Ukryo was sitting on a branch hidden among the leaves, frowning as he looked down. On another tree was the old man, wearing an equally dark expression.
Below them, a sea of walkers moved through the forest toward the town.
They had both climbed higher up the mountain after seeing a blue flare fired in that direction; things quickly changed when a black flare was launched moments later.
"Shit, shit, shit. With that many, even the city wouldn't last a week."
The walkers marched, their disjointed steps causing many to fall and be crushed into pulp by the unrelenting thousands.
"Young master, take a moment to rest. We won't be going back for now."
"My name is Ezequiel. I came to see the mountain range at Father's request."
"Father? Do you mean Bishop Fersian?"
Fersian? Is he royalty or something?
Seeing the confusion on Santos' face, the girl decided to jump into the conversation.
"Priests and others like them take their surnames from the city, town, or village they're associated with. They can change their surname whenever they change location."
"You don't seem to be from around here. Where are you from?" asked the one-armed man.
The man had lost his arm. Vials helped close wounds, but they couldn't reattach limbs—unless a healer reattached it.
"I'm… from a place quite far away," Santos replied.
"Sorry for the delay," said the newly arrived squire.
After burying the body of one of their companions, the squire and the warrior returned.
Just in time.
"I'd like you to leave as soon as possible, but I don't think it's just one super walker."
I wish I could believe that, but something big is brewing. Super walkers have abilities far beyond the norm.
Walkers didn't have many ranks, nor were they usually powerful. There were the normal ones with little strength, and those capable of carrying boulders weighing a ton.
Even so, this is the first time I've seen a walker with armed combat abilities. Could it be considered a new type?
Santos was about to ask something when he noticed the adventurers' faces shift from astonishment to doubt.
The squire, clearly doubtful, then asked,
"Excuse me, Ezequiel, but are you a Reciardo?" The strength, speed, and tools he used weren't things one normally saw.
Am I that obvious?
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, you…"
"No one gives out such expensive healing vials for free," the squire interrupted. "Even if you were the son of a noble, red vials are considered miraculous treasures."
Have vials become that rare? I remember giving them—wait, red? What came next compromised Santos' identity, but the information was vital for newcomers.
"You said red vials—what does the color have to do with it?" He understood the meaning to some extent.
Nodding, the squire replied, "Depending on where and how you buy them, they can cost from 75 copper to 100 gold. And red vials, the rarest, can cost up to 300 gold."
To Santos, a thousand gold was enough to build a Count's mansion or an equivalent hideout.
Frowning, Santos thought. The pricing was strange—ranging from 75 to 100?
"What color are healing vials usually?" Santos asked.
"Here, look at this one."
The girl unwrapped a cloth, revealing a vial. There had originally been three, but two had broken. The liquid was semi-transparent, with a moldy green tint.
"The taste is also different. This one's like swallowing spit. Yours was light and cold—for a moment, I thought I had swallowed air."
Santos nodded. But as he stood up to get ready, he tensed. Drink?
"You drank the vial?" Concern was clear on his face.
"Y-yes? Is that bad?" she replied hesitantly.
"Healing vials are poured on wounds."
After he said that, an awkward silence fell.
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
Then Santos grabbed his backpack and walked off silently in one direction.
Alarmed, the girl stood up and followed Santos.
"Ezequiel, will something happen to me? E-Ezequiel!?"
Elsewhere, Ukryo Gamba was still swaying in the tree branches, watching the endless army march somewhere.
Yawn
"This has no end… Where did they all come from?"
He had stopped worrying a while ago. Even though they seemed endless, he realized they were walking in circles. He had seen the same walker with dangling eyes pass by twice… Three times now.
After thinking it over, even if they reached the town, the people there would endure. The church outside the walls had concerned him, but after thinking of Bishop Fersian, he knew he was worrying for nothing.
Looking to his left, he saw the old man swinging in a hammock. He had seen a dead man dragging a sack of potatoes, and after seeing him twice in a row, took the opportunity and grabbed it.
Though it had dried blood, it didn't seem to bother him.
"Hey, I'm getting tired. Can I borrow your hammock?" Ukryo asked.
The old man turned and looked at Ukryo. Then he smirked and chuckled. "Hmm, hahaha." Then he simply got more comfortable.
"You bastard!" Ukryo felt his blood boil. At first, he hadn't realized it, but this old man wasn't as simple as he seemed. He noticed the old man didn't respect him—but didn't treat him disrespectfully either. It seemed more like… he didn't care about the name Gamba.
He was about to climb to the treetop when he noticed something.
No sound. Alarmed, he looked down.
Below, the countless walkers were staring at Ukryo with cold, lifeless eyes and apathetic faces. From children to elders.
The blood had long since dried on their faces, and their flesh was withered.
Feeling a chill run up his spine, he shouted in alarm,
"OLD MAN!"
The old man was already climbing the tree.
"Idiot, move. We have to lose them."
Ukryo was stunned. What the hell—how had he climbed that far so fast?
But there was no time to think. When he looked down again…
"WHAT!?"
The walkers were already climbing the tree, just two hands away from grabbing his ankle.