Chapter 6: Vermillion Star
At sunrise, the morning bell tolled throughout E-Naeurl and within moments, most of the city's defenders left their rooms. Donning their gear and equipment, the guards partook in a light breakfast, then left the inn first with their regiment commander. The mage unit would move next.
A lazy morning for Sitri – who woke up with a lecherous half-grin on his face. The bedsheets glistened from a fresh coat of sweat. It was springtime in E-Naeurl, yet the sight of that white blanket gradually rolling down the warrior's bare back resembled an avalanche. His bulk guided its seams along their descent; the blanket fluttered down his deltoids, clinging as long as it could to the peaks of his trapezius. The white sheet tumbled down his mountainous back, settling for a cozy embrace around the defined meatiness of his obliques – it was almost enough to draw one's gaze away from the mast tenting up the sheets between his trunk-thick quadriceps.
"Mm… Fadila. Wake up."
Sitri hadn't woken up before his gobliness in…well, ever, which gave him time to stretch. He scratched at his sides with his silver claws. The gauntlet's cool helped wake his muscles and stimulate his lecherous bloodflow. His feet posed on the chilled morning floorboards, Sitri peeked over his shoulder to wake up his olive-skinned companion.
"Haaaaaw. Come on, Fadila. Or else I'll grab your butt."
Which he promptly squeezed to his heart's content. The gobliness stirred in response, mouthing words in goblinspeak as she rose up from bed.
"Ah? Sun up and Sitri wake first?" She yawned, her sharp fangs peeking through her lips. Fadila forced herself to her feet and hopped off the mattress. She reached into her tunic and fetched a bone-white comb. Her chubby thighs jiggled whilst she climbed the bed anew. Supporting herself with a hand on Sitri's shoulder, she began work on taming his wild tufts of morning hair.
"You invited someone in?" Sitri asked plainly.
"What Sitri say?" Fadila wiped off the brush with a rag, before using her saliva to wet its teeth and resume her labor.
"Forget it. Women can't keep their eyes off me, as per usual."
His companion grumbled, leaning into the next combstroke to yank at his locks.
"Ow. Gahahaha! Sorry, sorry."
With that miniscule apology, Sitri was fully absolved.
Fadila had come to master their morning routine. Amid the miscellaneous chores of their daily maintenance, she took care of fixing Sitri's hair, whitening his chompers, clipping his nails and regularly wiped the sweat from his body. When she reached his front side, her cheeks went pink.
"Even today?"
"Of course. But with your mouth or your throat – that's what I'm wondering."
Fadila gulped, her breaths turning hot.
Loud thuds erupted across the hall, followed by a violent eruption of noise against the pair's door.
Bang bang bang!
The warrior exchanged a bland look with his gobliness. Sitri waited a moment before—
Bangbangbangbangbangbang!
He shrugged his shoulders, prompting Fadila to hurry towards the door. Her feet pitter-pattered across the floorboards. She raised her arms as high as she could, troublesomely releasing the lock. While she clutched the knob, a woman entered the room the moment she heard the mechanism yield.
"R-Rise and shine, moron!" Lilynette exclaimed.
She looked like she hadn't slept a wink. Dark circles traced under her eyes, her brow sunk in fatigue and she heaved for air, as though nearly out of breath.
"Good morning…?" Sitri tilted his head, confirming that Fadila was safely hanging from the doorknob.
"Guess what, you're late! You think just because you went and chatted with Scama yesterday that gives you the right to take your sweet time here?"
Somehow the composed priestess from the previous night had turned into a tempest of intemperance. Not only did she invite herself into Sitri's room, but her eyes shot towards every corner – finding a myriad of reasons to stir her fury.
"Clothing all over the floor! Barely dressed! And you call yourself a man!? You… You honestly believe our leader will give you the time of day? Just because of some idiotic bet you made with her? When you can't even brush your own hair?"
"Euh…" Sitri dismissively flipped his palms.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out? Hah. You. I knew you'd be trouble the moment you opened your mouth. Trying to hook up with Scama, you…!"
The spectacle provided ample entertainment, but there was a serious risk of Lilynette imploding at this rate.
