Chapter 38: The Undead Slayer
Adventurer's Guild, Imperial Capital.
"Did you hear about the newcomer? The 'Undead Slayer'?"
"Who hasn't? The taverns are buzzing with it."
"She won't even look at other commissions. Her eyes are glued to the board, searching for anything with the word 'Undead' on it."
"A complete rookie—not even Tier 1—and she managed to grind her way to Iron Rank just by smashing skeletons."
"I've seen her type before. Ten to one her family was slaughtered by a ghoul, and now she's out for blood."
"It won't last. She'll end up dead in some crypt sooner or later."
"Shh, keep it down. She's here."
The doors to the Guild Hall creaked open, and the chatter died instantly. A figure clad in heavy, mismatched metal armor stepped inside. The suit was peculiar; it wasn't the standardized gear of the Knights, and the joints looked roughly polished, yet every plate was shockingly thick. A heavy steel warhammer hung from her waist.
As she approached, a faint, clean scent of scrubbed metal trailed behind her.
Lilia walked straight to the counter, ignoring the lingering stares of the crowd. The receptionist behind the desk looked up and offered a practiced smile.
"Lilia. Here again? You're easily our most diligent adventurer."
Lilia looked at her through the slit of her visor, her voice muffled by the steel. "Are there any Undead commissions?"
"You certainly don't beat around the bush," the receptionist sighed, leafing through a stack of parchments. "The Iron Rank Undead quests for this week... you cleared them all yesterday. You're doing the work of an entire squad by yourself."
"I need a task. I don't care about the reward."
The receptionist's professional smile faltered. She had seen too many people driven by the engine of hatred. They were like candles—burning brilliant and hot, only to gutter out far too soon. She sighed and pulled a yellowed sheet from the bottom of the stack.
"Here. Iron Rank. It's the last one left."
Lilia reached out and took it.
"The commission is to investigate an increase in wandering undead in a place called the Weeping Marsh. However, it's quite far—right on the edge of the Eastern Border. No one's taken it yet."
The receptionist pointed to a spot on the map. "Things haven't been peaceful out there lately. A lot of refugees are fleeing from the East. I'd advise against it. The situation might be far more complicated than the paper suggests—there are reports of Goblins and Lizardmen in the area."
The Eastern Border.
Hearing those words, Lilia's grip on the parchment tightened. Iron Fortress was in the East.
"I'll take it."
"But—" The receptionist started to protest, but seeing the flat, unwavering gaze through the helmet's slit, she swallowed her words. "Fine. Safe travels. Just remember... staying alive is more important than anything else."
Lilia gave a sharp nod in response. Without a moment's delay, she turned and left, her heavy footsteps echoing through the hall.
Once she was gone, the other adventurers began to mutter again.
"She's actually going? The Weeping Marsh is a haul, and it's dangerous for only three gold coins. She's taking a high-risk, low-reward suicide job."
"She's a dead woman walking. That armor looks intimidating, but she can't even use Battle Aura. She's just a commoner with a bit of strength."
"A shame. If she survived, she might have actually made a name for herself."
Western Border, a Mountain Forest.
Two villagers hid behind a massive tree, their bodies shaking uncontrollably. In front of them, a monster was casually chewing on a broken carriage axle.
It was a rabbit.
A rabbit taller than a carriage. Its fur was snow-white, its eyes were ruby-red, and a single, spiraling horn grew from the center of its forehead.
"A Great One-Horned Demon Rabbit..." one villager whispered, his voice cracking with tears. "It's over... the village is done for..."
The creature had appeared three days ago. On the first day, it ate all the livestock. On the second, the hunters who went out to track it never returned. Today, it had blocked the only road out of the village, shredding the messengers and carriages sent for help.
Just then, a figure walked past them.
It was a young man, barely twenty years old. He wore simple travel clothes and carried a sword at his waist. He didn't break his stride as he walked directly toward the feeding monster.
"Hey! Get back here! Do you want to die?!" the villager hissed in a panicked whisper.
The young man didn't listen.
The Demon Rabbit noticed the creature approaching it. It stopped eating and lifted its head, locking its red eyes onto the youth. An invisible pressure radiated outward. Behind the tree, the two villagers felt their chests tighten, making it hard to breathe.
A spark of light began to gather at the tip of the rabbit's horn.
The young man kept moving. When he was thirty paces from the beast, he stopped.
He drew his sword.
The light from the rabbit's horn flared brilliantly as it discharged a beam of pure energy aimed straight at his head.
He didn't dodge. He simply raised his sword above his head, the blade pointing toward the sky.
In the next heartbeat, the world lost all sound.
A pillar of golden light erupted from the tip of his sword, piercing the clouds and shattering them. The entire sky turned a pure, blinding gold. The villagers were slammed into the dirt by an irresistible force, their faces buried in the mud, too terrified to even look up. They saw nothing. They heard nothing. The world was nothing but that golden radiance.
The young man looked at the rabbit and spoke two words.
"[Starfall's End]."
A beam of light descended from the gilded heavens. There was no explosion. There was no deafening crash. There was only a silent, absolute white.
The light swallowed the Demon Rabbit. A few seconds later, the radiance faded.
The world regained its color and sound. Shivering, the two villagers slowly lifted their heads. They saw a sight they would never forget for as long as they lived.
Everything had changed. The Demon Rabbit was gone. In its place was a massive, bottomless crater.
A sinkhole.
The edges of the crater were as smooth as polished glass, reflecting the sunlight. A thin plume of dust rose from the center, reaching straight into the sky.
The man took one look at his handiwork. He sheathed his sword, turned, and began to walk away.
One of the villagers called out instinctively. "W-Who... who are you?"
The young man didn't look back, but a small smile played on his lips.
"I'm just a passing Hero."
The villagers looked at each other, the same terror mirrored in their eyes. It wasn't the fear of a monster. It was fear of the young man—a fear of a power that transcended human understanding.
"L-Lord Hero!" the first villager cried out, scrambling from behind the tree to chase after him.
The young man stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Your village's problem is solved," he said calmly.
"Yes! Yes! It is! Thank you! Thank you for your mercy!" The villager knelt and banged his head against the dirt. "Please! Allow us to host you! The village will throw the grandest festival in your honor!"
The second villager caught up and knelt as well. The young man looked at them and shook his head.
"No need. I have business to attend to. I'm heading to the Eastern Border."
With that, he lingered no more. His silhouette flickered through the trees a few times before vanishing into the forest's edge.
Left behind were two kneeling villagers and a circular crater so large it felt unreal. The first villager stood up, dazed, and walked to the edge of the pit. He reached out to touch the smooth wall. The moment his fingertip brushed the surface, a searing pain shot through him.
"Ow!"
He jerked his hand back, his fingertip already burned red. The edge of the crater still held the residual heat of the attack. He stared at his hand, then at the abyss that looked as though it could swallow the world, and his legs gave way, sending him tumbling back into the dirt.
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