Our Family Has Fallen

Dismas hurled a bottle toward those Heretics and shattered it in midair; the Corpse Decomposition Spores inside scattered and dissolved those corpses.

Sobray, who was holding the Ignition Stick, didn’t throw any more bombs, but instead took out an Incendiary Bottle, lit it, and tossed it.

The erupting flames splashed onto those Heretics; you could see them let out strange cries, tumors shriveling in the fire, eyeballs scorched and bursting—this, at least, could hurt them!

It only held them back a little to buy time, and then a faint tremor came from the ground.

It wasn’t that unknown calamity happening again, but the sound of hooves pounding the earth.

This road’s lowest construction standard was that it had to allow horseback riding, and now Reynard was leading the Cavalry in a rapid relief charge.

"Kill with me!" Reynard drew the [Champion’s Proof] and pointed it at those Heretics.

"For the Lord!"

"For Hamlet!"

The Cavalry charged. They didn’t have any exaggerated Lances in their hands; before contact they only fired a volley with their pistols.

No—that should be two volleys.

Because the pistols they held were double-barreled. This special type of musket, equipped only to Cavalry, was less of a technological advance; Lance preferred to call it a "compromise."

When there was no way to make something better, they could only stack quantity as a temporary trade-off.

But it did give them a brief burst of double firepower, didn’t it.

It was just a pity that these highly mutated Heretics weren’t going to react differently just because your gun had two barrels.

But what if it was sabers?

The Cavalry urged their warhorses forward, swinging their weapons with the momentum of the charge; the sabers swept past, easily shredding those things’ bodies.

In the face of that kind of power, there was almost nothing that could resist, not to mention these things’ scattered formation, which showed no intent to defend at all.

The Cavalry charge punched straight through the Heretics’ ranks—but Reynard soon sensed something was wrong. These Heretics seemed not to possess the concept of death; severed bodies were actually healing.

Fallen limbs would re-fuse; they didn’t mind using someone else’s Flesh.

At the same time the Heretics’ counterattack came: Sorcery born of twisted wills, frenzied savage claw-swipes, actually pinned down the Cavalry that had ridden in.

As expected, before true equipment superiority arrived, the gap between humans and bizarre Supernatural Power was still immense.

"Retreat!"

Reynard hastily ordered the unit to pull back, but in just that brief contact many had already been wounded; one man was even knocked from his horse.

Seeing this, he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, swung his sword to decapitate that Heretic, then flipped down from the saddle, hauled the man up, and threw him onto the horse.

But before he could mount up, other Heretics had already swarmed in, swinging iron claws at him.

If he got bogged down here, it was over.

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out; the Heretic’s head snapped sideways, its attack broken, and Reynard didn’t bother with anything else—he scrambled into the saddle and bolted.

But that one withdrawal ceded the line, and those tireless Heretics surged forward, bringing an overwhelming sense of pressure.

It even made them feel on the verge of rout, which, without doubt, stung them badly.

Ever since the Legion’s victorious campaigns, they had been the ones pressing these Heretics down; how had they ended up so pathetic today?

"Pure physical attacks have already failed. We need some special methods."

"Hurry and notify the camp to prepare lamp oil—let the flames purify these monsters."

They had to take down these Heretics today; they absolutely could not allow them to ruin the hard-won situation they’d opened up.

Reynard dismounted on the spot, giving his horse to that wounded man so he could be brought back for emergency treatment.

As for himself, he grabbed his Longsword and joined the Honor Guard in trying to find a way to hold the enemy back, buying time to gather supplies.

This was an uneven fight. After that last round a few of those Heretics had died, but all their Flesh was now on other Heretics.

Looking at a body with two heads attached, you couldn’t even tell if the extra one counted as dead.

On their side, though, they had suffered setback after setback; the Cavalry had been beaten back after a single clash, to the point their pride was in tatters.

But what they got in the end wasn’t lamp oil—it was a horse-drawn carriage rushing in.

Grendel appeared holding her Antler Staff; after hearing about the disturbance on the surface, Lance had worried something might go wrong.

Since both Alhazred and Baldwin were in town, he could only send her over first to see what was going on, and she’d arrived right on top of it.

The moment she set foot on the ground, it was as if all the plants around them stirred in response.

This was the power of a Champion Spellcaster; even her casual, unconscious movements would trigger changes in the environment, and in the wilderness, where vegetation was abundant, her power grew even stronger.

Because—"I am nature itself."

Grendel strode forward, directly facing the frenzied assault of those Heretics, and spoke a single line.

"No passage."

She swung her staff and slammed it down in front of her; the ground on both sides of the road heaved as countless tree roots surged up like a tidal wave, rolling toward the Heretics.

It was like two raised gates closing; the tough roots entwined and cinched tight, and with a single move she forcibly halted the Heretics’ advance.

But it only held them for a moment; the Heretics’ strength was now enough to break finger-thick roots, and both iron claws and Bone Blades could hack through them.

Still, Grendel was not about to stop there. She gripped her staff with both hands and twisted; those roots were like extensions of her limbs.

Strangulation!

As the roots constricted and tightened, the explosive force easily snapped the Heretics’ bones, and even their Flesh couldn’t withstand it—deep grooves were carved into them, and some were crushed outright.

Like a juicer, blood mixed with minced meat flowed from the gaps.

But then a horrifying scene unfolded. These Heretics didn’t care in the slightest that their necks or limbs were being broken, because they all shared a single origin.

They actually fused with each other—or "assembled" is more accurate. Their fleshless, blood-red Flesh and bone seemed to come alive, and instead began to devour the roots in turn—and of course there was that indescribable pollution.

A power that even Transcendents feared, a vicious Curse that struck straight at the soul, was shaking everyone’s resolve.

Grendel herself felt a bit of pressure. Truly going all-out...she pulled out the [Messenger] and called for help.

"Something’s off. Get over here, fast."

......

Not many people knew about the anomaly in the ruins and the battle in the wilderness, because it all happened too quickly; not everyone could be like Grendel and learn the cause at the first moment.

So most people could only look that way and speculate, and the commotion was so exaggerated that even many in the distant town noticed.

They all knew that direction led to the ruins, and the plume of smoke and dust rising to the sky only stoked the Adventurers’ curiosity.

They had come here in the first place for the treasures in those ruins; now that something like this had happened, there was no way to hold them back.

More and more people began asking what had happened, but most of all they wanted to know when the route to the ruins would be opened.

Some of the more unruly types were already planning to skip the road entirely and circle through the wilderness—but did they really think the police and the stationed troops were just for show?

If you ran off on your own, they’d just arrest you on the spot; these people weren’t going to waste words with you, they’d shove muskets right in your face.

Baldwin had just taken over when this happened. Compared to these Adventurers, he was far more concerned about the Lord’s safety—he couldn’t seriously have his own words come true, could he?

"What on earth is happening up ahead..."

He had already sent people to investigate, but that would take time, and while he was still confused, a representative from the police bureau came up.

"Lord Baldwin, the Adventurers have already started making trouble; some even tried to sneak in, though we caught them. But this trend is only getting worse—if we drag this out, it could very well spiral out of control."

If they’d come looking for him, it was clearly to seek a solution—or, rather, to get a decision. For Baldwin, this newly appointed Governor, it was a very important test.

"Then open it. Open the road to the ruins to them. We’ll even provide carriage transport—if they pay, we haul them. Encourage them, even urge them along.

At the same time, anyone we’ve already arrested can be released as long as they pay a fine; no need to keep them locked up."

Baldwin went straight for a shock-therapy answer, a decision that left the police representative somewhat baffled.

"Isn’t this a bit...?"