"I'm… sorry?"
Her fury cooled, but only at its very surface. The priestess ran a finger over her ear. Somehow the gesture helped her don the usual cat-like grin she wore on her beautiful face.
"Good. Now get dressed and come downstairs. Oh, and for your own sake, give up on Scama, will you? Five minutes."
She sealed her eyes and her grin broadened – her most threatening gesture yet. Lilynette slammed the door shut, bouncing Fadila right off the hardwood surface.
Sitri joined his fingers. His chin came to rest atop the crisscrossing flesh and steel.
"I feel like I missed a scene. Something happened while I wasn't around. But that's not what bothers me… There was an event flag? Where!?"
Fadila also appeared to be deep in thought. Her mind fought to grasp the wispy memories she'd dismissed as dreams, but—ultimately there was nothing for her to chase, save for shadows.
Not wasting another second, Sitri and Fadila hurried up and donned their respective clothes. Right on the fifth minute mark, the two of them were racing down the stairs to join up with the mage unit.
Upon learning that Scama had already left with Count Naüa, a grumbling hound trailed behind the pack. He suffered through the fawning of mages and guards for Lilynette – who now carried an unrecognizable air of assurance. The heated discourse from the previous night had cemented the priestess as Four Armament's idol. Without their leader, Sitri, arguing in favor of their silver heroine, the pinkette had easily enraptured the hearts of men.
"Don't fall behind, frontliner! We'll need your heroics on this battlefield as well!"
"Make sure all of us survive this, Sitri!"
Their laughter was too heavy. Loaded with fear, it dropped to the ground the moment it came out of their lips. It didn't help that Sitri looked particularly annoyed. His silence accentuated their fears. Even the eccentric warrior from last night had been crushed by the weight of reality.
"She left without me…" Sitri bemoaned. "She's a high-level target, but that only makes me like her more! Scama! I want to lick your back muscles!"
There was a flash of deadly intent – so sudden that Sitri raised his fists to counter.
Lilynette was glaring daggers at him from afar.
About fifty mages were gathered at the main gate. An impressive force, considering the wide variety of spells casters could use. The city's entrance had been sealed and barricaded shut. One by one, the mages ascended the walls and gathered atop the rampart. Count Naüa and the members of Four Armament made their way to the watchtower's apex. Looking up at their saviors, the guards and mages strengthened their resolve. They knew there was still hope; the adventurers had not yet deserted their city.
A confident Count Naüa projected his voice across the crowd. He spoke clear and loud – loud enough for all to feel his words reverberating throughout their core.
"I'm grateful for everybody who has gathered here! I would like to thank each and every single one of you for your aid."
Powerful and commanding, bodies straightened out from the sheer timbre of his voice. Sitri craned his neck up to look into the old fisherman's eyes as well.
The magic caster from Four Armaments interjected, "Thank us through more practical means please!"
The men erupted with laughter all around.
"That guy can talk?" Sitri quipped to Fadila.
"Leave that to me!" Count Naüa replied with a genuine smile, "You'll be rewarded so handsomely that even if every other adventurer here forced you to take them out for a meal, you still wouldn't go broke! I'll hand over your rewards in front of everyone, out in the open for all to see."
He played the crowd with assurance and ease, garnering yet more cheers from the city's brave defenders.
"Obviously, that applies to my soldiers too." The Count continued with promises of wealth and recompense. His words signaled his men to believe in their future, to hold onto the hopes of victory. Count Naüa was their lighthouse on the shore.
Like a student chatting in the middle of a lecture, Sitri continued to offer Fadila his unprompted commentary, "That guy's good. He's a strong man."
"Sitri like water ruler?"
"I do, yeah."
But an even bigger pink-haired troublemaker chimed from above. "I was thinking of… alternative forms of compensation. Surely the Count has a few magical items he keeps as heirlooms or something? Your lineage goes quite a way back after all."
"Uuuuh… An heirloom would be quite the tall order. I'm not saying there isn't one though – I do have a magic item that was passed down for generations. It's called the Holy Sword of Pentechromata. I'm sure many people would know about it."
