Chapter 328: Hero's Tomb (4)

The Sun Bread wrapped in yellow leaves retained a warmth as though freshly baked. With each bite, heat spread across his skin.

His wife’s cooking did more than drive away the chill of the underground. In a tomb filled with stone, dust, and stale air, it filled his lungs with fragrance and savor.

It was the best bread Eugene had ever tasted in his life. A lunchbox packed by one’s wife seemed to grant men of every age and nation an indomitable will.

After finishing his meal, Eugene examined the magical equipment looted from the Draugr lord. The shield was broken, and only the sword remained.

“May the living know hardship, and may they know what harm shall befall them.”

When Eugene gripped the sword and recited the prayer, magic activated. Green energy coiled around the blade before transforming into the shape of a serpent at one moment.

Hiss—!

The serpent’s evil spirit slid down the blade and tried to tear into Eugene’s wrist. Its gaping mouth bore two sharp fangs.

Flash!

In an instant, Banas’s light shone upon the serpent and paralyzed it. Eugene swiftly tossed the sword into a corner and smashed it to pieces with his mace.

“Thank you.”

Eugene expressed gratitude for the goddess’s protection. Even without her help, he wouldn’t have been bitten, but still.

“A weapon not meant for the living, I see.”

The serpent’s evil spirit clung like smoke, only taking form to launch a surprise attack the moment a weapon met it. A vicious trick.

That was why one had to be doubly careful when fighting enemies who wielded magic. No matter how powerful a knight, he could die to a simple dirty trick.

*

The second basement level held more Draugr than the floors above.

“The scent of the living. The scent of challenge.”

Another Draugr lord draped in silk garments pointed at Eugene. Judging by the warriors attending him, he must have held high status in life.

Eugene stepped back and swept his gaze across the enemies. Having fought with a mace that scattered magnetism, he’d developed the habit of scanning their entire bodies before engaging.

“Don’t run. Die.”

The Draugr lord spoke.

“I’m not running.”

“When you die. Corpse. Thrown outside. You. Go to Valhalla.”

“Oh, how kind—for an undead.”

It was no wonder warriors followed them even in death. Just as people differed in temperament, so did Draugr. Even lesser specimens could preserve their souls as Draugr, which made such variation possible.

“Then can’t you just let me pass?”

“Leave your flesh and blood.”

A tongue like tree roots protruded between the Draugr lord’s withered lips. He licked the air, and the dried strips rubbed together with a stiff sound. There was no better way to show thirst for blood through sight and sound.

“Undead will be undead after all.”

From the lord down to his warriors, they approached as though intent on devouring his flesh. At that sight, Eugene recalled his master Godfrey’s teaching.

-When facing monsters, always trust your preconceptions.

-Isn’t it usually the opposite? Don’t they teach you to guard against preconceptions?

-You dunce. Do you know what preconceptions are, in other words?

-Big… uh, lessons?

-I was going to say wisdom, but lessons is probably the better word. Anyway, you’ve got a gift for words nobody taught you.

-If it comes to that, Homi and I will become wandering merchants. She can’t talk, so I’ll have to do the charming for two.

-…In any case, listen well. People sometimes have exceptions, but monsters do not. They are monsters because they have natures that cannot be overcome. Raise a newborn goblin in the arms of the Holy Mother—do you think that thing would understand conscience? The moment it reaches adulthood, it would kill the mother who raised it with love and try to devour her corpse.

-There are monsters that can be tamed, aren’t there? Like Direwolves or War Goats.

-The precedent of being tamed is already part of their nature. So for any other monster, kill them without exception. Even if they show you a friendly face, it will be nothing but illusion.

For a moment, the Draugr before him had seemed honorable. They were exactly that kind of case.

Eugene suddenly charged forward and swung the Great Mace. His transcendent physical ability and cunning made sudden strikes without telegraphing possible.

The Draugr at the very front collapsed with everything above the pelvis gone. Eugene brought the mace down on the Draugr behind him from above.

“■■.”

The creature tried to block with crossed hatchets, but that was a poor choice.

Crunch.

Hatchet, skull, collarbone, ribs, pelvis—it shattered in sequence as though compressed. A sight that could be described in a single word: pulverized.

Eugene pressed his momentum and struck a third time. This time a horizontal swing. Using the long mace’s reach, he swept at the lower body opponents rarely guarded.

Yet the three Draugr seemed to have anticipated it, leaping straight up from where they stood.

‘Skeletons and the fully decayed ones are all agile, aren’t they.’

