Chapter 44: Shalltear
The cool air moved through the great hall, flowing through gaps in the barricades toward the men behind them — all forty-two surviving members of the mercenary company known as the Death-Spreading Sword Corps.
The cave's deepest section was a long, narrow hall at its center, with several smaller chambers branching off in all directions. It had been converted, hurriedly, into something resembling a defensive position. Rough tables had been knocked over and crates stacked on top to form barriers, with lengths of rope tied across the gaps at hip height.
Every man had taken cover behind the barricades, crossbow in hand, arranged in a crossfire formation.
But the faces of the men inside carried something alongside the readiness.
Laughter had come from the entrance a short while ago — Brain Unglaus, going out to meet whatever had followed them.
Brain was beyond ordinary human ability. A man who could kill ogres in a single stroke and break into a goblin army alone. When even that man had been defeated, what it meant was something everyone understood and no one said aloud.
The tension kept building.
Then, from somewhere further back, came the sound of running feet.
Brain came sprinting in through the entrance. The company leader shouted; the hall erupted in a cheer. But Brain's expression was wrong, his eyes searching for something. The cheers died.
He ignored the calls of his companions, pushed through the barricade, threw himself through the door of the storage room, and slammed it shut behind him.
Light footsteps.
A figure appeared in the entrance.
Only one. A silhouette that hunched forward — the shape of a young girl, arms hanging limp, head dropped so completely that her neck seemed three times its natural length. Smooth silver hair trailed along the floor. A black gown gathered the darkness around her.
No one spoke.
The head moved. Slowly. Two points of red light glimmered through the curtain of silver hair, narrowing until they were fine as needles.
She was smiling.
The girl raised her head quickly. It was a lovely face — features so perfect they resembled a mask by some supreme artist.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Shalltear Bloodfallen. Is this the end of the road? So our game of tag is over?"
She looked around the hall. Her target was nowhere to be found. The beautiful face creased.
"Now it's hide-and-seek?"
A low laugh started and grew.
"Hahaha, hahaha, hehe — hahaha, hahahahahaha!"
The girl raised her head slowly. The face was no longer beautiful. Her eyes had gone completely bloodred, and row upon row of needle-fine fangs crowded in her open mouth. A pink glow pulsed from within. Saliva dripped from the corners.
"Hahaha, hehe — hahahahahaha, hahaha!"
The air in the hall gave a sound like a groan.
That was fear, made physical.
"AHHH—"
One mercenary screamed and pulled his trigger. The bolt drove deep into Shalltear's chest.
"Fire!"
The company leader's order brought them all down at once. Of forty bolts, thirty-one found their mark. Four struck the head — wounds that would have been immediately fatal to any human.
"We got her..."
Someone murmured it.
But Shalltear moved. She spread both arms slowly, and the bolts embedded in her began to push themselves outward, one by one, until they all fell to the floor without a drop of blood on them.
Shalltear bared her fangs in a grin.
Crossbow bolts filled the air again. They drove through her eyes, punched through her throat, buried themselves in her abdomen. She looked only mildly inconvenienced, the way someone might look when they are caught in light rain.
"All this effort for something that doesn't work..."
She stepped forward, jumped the barricade in a light vault. Her heeled shoes clicked against the stone as she landed, and every bolt fell from her body at once.
She threw a punch.
The mercenary it connected with was driven straight through the barricade — both man and barrier sent flying together.
Shalltear extended one index finger and drew blood pool magic script in the air. She released a 10th-tier spell — [Internal Burst]. Ten mercenaries swelled from the inside, and burst apart like overfilled balloons.
"Hahaha! Fireworks! So beautiful!"
"Die!"
A longsword drove in through her back and out through her heart. Someone wrenched it sideways. A broadsword cleaved her head in two. Three mercenaries hacked without stopping; Shalltear stood through all of it, the terrible smile unchanged.
She reached up and pulled the broadsword out of her own skull. The wound sealed over. The blade began to rust and crumbled apart in her grip. She swept one slender hand casually outward, and three heads hit the stone floor.
"Run! Run!"
The mercenaries broke and fled. Shalltear grabbed one by the skull from behind and pulled. The skull caved inward; the contents scattered.
"Hahaha! What a look on your face — are you scared? Wait, I'm the ghost here!"
One mercenary tripped and fell at her feet, begging for mercy. The corners of Shalltear's mouth spread in a cracking grin. She closed one hand around the man's back and tossed him lightly toward the ceiling. When he came down, she caught him gently.
She opened her mouth in front of his face. It was wide enough to swallow a head whole.
"Hahaha, isn't this fun — did you think you were going to die? Stick out your tongue, like that—"
"Spare me — spare me, please—"
"I can't... because I haven't fed in such a very long time."
In YGGDRASIL, a True Ancestor was the embodiment of calamity. The mouth that spread nearly ear to ear showed two fangs long enough to reach her chin. Eyes burning the color of blood. This was what a True Ancestor truly was.
Shalltear bit into the mercenary's throat. The sound of blood drained in one long pull filled the hall.
She dropped the withered body, licked the blood from the corners of her mouth, and turned her smile on what remained.
"There's — still — so much — food left—"
Wailing, screaming, and weeping rolled through the hall.
---
Shalltear stood in a hall that had gone silent. The blood sphere above her head had grown until it was only slightly smaller than she was.
"How delightful."
"You seem very pleased, wonderful mistress." One of the vampire brides bowed as she spoke.
"Time for the main course!"
Shalltear forced open the door Brain had fled through. Fresh air reached her at once — an escape passage. The traces of a human presence were already fading.
He'd gotten away.
The thought surfaced through the blood-soaked circuitry of her mind. Shalltear understood, dimly, that a portion of her assigned task had failed.
Her face twisted with fury.
Why had a mere human refused to act the way a Nazarick Guardian would expect?
"Lady Shalltear!"
"What?"
"Several people are approaching."
"Remnants of their company? Then we go to meet them."
Shalltear leapt to the log at the entrance and looked at what was coming.
A capable-looking group. Three warriors at the front, a red-haired female warrior behind them, and at the rear an arcane magic caster and a cleric — six in total.
"Not bad."
"They might be vampires! Only silver weapons or magical weapons will work! Retreat! Don't look her in the eyes!"
The magic caster's warning carried clearly. The group reacted fast, falling into a defensive formation. The red-haired warrior began drawing out a weapon she had apparently saved up to buy — a small silver-plated dagger.
The party pulled back in an orderly retreat, maintaining pressure as they went.
Shalltear locked onto the group's leader. But the urge to kill was flooding inward, swallowing everything. The impulse to tear through all of them refused to be held down. Her breathing came apart.
[Anti-Evil Protection]. [Minor Mental Defense].
Two magic casters raised their spells.
That adorable attempt at resistance was the last weight on a balance that had already been tilting for some time.
Shalltear's self-control shattered.