The men listened on with smiles on their faces. The beautiful Lilynette wasn't afraid to take what she wanted. They found another reason to fawn over her. But amongst the clueless onlookers, one person could tell…
"Pfft. Yeah, right. Look, Fadila. Pay attention to what's going to happen next."
"Priestess woman hides true mind…" The gobliness looked to her companion.
Arms crossed and muscles straining with rugged might, the warrior was intently fixated on Lilynette.
"Then I want that." Lilynette purred.
"That's what you want? Hmm… Well, depending on the situation, I wouldn't rule it out completely. But see, in exchange for such a reward… How about: my son. I want you to become my son's concubine."
Out of respect for the Count, the onlookers remained mostly silent, but several of them mumbled their outrage at the proposal. That was their Lilynette the Count was trying to claim.
In truth, Count Naüa hadn't meant it as seriously as he let on, but before he could open his mouth to apologize—
"Count Naüa, you have four children, right? Your wife gave birth to your eldest son and your third son, while your concubine gave birth to your second son and eldest daughter. Um, your eldest is clearly out of the question, so which son were you referring to!?"
—"What!? A wife and a concubine!? You've got two women all to yourself and you were holding out on hooking me up with Scama, you cheapskate!?"—
The old fisherman felt like the bait he threw was about to sink his entire boat, "…I was talking about my third son."
"Your third son!? The one that's only twelve years old!? His birthday isn't for several more weeks and you want me to be the concubine of that child?"
At the sidelines, Scama desperately sought out help to quash this conversation, but there was none to be found. Her teammates looked away from her, erasing themselves from existence by making no eye contact whatsoever. Meanwhile the priestess and the fisherman continued their odd exchange, with the Count growing increasingly regretful of the comment he'd made.
Worse yet was the crowd's reaction. Up on the watchtower, they saw as their angel sprouted devilish horns and wings. That woman was a succubus – and not just any succubus.
"That's the one, but… how did you know about my son's age? Are you—" Turning to Scama for an answer, Count Naüa asked with growing unease. "I understand that I'm the one who suggested the arrangement in the first place, but why is she panting and out of breath? Is she actually after my son or the magic item?"
"You fool! Unripe fruits are the most alluring of all, aren't they!? I'll do it!" Lilynette cleared her throat and attempted to compose herself anew, "Ahem… I mean, fine. I understand, Sir father-in-law. I'll become your son's concubine for the Holy Sword of Pentechromata."
But it was far too late. Several had already fallen to their knees.
On that day, the Lilynette faction endured a blow from which it would never recover.
The only ones smiling were Sitri and Lilynette – who had now started drooling over herself. Scama noticed it immediately and painfully confirmed her terrible suspicions.
To think I'd meet another Lilynette in my lifetime.
The leader of Four Armaments spoke at last, "…Now then, Count Naüa. Though we do appreciate your efforts to alleviate our stress with some humor, we must get on with our preparations for the battle. Could I ask that you return to the barracks and allow me to lead your forces?"
The old fisherman was defeated. In two days, two adventurers had come to him with obscene proposals. This one truly left him reeling. Wishing to stay as far away as possible from those lecherous adventurers and their depravities, Count Naüa nodded his head.
"S-Sure. Now then, everybody, we'll be relying on you all!"
The undead army was in arrow-shot of the city walls. Even a thousand common undead were no problem for an experienced Mithril-ranked adventurer like Scama, however those creatures made it an entirely different battle. The three elite undead advancing towards E-Naeurl seemed to lack any distinct formation at a first glance, but—
"That large spellcaster undead is staying behind the other two." Scama knew it couldn't be a coincidence. No, even if it were a coincidence, it didn't matter. The enemy benefitted from that formation which added another layer of difficulty to their battle.
"Any clue as to what kinds of spell that thing can cast?"
The mage unit had no answers for her. Scama turned her attention to Lilynette.
A shrug.
"This isn't good." Scama bit down on her lip. "Fire off whatever spells you can towards that sword-and-shield undead – pay attention to any apparent weaknesses or resistances you come across. How much we're able to damage them before they've breached our walls will determine whether we win or lose. Should they make it into the city, swap to providing buffs for the frontliners."
