A pitiful scream reached his ears.
What was that?
Santos was sitting on a rock, gripping something in his hands. He was watching a scene unfold while that question echoed in his mind.
He was close to the village—or so he thought. Partly because of what he'd found.
Looking at his compass, he decided to head back to camp, hoping the group hadn't left considering the mess he had left outside.
He left after changing his gear, having realized his sword wasn't suitable to fight against his new generic enemy.
Picking up the ominous black sword from the ground, he stood up and gave one last glance to the group he had found.
They seemed to be the church's team, judging by the fact that they were all men wearing the insignia of the Fersian Church.
Each of them had expressions of fear and terror carved into their faces.
"Rest in peace. I'll take it from here."
Santos stepped into the darkness of the forest.
The memory of slicing bread came to mind. In her youth, there was only enough money to buy day-old bread—not soft, but still chewable.
That's what Vashina recalled as she cut down a wanderer diagonally, separating its torso from its waist.
Her weapon wasn't meant for cutting; it was far too thick to make a clean slice. It was more suited for smashing armor than people—much like an axe.
But in the hands of a Saint, even a feather could cut.
A bloodthirsty sword aimed straight for her head. A slight graze left marks on her cheek.
The rain washed the blood away, but she didn't have time to think about it.
The scarred one was already on her, throwing a punch straight at her chest.
She didn't dodge. Instead, she matched its speed and clashed fists, a loud crack sounding as pain erupted through her broken knuckles.
"Shit!"
She had destroyed the wanderer's hand and wrist, but she had forgotten—pain meant nothing to the dead.
But I feel pain, damn it!
In the small opening she created, the sword-wielding one aimed straight for her heart.
With quick movements, she used her sword's hook to grab it by the guard and disarm the wanderer.
She tried to counterattack, but two more were already closing in, forcing her to retreat.
Her sword began to glow with a deep, intense red. She was preparing a ranged attack.
Vashina swung her weapon toward the scarred wanderer, who rushed toward her.
Seeing it coming, he dodged to the side, just in time to watch the bulkier wanderer get a deep gash across his stomach.
She had given him that scar with the same technique. It seemed he wouldn't fall for it twice.
Twice… maybe three times.
That was about how many more times she could use that attack. She was still new to being a Saint and had barely begun to unravel the mysteries of her own energy.
If only that bastard hadn't betrayed us!
With water streaming down her face, Vashina stared forward fiercely.
She gripped her weapon with both hands, feeling the pain in her knuckles, bit her lip in rage, and readied herself for something bigger.
Thunder
I am Vashina! Daughter of House Noel!
"No matter who stands before me—I'll bring them down!"
She poured her power into her blade, ready to cut down everything in her path.
It didn't matter if more enemies appeared. For her, the ones in front of her were the only ones that mattered right now.
She prepared to launch herself toward the enemy...
Or tried to.
"Cease."
A voice rang out.
The sound of the rain stopped.
The trees vanished from her sight, leaving her alone with the darkness, the wanderers, and a black knight.
"???"
??????????????????
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Beyond the wanderers, a knight stared directly at her. But there were no eyes in that helmet.
Her energy fled her body, and cold consumed her.
She was frozen in her attacking stance. She couldn't breathe or speak. Her eyes trembled involuntarily, and her throat ached to scream.
The wanderers were in the same state. They didn't show pain or agony, but now their faces were locked in shock, stunned by something inexplicable.
Footsteps could be heard—each one clearer than the last.
Rip
A strange sound reached her ears.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bulky wanderer tremble, then collapse.
Thud
The black knight moved again and approached another.
Repeating the scene.
Thud
Again.
Thud
He approached the scarred one.
His face was visible to Vashina.
Then she heard it.
"...Ah."
It escaped from the wanderer's lips.
Thud
Step. Step.
The black knight stood before her.
She couldn't see his face. From her attacking position, she was only level with his abdomen, giving her the impression of someone enormous.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a strange white contraption in his hand—something resembling a bone.
But she couldn't think about that. She couldn't grasp what was happening.
Thunder
In the next instant, Vashina closed her eyes.
Santos had lost all hope.
Thunder
He had lost track of the group.
Thunder
"For the pearls of Paparlesis!"
He arrived at the campsite, but no one was there. And the rain had made it impossible to track them.
He looked up, letting the water stream down his bald, hairless head.
I've only been out for one day, and I already feel like I've been thrown into some special event.
Santos felt like hundreds of missions were piling up, making it seem like this would never end.
"No, I'm sure that has to be it. That's the only thing that would explain how hard this is."
He had been walking for a while, having stopped running once he realized he'd only get more lost that way.
He had terrible sense of direction—but only the first time around.
Santos had a strange ability for learning through association, which made it impossible for him to forget details. His incredible brain made it seem like he had some kind of nervous tic.
He had left his backpack at the camp. What he brought with him were the black sword and his blessed bastard sword.
Feeling an energy surge to his left, he walked forward, gripping both blades in each hand.
Thunder
"Be it a demon or some lunatic obsessed with the dead… they better be ready."
Thunder
Santos walked on, fury etched across his face.