A scream-like sound pierced through the fierce struggle between the Bicorn and Kriel.
Crack.
It was an unpleasant sound for both sides, but it was an especially ominous sign for Kriel. The noise came from the horn in his right hand beginning to break.
If the horn broke before the neck, it would be much more difficult to break the Bicorn’s neck. The Bicorn who knew that a considerable amount of its magical power would dissipate if the horn broke had no choice but to use all its strength to break the horn first.
It was a fight to determine which would give out first…. the horn or the neck.
The winner was the Bicorn. The initial strike that had marked the start of the battle, where Kriel’s greatsword clashed against the horn, had already set the horn on a path to breaking.
The crack at the base of the horn finally led to its complete destruction. Now, the only thing binding the Bicorn was Kriel’s arm around its neck. The beast intended to tear his arm apart and skewer the knight with its remaining horn.
But before it could act, Kriel drove the broken horn in his right hand straight into the Bicorn’s eye socket.
[Aaaaaaaargh!]
A terrible scream echoed through the air. The curse imbued in the sound was so great it withered the nearby vegetation. Kriel didn’t seem to be fazed by the wailing and just clenched his right fist tightly.
And then, he punched the horn lodged in the Bicorn’s eye.
The raw blood energy packed into his fist combined with the immense strength Kriel had meticulously honed gave the bicorn’s horn a sharpness that could pierce even plated armor.
The Bicorn’s horn penetrated entirely through its skull.
The Bicorn screamed no more.
***
Even after the Bicorn’s cries had ceased, Kriel moved with caution. Truly fearsome beasts sometimes revived even after their heads were severed.
On the other hand, he reminded himself that most creatures would die once their necks were cut. Unless they were extremely monstrous creatures.
After making sure the father and daughter pair were still safe within the circle, Kriel drew his greatsword from the old tree. He lifted the blade high in preparation for a single, clean strike to sever the creature’s neck.
[Oh… Ohhh!]
Suddenly, a sound emerged from the Bicorn. It was a mix of a scream and something that almost resembled delight. Then, a pitch-black darkness began to seep out from its fallen body.
As more of the darkness poured forth, the Bicorn’s body turned pale. The demonic energy that left its flesh had nowhere to go and began to gather within the shadow of the Dark Knight.
It was pure, concentrated resentment. For an ordinary Dark Knight, it would have been a cause for celebration. Absorbing such highly purified resentment would allow for the accumulation of great power.
But Kriel was no ordinary Dark Knight.
No, absolutely not!
The side effects of using his blood energy were already beginning to show. The forest which had seemed dim and shadowy just moments ago now seemed like a sea of blood. This was a clear warning sign.
Accumulating such resentment would serve no real purpose for him. Kriel wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible.
He reached into his coat, pulled out an uncharged magic stone, and tossed it toward the demonic energy. The black miasma slithered and coiled as it was drawn into the stone, staining it with its sinister essence. As soon as Kriel confirmed that the resentment had been fully absorbed into the magic stone, he swung his raised greatsword with all his might.
[O, noble knight! Hmm?]
At that moment, a faint ghostly image of a horse’s head emerged from the Bicorn’s corpse.
[Kraaaaaaagh!]
***
What is that thing?
From the time Kriel had first come to this game world that was called Tirnanog RPG until now, he had never heard of anything like this. He eyed the ghost horse that had emerged from the corpse with wary caution.
The white translucent ghost emitted a soft glow. Its appearance was that of an ordinary horse’s head, except for one unique feature. It had a single horn protruding from its forehead.
I took down a Bicorn, and now a Unicorn ghost appears?
Meanwhile, the ghost horse was equally wary of its opponent. It had barely managed to contain its body, which had been consumed by the curse of corruption and overtaken by demonic energy, and only then had it found the opportunity to die.
For the horse ghost, which was originally a mountain spirit, its body was fleeting but its soul was eternal. It had to seize the chance to purify its soul, even at the cost of its physical death. Even in its hazy consciousness, it sensed the presence of someone capable of opposing the demonic energy.
The metallic scent that enveloped the figure reached deep into its heart. Surely, it must be a knight who had come to hunt it. Restraining its wretched body that sought to flee in desperation, the horse had forced itself into one final fight.
It had thought the plan was working, that it would meet its end at the hands of this noble knight.
Is that guy really a proper knight though?
Instead, in front of it stood a lunatic with bloodshot eyes who was hacking away at its corpse with a blade.
Its memories from the moment its body was overtaken by demonic energy were hazy, but one thing was clear. This strange, knight-like figure seemed well-versed in the dark arts of the abyss.
[Ah…]
“Who are you?”
[Now is not the time. Just wait a moment, please.]
The Dark Knight raised his greatsword high. Blood, dripping from what had once been its own body, fell from the tip of the blade.
Normally, a spirit would be immune to ordinary physical attacks, but this knight appeared to possess enough skill to harm even such beings.
[Wait! Wait! Aren’t you curious about where the missing women are?]
Is that not it?