Her instincts screamed at her to simply tell the spellcasters to ignore the monk and focus on her instead.
"Listen up, Scama should be prioritized when it comes to buffing." Lilynette added.
There were a few glances hovering around Sitri. No one wanted to object; they all agreed with Lilynette.
Sitri flashed the priestess a smile.
"Well then, unless anyone has any better ideas, this is the plan we'll be running with."
Four Armaments exchanged glances with each other. They waited for the mages and archers to take position at the backend of the rampart's walkway.
The thief spoke out. "What do we do about that spellcaster undead?"
Her companions were too clever. Whittling away a close-ranged combatant from a distance was a common tactic, but adding a single enemy spellcaster turned even that surefire plan into a gamble. For all they knew, that tome-wielding undead could easily block their magic, raise the enemy once more or devastate the city with a single area of effect spell.
"We'll have to wait and see what it does."
Scama avoided her companions' concerned gazes. Saying that much was like telling them to wait for a meteor to land on top of their heads before they tried to push it back.
"So that means we should prepare ourselves for any sudden change of plans, leader?" Their thief added.
The silence was especially crushing.
Too much for Lilynette to endure, who yelled out towards Sitri. "You there! What are you even good for? You should… go distract that spellcaster undead!"
"Lilynette."
As much as the others didn't want to admit it, they were also hoping for a distraction before the spellcaster undead struck. Anything from a minute to even ten seconds was better than waiting for it to launch its first spell at them.
"Khh…!" Sitri grit his teeth, holding both fists up in front of his face. Four Armaments expected him to raise some kind of rebuttal.
"Alright! Finally! I'm getting goosebumps all over! Haa! My body's on fire!" His lips parted, revealing a beastly expression. His clenched jaw appeared to hold nothing but razor-sharp fangs – a mere illusion. Scama reckoned that ferocious look to come with some killing intent, some pressure emanating from the warrior or – well – anything.
"I'm off! Scama, don't forget our deal!"
Sitri rested his steeled palm atop the parape.
Then—he jumped over the city walls.
"What are you–!? Wait!" Four Armament's magic caster quickly raised his staff and recited.
[Falling Control!]
"That dumbass!" Lilynette peeked down, seeing only a cloud of dust where Sitri had landed.
Scama was too shocked to speak. She shook her head, then took one last opportunity to mention out of earshot of the defenders. "We don't have time to worry about him. If worse comes to worst, we're also jumping down and breaking through the cluster. We can use [Fly] to avoid the enemy."
That was all they needed to hear.
"Archers! Draw!"
Bowstrings pulled back.
"Release!"
A small crater surrounded the warrior's feet. His engine sparked with anticipation. Lower body taut from absorbing the impact of his fall, Sitri proceeded towards the incoming horde. The zombie army stumbled a thousand feet away. Their pace was agonizingly slow. That was the limit of mere humans raised as undead. They weren't particularly strong nor fast and lacked intelligence. Were it not for the three elite undead, this battle would've easily been won.
Those rotting corpses emanated a fiendish smell. A cloud of pestilence hovered over them, which prompted the warrior to sigh.
"Haa…Yeah, I guess I wouldn't want a zombie woman either if I got stuck dealing with that scent."
Arrows rained from the sky, signalling the first wave of attacks. Nearly all of them landed on their mark. While the projectiles weren't a one-hit kill, they nonetheless whittled away at the enemy's forces. Still, Scama was right – the undead showed no response to the attack. Neither the horde nor its elite attackers made any move. Dragging their half-torn limbs across the dirt, they merely pursued their advance.
"I wish I still had my gear. Like, can you imagine?" Sitri looked up at the city walls to see if anyone was cheering him on.
Nobody.
Instead, he spoke to the shadows which had been trailing him for months.
"Alright, so picture this. I walk forward, the undead army surrounds me. Then – FWOOM! – out of nowhere, an inferno consumes my being! Confusion! Fear! Panic! But what do you know, I've just summoned my awesome Demon Set! That would be so cool! Imagine the red and black patterns, the edgy spike-design and area of effect hellflames around me! Then with each attack, life drain and bonus regeneration! Ha! Hellfire strikes and demon god punch! What do you think, pretty cool, right?"
