The knight moved in the direction of the setting sun.
His plate armor that was tarnished as if it got scorched by fire had a murky tint to it, and he wielded a sword so huge that it almost matched his height. The armor could be considered clean, save for the charred patterns that resembled burn marks, but the sword he carried spilled bright red blood.
However, the dripping blood never stained the ground.
This was because a black shadow that gathered at the knight’s feet slowly but rapidly consumed the blood’s essence.
The knight suddenly halted and lifted his gaze. His eyes turned toward the fading sun.
Amidst the darkening forest silhouetted by the backlight of the sunset, his crimson eyes glimmered intensely.
He stared at the sun and mused to himself.
“I should’ve been a mage…”
His name was Kriel.
He was a former modern man who despised the system of this world, which called him a knight yet gave him neither a mount nor a single coin as starting items.
***
At the base of the mountain range, in a small chapel of a humble village.
Head priest Jacarvil worked to calm the frightened villagers.
“Everyone, please, wait a little longer. I’ve sent word to the commander. Soldiers will be here soon to resolve this matter.”
“But, Father! It’s already been two weeks since Ivan left to deliver the message!”
“Stay calm. News will come. It must… soon…”
It was hard to tell whether Jacarvil’s murmured reassurances were meant for the panicked villagers or for himself.
For days, strange and ominous events had been taking place in the frontier village of Loran, near the Western Front.
It all began with the youngest daughter of the family that owned the potato farm. A mischievous child who had always loved to roam the mountain slopes, she had been scolded countless times by the village elders but never mended her ways.
One evening, when she didn’t return home late into the night, her parents went out to search for her, but they found no trace of their daughter.
The second was a girl who helped her mother weave cloth. One day, she simply vanished, and after that, there was no word of her.
The repeated disappearances were more than enough to spark sinister rumors. Since it was common knowledge that monsters lurked in deep mountains, the stories couldn’t be dismissed as mere idle chatter.
Tales of a mountain spirit that devoured young virgin women began to spread in the village.
And then, one day, someone claimed to have seen a dark, shadowy monster that seemed to lure and kidnap maidens.
No one knew the fate of the missing girls. The only thing Loran could do was plead desperately with the high priest, who had strong ties to the most powerful people in the region, to send a knight who could eliminate this terrible monster.
But even Ivan, the messenger tasked with delivering their plea, had disappeared. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the mountain spirit had caught on to their efforts to stop it and devoured him as well. Fear of this possibility spread quickly through the village.
Bang.
A heavy sound echoed as someone knocked on the chapel door. For a moment, silence fell inside the chapel.
Bang─
A second knock rang out; it was louder than before as if urging them to answer quickly. Priest Jacarvil who could feel the hopeful and fearful eyes of the villagers on him stepped forward and opened the door.
A knight stood there.
To be precise, the word “knight” was simply the closest term Jacarvil could use to describe him based on his own knowledge. Jacarvil who had once served as a military chaplain on the western front vividly remembered what knights were supposed to look like.
They wore shining silver armor adorned with surcoats bearing glorious emblems. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation of honor and pride in their noble duty.
But the “knight” in front of him was different.
His plate armor which was a symbol of knighthood was not silver but black, and the faintly visible eyes beneath the deeply shadowed helmet gleamed not with honor but with something far more menacing. Greed, perhaps?
Most notable of all was the huge greatsword slung over his shoulder.
The blade that was dark as nigh radiated an ominous aura that seemed more a harbinger of curses than of glory or honor.
“W-Who are you?”
“I’ve been dispatched from the western front.”
He produced an official order bearing the seal of the front’s commander. The instructions were concise and military-like, far from the florid language of nobility: “Resolve the trouble in Loran.”
The savior they had been waiting for had finally arrived, yet somehow, it felt uncomfortable to let him into the cathedral.
Priest Jacarvil shook his head to dispel such foolish thoughts. He then led the knight inside.
***
They’re always like this.
Kriel muttered to himself inwardly. It had been years, not months, since he mastered the art of playing the stern and dignified knight. By now, he was well used to the wary, doubtful gazes that seemed to ask, “What kind of knight is this?”
If he were to put their suspicions into clearer terms, it would be closer to, “Isn’t this guy some demon’s henchman?”
Kriel understood their doubts, and truth be told, they weren’t entirely unfounded. The title assigned to the body he currently inhabited was not just “knight” but “dark knight”.
There was no end to the complaints he could make about this particular class, but for now, there were more pressing matters at hand.
The troubles in the village of Loran.
From the broader perspective of the western front, it wasn’t a particularly significant issue. Compared to the relentless night raids carried out by the ancient dwarven machines at the farthest reaches of the frontlines, Loran’s predicament was little more than a minor disturbance.
But for Kriel, this incident was important because his discharge was dependent on its resolution.