With no rotting flesh weighing them down and no concept of fear or tension, their movements were nimble. The surprise effect had ended, but all three knew how to jump higher than his attack range.

The eyes of the three Draugr burned as if to say, ‘Now it’s our turn.’

“■?”

But the one farthest to the left fell faster than it had leaped. Because it wore rusted iron boots. It had dodged the blow, but it couldn’t escape the grip of magnetism.

Clang!

A pitiful sight—the Draugr’s two feet stuck fast to the mace. The creature knocked down two innocent comrades like dust mops as it went.

“Gah—!”

“Hrk—!”

Eugene crushed the trio tumbling together in a heap. With each blow, armor fragments and weapons clung to the weapon, transforming it into something even more vicious. It was no longer a Great Mace but a Great Morningstar.

The Draugr lord clenched both fists. With no armor or weapons, he looked like a religious figure—but that wasn’t the case.

“Another brawler? Must have been common in ancient Midgard.”

Even now it was a region where iron wasn’t plentiful, but it was still strange. It was clearly more disadvantageous than taking up a weapon. Yet that question was answered immediately.

“I. Am immortal.”

Mystery of the earth welled from all across the lord’s body, and rock shells grew as though mold were multiplying.

Whatever it was, Eugene charged to finish him before the mutation completed, but the last two Draugr blocked his way.

“Nothing on the battlefield. Could harm me.”

One blow turned each into wreckage, yet the lord clad in stone armor charged in. But his fist never once struck Eugene.

Thud!

The lord fell exactly as he’d charged. Broken stone fragments mixed with iron scraps freed from the magnetism and scattered.

“Good timing—I needed to peel off what had stuck to it anyway.”

Magnetism was only a bonus. The mace’s true calling was brute force.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

With each strike on the Draugr lord taking the beating, the mystery of his stone armor peeled away. He’d been trying to lean against the wall and rise, caught between hammer and anvil.

As the Draugr lord’s entire body was crushed and he was about to collapse, every iron fragment clinging to Eugene’s mace vanished as well.

The mace head sustained several damages in the process, but that was no problem. This special magnet repaired damaged areas on its own.

After defeating the second lord, a catacomb-like space appeared. Dried corpses filled niches carved into the walls as though they were pipes.

“It would be troublesome to pass by and get ambushed from behind. Please illuminate the surroundings so nothing is hidden behind pillars or decorations.”

Banas, perched on Eugene’s head like a headlamp to recharge her divine power, flew forward. She served as a light source at a precise position so no darkness remained in Eugene’s vision.

Eugene drew Last Autumn. He found corpses flowing with the mystery of undeath and stabbed them one by one.

“Graaah—.”

“Guhooop—?”

Draugr pierced through the side or head twisted briefly before slumping.

Valuable accessories and boxes whose contents aroused curiosity were found here and there, but he ignored them. He could recover those later anyway.

‘Look at this one.’

There were also cute Draugr preparing ambushes from time to time. Rather than lying straight, they lay on their sides toward the passage, weapons in hand.

Their eyes were open about thirty percent, but unlike the living they didn’t need to blink and didn’t breathe. The optimal form for feigning sleep and launching a surprise attack—if their opponent were anyone but Eugene.

His eyes detected the mystery within withered bodies like a serpent’s thermal vision. Pretending to be the same mummy was useless. Of course, cautious Eugene chose a safer method.

Ting!

He pressed the mace head against a target and pulled; the Draugr was dragged out along with the weapon.

Spurt!

The Draugr reacted as if to say, ‘How did he know?’ and lost its head just like that.

Attempts to ambush from behind corner pillars were blocked as well. Eugene didn’t need to put his body forward at all.

Thud!

“Kyahak—!”

He shoved the mace head in, and the Draugr’s helmet clung fast. Having done this often enough, he was starting to tell by feel which part had stuck.

Eugene yanked hard and kicked the Draugr whose posture had collapsed. As it struggled to rise after hitting the wall, the mace shattered its spine.

Thus he arrived at the final place on the second basement level, and a wide plaza appeared.

Unlike the gloomy places until now, it was well kept, with religious decorations filling every corner around an altar set with various pottery. Like a chapel.

From its far end came the scent of a mage—the role Eugene had held all along.

‘That’s him.’

The Draugr seated cross-legged before the altar opened his eyes. He wore a crown signifying High Priest on his head.

[Great challenger. I congratulate you on reaching the final trial. It has been a long time indeed.]