His audience once again deferred to their eternal silence.
"Right. It was an underrated set in the first place. Then it got powercrept by everything else that came out, so maybe it wouldn't have been that strong."
A second volley of arrows shot overhead. Dozens more undead broke their unhinged jaws against the soil. The undead knight raised its sword and shield. This was it.
"Say, we've grown pretty close. It's not that I mind dying, but… at the very least let me get one tsundere conquest before death claims me!"
The undead knight barreled forward like a tank. It quickly sped up, outpacing the horde in the span of a few steps. It broke through the mass of zombies, tossing them aside like ragdolls while it charged for E- Naeurl's main gate. Sitri made no attempt to stop it, instead heading far out to the left side. He let the first attacker through, his gaze focused unto the undead wizard. Reaching that spellcaster implied rushing through hundreds of zombies. Its position at the furthest end of the horde at least meant the dual-blade-wielding undead couldn't immediately defend it.
Upon crossing into the spellcaster's range, it turned towards Sitri. Beady red orbs flashed from its orbits.
It aggroed onto the incoming human.
A circle of unholy magic illuminated the undead. Its tome hovered in the air, flipping through its own pages in the blink of an eye.
[CONTAGION!]
Sitri charged forward without stopping. He crashed into the first waves of undead. They clawed at his skin, struck at his face and bit at his limbs, yet none of their attacks pierced through. Instead, they were obliterated upon impact. A simple enough feat for a strong enough monk. The concept of flesh-hardening was nothing new.
The undead wizard cast the second half of its spell.
[BLINDING SICKNESS!]
A putrid cloud of brown-reddish filth was launched at the warrior. Before the attack had even landed, the undead spellcaster followed up with its staff.
[SYMBOL OF PAIN!]
The symbol appeared on one of the undead. Branded atop its skull, the cursed runes would inflict unbearable suffering upon any who saw or touched it. There was no way to discern from where the attack would come –which of these horrid undead carried the cursed runes.
But the warrior dashed in like a bullet train. He struck at his own chest with his silver gauntlet, gathering concentrated might into his fist.
"Fair fight!" The warrior chanted.
As soon as the diseased cloud came into contact with Sitri's very existence – it ceased to be. The cloud had been erased, deleted – not dispelled. It left no hint of mana behind.
Less than ten feet separated the imposing spellcaster from the human. It didn't react to its magic being erased. Instead, its tome was already fluttering through its pages anew. That was the unyielding focus of an undead. In a matter of seconds, it readied its next attack.
[SLAY LIVING!]
The tome sealed shut and the staff flew aside while the undead imbued both its hand in a purple haze. Any experienced adventurer would recognize that ghastly sight as the touch of death itself. The reaper had come knocking.
Thunk!
Sitri slammed his right foot into the soil; it sunk down to his ankle. The earth's outer crust cracked and shattered all around him, revealing the bedrock beneath. A combat-ring had formed around the warrior and the undead spellcaster.
Too fast to register, the warrior ducked down. To avoid the attack?
Not even close.
His arm was a barrel. A silver fist slid into its chamber. The muscles across his entire body flexed and strained, compressing his sinews like a striker spring.
"True damage."
The death-caster reached out for Sitri, right as the undead bearing the symbol of pain appeared from under its cloak. A two-way attack, which saw Sitri touched by both the runes and the spell of death.
Something shattered. Gift or hurt, blessing or curse – the new world rejected it. The demon would never again grow from another. He had been branded as so.
And thus, his heart would not stop. His limbs would not freeze.
A heaven-rending hammer struck down and sent forth that silver bullet. The warrior guided it along. He rotated his fist forward; drove his weight into the impact until—
The sun shined down upon him, and a vermillion star twinkled.
Where the undead had stood, a gaping hole had replaced it. The creature's carcass – half of its remaining legs – crumbled to dust atop the makeshift arena.
Amongst the undead, one man stood – still living. He threw his head back and clamored all the way to the heavens.
"Gahahahaha! Max STR! Max RES! Now that's how you handle a mage!"