It had been far too long since he had been dragged all the way to the western front. Kriel had no intention of remaining in the military any longer than necessary.
Fueled by his desperate desire to leave, he listened intently to the villagers’ testimony, though his silent attention seemed to come across only as a brooding and ominous silence.
Amidst the growing fear among the villagers, the mountain spirit was gradually becoming little more than a vague superficial image. The only remotely useful testimonies described the creature’s form as dark and suggested it likely moved on four legs.
It wasn’t much different from what Kriel had already heard from Ivan before setting out. He sifted through his memory and started searching for anything resembling a “black, four-legged monster”. While the information from the game he knew didn’t always directly apply to this world, it often served as a helpful clue.
“Uh, Sir Knight…”
As Kriel pondered in silence, one last farmer who had been waiting hesitantly finally approached him. The old man seemed particularly timid; he was likely someone who had suffered rough treatment from knights or nobles in the past.
“Speak your piece.”
The farmer blinked his eyes in confusion. He was visibly startled that a knight was addressing him politely, but after a moment of hesitation, he began to stammer out what he wanted to say.
He claimed to have seen the mountain spirit kidnap a maiden. When it ran on four legs, something like smoke swirled around its body. Its speed was like the wind, and it vanished in an instant.
It wasn’t a particularly remarkable story. Kriel planned to nod politely and send the farmer on his way.
“But, you see, that creature…didn’t it have horns on its head, like a goat?”
“Horns like a goat?”
Two large, curved horns. It was an incredibly important clue.
“Thank you, elder.”
A four-legged beast. Swift in speed. And two large, majestic horns.
It could only be a Bicorn.
In the game, it was a monster known for devouring men, so Kriel couldn’t fathom why it would now resort to abducting maidens. But then again, wasn’t the unicorn, who was its distant relative, known for favoring maidens?
Kriel reasoned that, just as some monsters developed mutations, the Bicorn might have inherited a similar tendency from the unicorn. With that thought in mind, he quietly called for Priest Jacarvil.
“I will catch the mountain ghost tomorrow.”
It was a statement made with such casual confidence that Priest Jacarvil couldn’t help but be surprised.
***
To capture the mountain spirit, Kriel outlined some peculiar conditions.
First, they would need a maiden who had not yet been kidnapped. It was clear they would need bait to lure the mountain spirit. Although the villagers were understandably worried about the prospect of yet another missing person, they begrudgingly accepted it as a reasonable demand.
Second, he required the presence of a man from the village who was part of a harmonious marriage. This condition was utterly baffling.
Kriel quietly hinted to Priest Jacarvil, “If the mountain spirit is indeed the creature I suspect it to be, it doesn’t actually prey on maidens but rather on husbands.”
The old priest, though curious about this unfamiliar line of reasoning, could not shake off his doubts. But what could he do? The knight needed bait to hunt the monster.
The maidens who had not yet been taken were mostly children, and most devoted husbands were also doting fathers.
The two people accompanying Kriel turned out to be a father and daughter, and it was for these reasons.
The priest looked up at the knight with a haggard face.
“…Make sure no one dies. The wife left behind is already in tears.”
“By tomorrow, it will all be over.”
***
Most noble hunts typically took place in broad daylight. However, the knight who introduced himself as Kriel headed into the forest at dusk.
By nature, the forest after sundown was a dangerous place, one most people avoided. And even more so now, with the mountain spirit having made its lair there.
The farmer who was shielding his trembling daughter behind him asked the knight,
“…What happens now?”
“Soon, the mountain spirit will appear. Once I’ve captured it, you’ll be free to return to Loran.”
Kriel made his way toward a clearing he had noted during his traverse of the forest the day before. The wild woods surrounding Loran were dense. The trees were packed tightly together, which made it difficult for Kriel to swing his greatsword freely.
For this reason, he had spent the previous day in the forest killing lesser monsters while scouting out a suitable location for a face-off with the mountain spirit.
The clearing wasn’t particularly spacious, but it was better than fighting amidst the tightly packed trees of the dense forest. Kriel positioned the father and daughter pair in the center of the clearing, then used the tip of his blade to carve a circle around them.
“Do not step outside the circle.”
The farmer nodded his head earnestly. Feeling his warning might still be insufficient, Kriel added another word of caution.
“Under no circumstances should you step outside. Strange voices and illusions will try to deceive you, but resist them at all costs.”
Kriel placed a single incense stick between the father and daughter and lit it. It was a monster-luring incense he had brought from the western front.
Normally, doing such a thing would attract every starving beast in the forest, but those beasts had all lost their heads the day before.
The only creature that might come now was the Bicorn, which hadn’t shown even a glimpse of its fur the previous day.
The Bicorn’s preferred prey was a faithful husband, and its specific target in Loran village was a pure maiden. And then lastly, the lure of the incense.
The conditions were now perfect to draw in this mountain spirit.
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