra felled one after the other like a verdant butcher, until she stood atop a veritable mound of bone and sinew.

As the path before them cleared, she turned to face the party. She had seen Donovan do this countless times. She always thought it a mere formality, not worth learning, but she now regretted how she didn’t pay more attention.

Her hands moved to remove her hood and reveal her flowing golden locks. Her voice was as sharp as her blades as she spoke: “I am the A ranked Blademaiden of the Dragon’s Teardrop, Sylvestra Adelmire. I ask of all who still struggle to live: fight. Push forward. Remember those that are waiting for you. And, if you have no one, then at least possess the dignity not to die here.” She raised her daggers in the air in a flourish, her visage slender, but heroic.

“Let the world tree hear the chorus of our blades. Demand the heavens listen to we, who sing loudest at the doorstep of death.”

 

++

Two Wolfenhils were preoccupied with feasting on the delicious contents within the leather backpack, their fangs tearing open the containers that stood between them and the salty fish snacks they so craved.

As their jaws dug deep into the knapsack, their teeth bit down on something strange.

A box made of painted wood that tasted unpleasant.

Being the beasts they are, they tore it apart regardless.

Their ears peaked up as they heard a strange whistling noise as their teeth scraped against the object that lay within.

 

+++ Prisilla’s Perspective +++

Nya...

I’m going to be real honest, this ain’t looking all that good.

I knew the cursed halberd ‘Insanium’ had a pretty bonkers side effect, but I am really, really not liking it and its whole ‘sustain damage to psyche instead of body’ gimmick.

I’m starting to lose memories I’d really prefer to keep.

SCRASH.

Another umbral claw came down upon me as the shadow surrounding the demon morphed to keep it upright with nothing supporting it.

The absurd composition of its body left me with no way to predict its movements and I couldn’t react in time to dodge. Bringing the halberd up I barely caught the blow with the handle as my arms crumpled from the shock. The impact sent me hurtling into the dirt and I lost grip of the halberd.

“Ack, gack.” I coughed up blood and I tried sitting back up. Moving my eyes down to my torso I could see a giant hole had opened up where my lungs should be. In a panic I clambered to take hold of the halberd once more.

The moment I had both hands on the handle I could feel the wound starting to close up and the pain went away, but...

“Ah... man this sensation is disgusting nya...” Hollowness appeared in my mind where there shouldn’t be any. “Seriously nya...”

“OI!” I heard a loud shout to my left, a corpse had risen while I wasn’t looking and pounced to attack me. 

But it didn’t go far.

A hammer came down and crushed it to paste.

“Are you. Alright?” I looked up at the armored guardian, wondering where I'd seen her before.

“Oi oi, Prisilla are you okay? What was that regeneration?” A beastman spoke to me while holding off two of the wolf monsters. He brought his gauntlet down and rammed a hole through the one on the left, “You’re good to finish it off? Can you really kill the damn thing?”

The demon was looking much worse for wear, after I had sunk cleave after cleave into the black tar that was its hide. Though, by how things are going.

There is no way I can kill the thing before I lose myself.

Anyways, who the hell was this guy? Does he know me?

“Uh...nya?” I stood once again, ready to charge back into the mass of shadow, but it looked like the Slaughter Hound was done being defensive, for unlike the previous times, it charged at me.

I stood ready to receive its rush but... 

It turned and dove into the forest, its massive figure tearing up vegetation as it ran.

Wait.

It was running?

“N-Nya?” I stood in shock for a few moments.

Before I ran after it.

 

+++ Glyake’s Perspective +++

“Thalia, pray tell, what is the situation?” I inquired, my gaze low, striving to obscure my presence and mitigate the impulse that had compelled those Wolfenhils to pursue us relentlessly.

“My lord, Hubert is using his bow to cull their ranks, but regrettably they continue to gain on our carriage,” Thalia replied with a crestfallen expression. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon us, for if circumstances remained unchanged, we would soon fall within the reach of their black stone spells.

“Dad,” Gabriel's voice trembled as he spoke, his hands reaching out to me for comfort. “I'm... scared.” My heart sank at the words, and I wrapped my arms around him in a tight embrace, holding him close.

“You’ve been so very brave Gabriel,” I murmured, “You too, Saphira, Belserai. I am so very, very proud of you all. I am so lucky to be your father.”

“Don’t worry about me dad! I’m f-fine. This is no big deal.” I watched with a mixture of pride and sadness as Saphira thumped her chest in an effort to conceal her quivering hands and misty eyes.

Belserai, still having her arms wrapped around her sister, simply nodded at me. A plethora of emotions conveyed through her single gesture.

“Oi, boss!” The mercenary, Matthew, spoke up, “The cavalry's here hahaha!”

I raised my head slowly to see a small company of silver knights riding upon the roads behind us, with the seven or so Wolfenhils chasing us being trampled and slain under hoof and blade.

At first. I was overcome with joy. They had shown up at our moment of need and I was so grateful.

But perhaps it was years of studying the ways of human behavior, and carrying myself in the court of the Shogun in Kalsteris that my intuition told me something was off.

“Oh yeah baby!” Matthew stood up tall in the back of the carriage, celebrating in victory. “We’re saved!”

The way they leaned forward in their horses after the monsters were slain, the sheer number of riders and mounts despite an evacuation requiring both, the suspicious way they were putting their weapons away.

Something was very wrong.

“Thalia, Raphael, Hubert. Listen to me carefully.” I pulled Thalia and Hubert away from the back and tucked their heads down, making sure to talk loud enough so Calidra, who was driving the carriage, could hear us: “I want you to look after my offspring.”

“My lord?” Hubert, who had put away his bow, asked me in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“If they try overtaking us... You are to jump from the carriage and take the children to safety.”

“My lord!” Thalia, reeled back in absolute shock, “What are you saying? That’s tantamount to suicide.”

“Thalia.” Glyake responded to her bewilderment with a tone as cold as ice, “Who do you serve.”

The austere inflection in his voice brought the knights to attention immediately. 

Thalia knelt down, despite the shaking carriage. “I serve you, lord Telderane.”

“Then you will take my command as given.”

“But I must ask why. Why such a drastic measure? Do you know those people?”

“I don’t know them very well personally. But I know a hunter when I see one, and there is only one target that could possibly be their prey.”

As if in response to my words all of us heard a thunk sound.

Turning our heads to the source we saw an arrow lodged through the back door of the carriage, blood dripping from the arrowhead.