The horse ghost couldn’t help but think that saying such a thing to a lunatic who had been holding two people captive and talking about sacrificial offerings would only lead to more victims. But it couldn’t take back its words.
***
The ghost was spouting strange nonsense. I debated whether or not to sheathe my sword. When monsters started talking like that, nine times out of ten, it was a trap, and the other times, it was meaningless drivel in an attempt to avoid death.
Still, I couldn’t entirely ignore it.
If what the horse ghost was saying turned out to be true, it would provide no small amount of the “Nobility” stat, but if it was a lie, while gaining Nobility wouldn’t be possible, ignoring the possibility of finding survivors would lead to a reduction in Nobility.
Nobility. It was one of the unique stats given to knight classes when I was playing the Tirnanog RPG. It increased resistance to mental status ailments and increased recovery speed.
Of course, there was no guarantee that game mechanics would apply exactly as they had now that the setting had become reality. At the same time, it was clear that something resembling a system existed to assist in acquiring and using skills. The fact that techniques like Bloodlust and Resentment that I had never learned were engraved in my mind was proof of that.
I’m only training in swordsmanship because I can’t even use those skills…
More than anything else, my experience showed that performing actions likely to increase Nobility sped up the rate of debuff removal. That was the real reason I kept pretending to be a knight, which was a role I was never meant to play.
Originally, a Dark Knight was a profession that, once fully corrupted by the Abyss, could reverse mental debuffs into buffs. Overcoming mental debuffs in such a way was impossible now, as it would mean completely discarding my humanity. This was a choice I couldn’t make.
“Fine. I’ll trust your words. But only you and I will head to your nest. Those two people will be taken to Loran first.”
[Uh… I hope you return as soon as possible. Those women must be hungry.]
“Hmm?”
It didn’t kill them?
***
At the wooden palisades of Loran Village, young men armed with crudely modified farming tools and hunters’ weapons stood guard through the night. They could see a large figure approaching from a distance.
At first, they thought it was the mountain spirit, but its pace was strangely slow. They gripped their weapons tightly and braced themselves with trembling hands.
As the figure approached the palisade, its full form became visible. The towering height and huge build, far larger than even a strong adult man, were the result of Kriel slinging the mountain spirit’s corpse over his shoulder.
Behind him, the father and daughter who had accompanied Kriel followed at a steady pace.
The young men hurriedly opened the gate to the palisade.
Kriel carried the mountain spirit’s headless corpse draped over both shoulders, with the severed head tied to his waist by a rope. Although the spirit had claimed, “I am not bound to the physical body”, Kriel was not one to trust a monster’s words so easily.
A knight carrying the corpse of a horse. Even in the dead of night, it was a sight impossible to ignore. And if that “horse” happened to be the mountain spirit that had tormented Loran for so long, it was all the more striking. Without realizing it, the villagers began to follow behind Kriel.
When Kriel finally reached the courtyard in front of the church and flung the mountain spirit’s corpse onto the ground, he turned around to see that most of Loran’s still-awake residents had trailed behind him; they gathered to catch a glimpse of the slain spirit.
The commotion of the crowd seemed to reach head priest Jacarvil, who opened the church doors and stepped outside. His eyes immediately fell on the corpse of the unusually large, white-haired horse lying in the courtyard.
“It’s the mountain spirit.”
Priest Jacarvil looked at the pure white fur in the moonlight, and it almost looked beautiful.
“The color… isn’t it unusual?”
[The horns are different too!]
Suddenly, with a small pop, the horse ghost sprang out from where it had been tied at Kriel’s waist. A startled yelp escaped the priest—“Ah!”—but Kriel decided to feign ignorance for the sake of the old priest’s dignity.
“What do you mean, the horns are different?”
[The number of them, I mean,]
Kriel lifted the mountain spirit’s head and held it up for all to see. The goat-like twisted horn embedded above one eye remained as it was when he had killed the spirit. However, the broken base of the right horn and the left horn had disappeared, leaving a single, straight horn protruding from the center of its forehead.
Priest Jacarvil stared blankly at the creature before uttering its name.
“A unicorn?”
To think someone had brought back the severed head of such a sacred creature! Shock and horror filled Jacarvil’s eyes.
[Oh, that’s right. Believe it or not, I was once considered an auspicious creature back in the days of the Old United Kingdom. I even had an official title. Then some strange, nasty curse gave me an extra horn.]
“…Wait.”
As the most knowledgeable man in Loran, Priest Jacarvil prided himself on his extensive understanding of local folklore. In an age where divine and demonic forces frequently reshaped the world, studying legends was a natural duty for a priest.
“Are you saying you’re Orishin, the spirit of that mountain?”
[And the mountain spirit who’s been troubling your village these past few days. I apologize for that. But I couldn’t avoid it if I didn’t want to hurt anyone—]
When the ghost horse seemed ready to ramble on, Kriel rapped the blade of his sword with his gauntlet. The metallic clang rang out sharply, and Orishin quickly cut to the point.
[The people I kidnapped…. they’re all alive. How about lending me a cart to bring them back?]
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