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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Demon Awakens
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Ragna tribesmen sprinting through the forest.
And Kankun.
Golden-armored Partas cavalry and warriors pursued them from behind.
"This direction... Could they be heading for the priest!?"
"They're making for the Cursed Temple!"
"Cut them off! We can't let them reach the temple! We mustn't anger Shaman!"
Kankun felt certain from the Partas tribesmen's frantic voices.
Even her uncle, who had staged a rebellion, had first sought Shaman's permission before entering the Cursed Temple.
Shaman's influence as priest extended over the entire Nod Tribe—it was no exaggeration.
Even if the demon wouldn't aid her, with Shaman there, they surely wouldn't act rashly—!
But—.
Puuk—!
"Uwaaaagh!"
The temple, once so near, now felt impossibly distant.
No matter how dense the grass and trees in the forest, outrunning mounted foes was no easy task.
The cavalry charged swiftly, thrusting spears into the backs of Ragna tribesmen and cutting them down.
Just a little further—!
Kankun squeezed her eyes shut at the screams ringing out.
Repeated raids.
She couldn't help doubting if she had truly brought this calamity upon them.
Or had the demon simply let her go, allowing this disaster to return?
Everything was chaos in that moment.
Dududuk—!
Rough hoofbeats thundered from behind.
The horses' harsh snorts.
Even the cavalrymen's ragged breaths came through clearly.
And the sharp whistle of spear tips slicing the air!
Instinctively, Kankun turned, shielding her body with the sword clutched to her chest.
Klang—!
Sparks flew as Kankun staggered.
The spear-thrusting cavalryman, meanwhile, looked shocked.
"She blocked it? This kid's got some guts."
The cavalryman sneered at Kankun while yanking the reins.
By now, the cavalry had overtaken the Ragna tribesmen, blocking their path and encircling them.
Partas warriors whistled and smacked their lips in anticipation.
Kankun paled at the sight.
The Ragna tribesmen hadn't escaped yet.
Surrounded like this, it was only natural they'd be slaughtered or enslaved.
"By the way... that sword."
One Partas warrior pointed at the blade Kankun hugged close.
All the Partas warriors' eyes gleamed with greed.
"Is that thing really gold?"
Kankun flinched and shrank back, wrapping herself protectively around it as if to guard a treasure.
"...I'm just holding it for now! This sword has its own owner! You—you lot aren't worthy to covet it!"
"Its own owner?"
"Yes! A terrifying and noble lord!"
The Partas tribesmen burst into laughter at Kankun's outburst.
It was only natural.
These were the desperate words of a mere child just coming of age.
Who would take such claims seriously?
They saw it as nothing more than bluffing.
One Partas cavalryman approached Kankun.
"Heh, just kill the owner too, and it's ours, right?"
"Oh? You plan to kill me?"
"...!"
The cavalryman felt his soul quake, his body crushed under an invisible weight. He doubted his own ears.
There had been no one behind him moments ago.
Yet now a deep, resonant voice echoed!?
What...?
Cold sweat poured unbidden. An unknown terror gripped him.
The Partas cavalryman slowly lowered his gaze to Kankun, who had been shouting defiantly.
"...Ah!"
The girl's wide eyes stared past him.
No fear lingered in them—only hope and anticipation surged instead.
And her gaze pointed... behind him.
Not just the brat before him—the Partas comrades who had overtaken and surrounded the Ragna Tribe wore faces pale with dread.
Yes, something was behind him!
The Partas cavalryman gripped his spear with all his might.
He whirled and swung—.
Tak—!
The spear was caught limply in a massive hand.
"...!"
The cavalryman's eyes bulged.
Space itself tore open in midair. From the pitch-black rift protruded a torso.
A helmet with goat-like horns. Black armor.
...The Constellation of Sin!
The demon slumbering in the temple!
That being now clutched the spearhead in a hook-like fist.
"Wait, let's talk—."
"Uwaaaagh—!"
The cavalryman screamed, straining to yank his spear free.
But the spear held fast in the demon's grasp.
"Hey, don't panic. I just want to talk—."
The Partas cavalryman abandoned the spear.
He drew the crossbow from his back.
And fired at the goat helmet.
Ting—!
The bolt bounced harmlessly, like a toy.
"Let me speak—!"
He reloaded and fired again.
"Ha—."
"Uwaaagh!"
He reloaded once more.
Loki scowled beneath his helmet and hurled the spear back at its owner.
Peng—!
Kwajik—!