The Draugr in ritual scale armor rose into the air. As he ascended, the legs that had been folded in a cross-legged posture naturally lowered.

Each word of the Draugr’s voice carried mystery within it. The entire space seemed to resonate with how powerful a being he was.

[Behold.]

The Draugr swept his hand around. Coffins stood upright in the walls here and there at regular intervals.

[One of the great jarls shall test you. Choose whom you desire.]

Intense mystery gathered in the Draugr’s left hand. Eugene tensed, thinking it an ambush, but it was protective magic.

[If you prevail, I shall grant you my blessing. You shall return safely to the surface with glory…]

The Draugr’s words broke off. He suddenly tilted his head and sniffed.

[You are no ordinary challenger.]

His voice changed completely. Where moments ago it had sounded like a doting elder viewing a worthy descendant, fierce hostility now seeped in. A golden staff and ritual dagger flew from somewhere and were grasped in each hand.

[A hateful enemy has come.]

“Why am I an enemy?”

Eugene asked calmly. There was no way the beings beneath the tomb could know he had invaded Midgard.

[You are heir to the hard ones. Successor to the enemy who imprisoned us.]

“What?”

[You shall die here. Even in death you shall not leave. Suffer without end. Pay the price for what your ancestors committed.]

Eugene realized the Draugr was equating him with the ancient kingdom.

“You’re mistaken. My bloodline has nothing to do with the ancient kingdom.”

[Lies! It reeks from your flesh. It reeks from your soul. The oppressors. The immortal stones that imprisoned us.]

Perhaps because he had ruled so long as master of the Moving Castle? This powerful Draugr seemed to detect the ancient kingdom from Eugene’s body and soul.

[Our Forecaster commands! Slay our enemy!]

At the Forecaster Draugr’s command, the coffins standing throughout the chamber threw off their lids all at once.

Heavily armored Draugr burst out from within. In iron-poor Midgard, to be buried wearing greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets without missing a piece—this truly meant they were of precious status.

Each must have been a great jarl who had ruled a vast territory. The right to be buried alongside the High Priest was not easily obtained.

*

While Eugene fought the ancient Forecaster and the party of great jarls, one army marched toward the Hero’s Tomb.

“Splendid! I shall repay this favor without fail!”

“Lord Ivar! This is not what was promised!”

The army’s commander was Ivar, the second son of King Skal. He was famous for cunning and ruthless methods without scruple; his specialty was enticing enemy commanders into betrayal.

“Promised what?”

“You clearly said we would strike on the return path after the trial ended…”

Betrayer though he was, he wasn’t entirely without shame. Ambushing someone undergoing a sacred tomb trial was a transgression beyond the pale. Later, not only Ivar but the colluding clans would be reviled together.

Ivar’s background was thick enough that guests would still flock to his banquets, but the colluders’ clans were different.

“Targeting the return path after the trial ends would make for a greater ambush. The procession will stretch out and everyone will let their guard down in joy.”

The colluder tried every way to turn Ivar’s mind, but it was useless.

“No ambush is more fatal than one targeting a commander’s absence. And isn’t this the man who has never lost a battle? Striking now is best.”

“If we ambush now, won’t it stain Lord Ivar’s reputation?”

“Hmph! Victory washes away any stain. What age do you think this is, still talking like some petty coward?”

Ivar too found the dishonor burdensome, but he steeled himself.

‘To surpass my brother, there’s no other way.’

As the second son, to inherit the throne he needed merit—great merit at that. Even if it meant a dishonorable ambush that defiled tradition, if he could assassinate the expedition’s commander, the story would be different.

“Everyone hurry! He may be a monstrous knight, but he can’t face an army alone! We’ll wipe out those waiting outside and welcome him with smiles!”

If the best outcome came, even a second son could become king. And if not, that was fine too.

If they drove out this expedition alone, countless vacant territories would open up. He could live in comfort on the land received as reward.

The warriors following Ivar now had gathered with the desire to share in that fruit.

‘If I can receive even one small village!’

‘I will become a jarl no matter what.’

Before such ambition, there was nothing they wouldn’t do. That wasn’t limited to Midgard either.

Even Roman knights who prized honor above all were the same. Throw a lordship as bait and they would commit atrocities without hesitation, abandoning their humanity.

*

“■■■…”

A battered great jarl Draugr collapsed.

“Guoooo—!”

Another great jarl charged with a double-handed sword. Behind him was one blowing breath onto an axe blade.