Air split with a boom, and a massive hole tore through the cavalryman's torso.
He collapsed.
"Let's talk, you vermin."
Loki stepped forward from the black rift, one foot after another.
All who faced him—
Ragna tribesmen and Partas tribesmen alike—froze in terror.
They had grown up on tales.
The demon slumbering in the temple.
The oral legends of the Constellation bearing all sins coming to judge them.
For Nod tribesmen who had faced the demon statue during Shaman's coming-of-age rites, instinctive dread was inevitable.
A childhood terror they dismissed as mere superstition.
Now that being stood before them plain as day.
All froze.
Except Kankun, who gazed up at Loki with relief.
"To me, you are all like NPCs."
As Loki spoke, Partas and Ragna tribesmen twitched in unison.
"And this character, Loki—."
Loki lifted his head slightly, his voice laced with majesty.
"Has little patience. So answer my questions honestly."
No one understood.
But it was a warning.
A warning of what befell those who ignored him.
Realizing this, the gathered Partas and Ragna tribesmen glanced warily at one another.
Silence fell, unease creeping in, shaking their resolve.
Nod tribesmen were taught fear was a foe to fight.
And that indoctrination ultimately—
"Aaaagh—!"
"Spears up—!"
Led them to ruin.
The Partas tribesmen seized weapons against the unknown horror.
The Ragna Tribe wavered at the war cries, reaching for arms, but...
"No! Everyone, get down!"
At Kankun's cry, the Ragna tribesmen dropped their weapons and prostrated themselves.
"Anyone but you—."
Loki's helmeted gaze turned to Kankun.
"Cannot be reasoned with."
"Kill him—!"
The Partas tribesmen charged Loki as one.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
War cries and screams echoed.
Histon laughed as he dragged his personal slave Hans along.
Is it the thrill of long-awaited plunder? Those fools have no patience!
"Still, we shouldn't touch the temple where Shaman is..."
"You think we're that stupid, Chief?"
His subordinates joked from behind.
Even muscle-headed brutes like them could make that judgment.
But if frenzy overtook reason, clashing with Shaman would be inevitable.
The elders always warned never to cross Shaman.
There were tales aplenty.
Shaman, intermediary of the Nod Tribe, wielded immense magic.
Mess with him, and a tribe could vanish overnight.
The elders claimed personal experience, but Histon didn't buy it.
Half of it was exaggeration, surely.
Even if only half true, he might rank among the Nod Tribe's powerhouses.
Such a figure wasting time worshiping a demon in the temple.
Pathetic, clinging to superstition no matter how strong.
Lost in those thoughts while riding ahead, Histon sensed something eerie.
The forest echoes of cheers and screams had vanished.
...What?
Histon reined in his horse.
His men followed suit.
...No sounds at all.
Not even his subordinates' voices, nor the Ragna captives' wails or sobs.
Even the beasts' rustles or insects' chirps were gone.
The wind-shaken woods fell deathly still.
Histon broke into cold sweat.
Even in the north's biting chill, beads trailed down his cheek.
His men noticed the oddity, eyeing him nervously.
Then Histon sensed the 'hidden presences' in the forest.
"Undead—!"
Figures concealing their auras, bodies unseen.
The stench of the dead.
But not common low-tier undead.
Unlike death's reek, their forms and presences eluded detection.
High-class undead!
Hiiing—!
The horses sensed it too, rearing on forelegs, manes bristling, eyes rolling in panic.
Even warhorses are terrified!
"U-Undead?!"
"W-Where, Chief!?"
His men hadn't detected the auras.
Histon scanned sweatily.
Surrounded?!
Yet he still couldn't pinpoint them.
"M-Monsters—!"
At least the path ahead was clear.
Toward his men.
Like herding prey, the deaths drove them forward.
In the end, Histon pressed on.
As if dragged by some force.
Hooves met bloodstained ice.
"..."
"...!"
Histon clamped his mouth shut; his men covered theirs to stifle vomit.
A lake of blood.
No—an icy path stained crimson.
Corpses littered it, their blood frozen by whipping cold into a slick.
And atop that ice stood a lone figure.
"...D-Demon."
Hans, Histon's slave, stammered the word.
The demon.
The one meant to slumber in the temple, now before them.
Standing tall amid frozen chill, beckoning with a finger.
Goat-horned helmet, pitch-black armor, fur-lined cloak.
It stood amid the corpses, gazing at Histon.
As if expecting him.
That one leads the undead horde?
Meaning this being was a necromancer.