“Firyysaaaaaa—Freeze!”

The axe, struck by icy breath, froze white and brimmed with terrible cold.

Boom!

The charging swordsman flew like a leaf in the wind. In that interval, the great jarl who had finished his enchantment hurled the axe.

It was brute force, yes, but also an attack that detonated tremendous cold at the point of impact. Even the oak shield Valda had gifted him would have harmed Eugene if he’d blocked with it.

Fortunately, he held a weapon perfectly suited as a shield substitute. He reflexively thrust out the mace. It was a sudden throw, so precisely batting it away was difficult—but he didn’t need to.

Clang!

Intense magnetism caught the axe even with a rough jab.

Pale cold exploded across a one-meter radius and froze everything solid. Cold penetrated not only the mace head but the long iron shaft as well.

But it didn’t reach his grip. When Eugene swung the mace wide, the imperfectly attached axe shot away.

[Gather the bones. Shattered fragments, rejoin.]

What Eugene had been aiming for all along was the Forecaster he’d been watching.

[As in Valhalla, the fallen shall rise again. Poor souls. I shall hold a feast in the gods’ stead.]

Before the Forecaster, the destroyed great jarl Draugr floated. Shattered parts reassembled, and blue flame once more kindled in eyes that had lost their light.

An axe flew at the Forecaster casting wicked resurrection with fierce momentum, but it failed to interrupt the magic.

“Kyaa—!”

The Forecaster’s body turned transparent like a ghost, and the axe passed through. Beneath him, the resurrected great jarl walked toward Eugene.

In the meantime Eugene dispatched two more. Each time the mace struck, frost coating the surface shattered in an impressive spectacle.

But the Forecaster flew through empty air, raising the fallen again and again.

‘Annoying, but effective.’

Eugene couldn’t target the Forecaster because Draugr harassed him from every direction.

[Resistance is meaningless. Our feast never ends. Cast aside your weapon and accept death.]

The Forecaster spoke from atop the reassembling great jarl.

“Hmm.”

Eugene, pondering briefly, dropped the mace. At the dull sound, the Forecaster’s lips curled upward. He had already forgotten how long it had been since he’d smiled across those distant ages.

[Even surrender shall earn no mercy. You shall become the Sæhrímnir of our feast.]

The Draugr’s prophecy shattered the moment Eugene drew his sword.

“■■■?”

“Grooo—.”

Sacred radiance enveloped the blade, and the great jarls recoiled. They couldn’t even bear to look upon that light, covering their faces and averting their eyes.

Thud!

The Draugr struck by Sacred Smite turned to ash and scattered.

“Who said anything about giving up?”

Eugene said, leveling the blazing sword.

He wasn’t the only one who’d recovered a long-forgotten sensation. The great jarl Draugr standing before the blazing radiance trembled as well. The sensation of fear they had felt while alive once again took root in withered bodies.

Sacred Smite had a limited number of uses. Eugene unleashed the trump card he’d been saving for emergencies without reserve.

Explosions rang in succession as great jarls vanished one by one. Even as he did so, Eugene kept watch on the Forecaster and caught him trying to flee in spirit form.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

He threw the shield in his left hand. The oak shield imbued with magic passed through the spirit-form Forecaster and inflicted damage.

[■■■■■!!!]

A terrible scream rang out.

Seizing that opening, he annihilated another charging great jarl, yet the Forecaster was attempting escape again.

Eugene intended to return the way he’d come, resurrect every fallen Draugr, and meet him with a war of numbers.

He hadn’t let go of the sword whose radiance had faded when its uses were spent. But Eugene still had more to throw.

‘Not sure it’ll work, but.’

He picked up the Great Mace rolling nearby and hurled it. The mace spun like a windmill and struck the Forecaster’s extremity.

Then sparks flew across the Forecaster’s entire body and his spirit form collapsed.

“Kyaaaa—!”

Like a sailor plunged into the sea with a heavy weight attached, the Forecaster fell.

He stretched both hands skyward and wielded the mystery of flight, but he couldn’t bear the weight of the mace clinging and dragging him down.

As he sprawled on the ground, the last great jarl fell. He’d used up all his Sacred Smite, but Last Autumn was a powerful weapon in its own right.

“…”

[…]

Eugene and the Forecaster’s eyes met.

Eugene approached smiling, silver-white sword in hand. The Forecaster collapsed on the ground tried to crawl away, but it was useless.

Rumble rumble rumble.

The damned mace clung to his armor and showed no sign of falling off.